the lyrics are in no particular order.
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take me to the docks / there's a ship without a name there
simple things like tea shouldn't be complicated, so casselia sat on her cracked wooden bench staring at the pile of ground leaves on her table, and remained frustrated. because simple things like tea shouldn't be so complicated, especially for a girl like herself. this arose a riot of other simple things too complicated for her. a riot indeed.
casselia did what was considered cheating in her eyes, and she pulled out her smart phone, which currently seemed to be smarter than her, and she googled how to steep loose tea. links created by other human beings with information she did not possess proved her sole idea wrong, and casselia puffed a strand of hair out of her eyes. she stood, and went to go take a bath.
and it is sailing to the middle of the sea / the water there is deeper than anything you've ever seen
casselia filled the tub two inches below the edge, adding an unhealthily large amount of vanilla cranberry bath bubbles. she lit some unscented tea candles, and plugged her phone into it's dock, playing one of benjamin leftwich's albums. she pulled her black tanktop off, and tugged away her shorts. she turned the bathroom light off, and let the flames lick the white walls.
casselia climbed into the tub, slid to the bottom, and let the foam overcome her and some water splash on to the tiles.
she ignored the fact that the water was too hot, and beginning to burn her skin slightly, and she breathed in and out, and let the calmness obtain her.
jump right in and swim until you're free
when casselia was younger, her mother used to buy her blueberry scones after church on sunday. her family was as christian as one could be, and sundays were days for clean white dresses and crisp white scarves. but her mother bought her blueberry scones after church, and casselia's sundays were filled with accidental stains, and her father yelling for such.
mondays were her mother's for bleaching them free, and hanging them on the line.
but her mother died when she was fifteen, and she didn't have blueberry scones on sundays, or really at all. they stopped going to church, and her father stopped yelling. she used to think he had lost faith in god, because who would take away the mother who gave her daughter what she liked only at her own hands' expense.
when casselia was younger, her mother used to buy her blueberry scones after church on sunday. maybe that was why she wandered into a bakery that sunday morning, maybe not.
either way it was one of those memories she let run over her as she sat at a small table, and let the melancholy wash upon her. holding her for a bit too long.
she didn't go to church though, and there was no white dress to stain. but there was no mother either, so it was all half-assed and morbid in the end.
i will remember your face / 'cause i was in love with that place
"eloquence is key here." her creative literature professor blew the words out, and casselia heard a bell, or she thought she did. maybe it was in her mind, but students fled out the door anyway.
so casselia followed, and headed back to her dorm room, because that class was enough of a burden to be on that day. she did, however, sit on her cracked wooden bench and lay her journal on the matching dining table. she did write some words, anyway, and draw a small flower in place of where the period should have been. she did close the book and puff a strand of hair out of her eyes.
and she did, question why such simple things were so complicated to her.
"she bit her tongue; the taste of blood flooded into her mouth, and sorrow became her❀"
but when the stars are the only things we share / will you be there?
maybe, skipping her evening class wasn't such a good idea, but the sky looked nice, and casselia was fond of things that looked nice. she laid out on the campus grass in front of the library, because it was the cleanest, and darkest, and quietest, and she mapped out orion's belt and the little dipper, before sort of giving up.
casselia had always sucked at astronomy even though she lusted for the stars. it was an odd and an ironic thing, and one that maybe wasn't so simple, but still shouldn't have been so complicated for her.
there was a small daisy sprouting out of the grass next to her, she didn't see it though; her eyes too focused on the unreachable. it was half dead, if such could be. it's petals were wilting, and it's yellow was fading to brown. and if she had seen it, and taken it in, she would have cried. there was just something about it. alone and dying in the still of the night, with not one soul noticing, not one soul caring.
she would have cried.
i've got a plan / i've got an atlas in my hands
casselia went back to her dorm that night, and ran a bath. she filled it two inches below the edge, adding an unhealthily large amount of nothing. she allowed the tea candle to remain unlit, and left the air silent. she unclasped her bra, and tossed away her panties. she turned the bathroom light off, and let the darkness overwhelm her.
casselia climbed into the tub, slid to the bottom, and let the liquid overcome her and some life spill on to the tiles.
i'm gonna turn when i listen to the lessons i've learned
she ignored the fact that the water was too cold, and beginning to numb her slightly, and she breathed in and out, and let the water kill her.
