Through tears he says, "Goodbye, my love, I'll be alright."
This memory burns strong as she cries to the night.
Dark of NightDressed up in her Sunday best
The little girl leads in her guest
Shielded by the dark of night
She grasps the knife with fingers tight
Hidden in her heart so pure
A wicked force without a cure
She watches as her parents sleep
If they knew they could only weep
It doesn't take long, simply a flash
Her vigour increases with every slash
Not a sound had passed their lips
Before they board death’s eternal ships
Her body stained with crimson red
She leaves behind the ruined bed
One last stop before her end
Not a moment more has she to spend
The beloved child of only four
He’ll never see a summer more
The girl lurks in without a sound
Looks right into his eyes so round
Around his neck she’s placed the noose
Checks to see it isn't loose
He then begins to speak her name
Believing that it’s just a game
She hangs the rope above her head
Waits until the boy is dead
Finally, her strength is lost
She knows just what her deed has cost
With the bodies she creates a pyre
MoonlightThe moonlight drips silver onto her white and crimson body. Her still soft skin brushes my own rough arm, as I hold her lifeless form. The blood pools and stains the purity of her platinum locks, while her midnight dress soaks in even more as though it could restore her to former light and life. The only thing worse than the sorrow that wracked my entire being, was the knowledge that none of this was real.
It all started with the shadow. That mockery of an absence, a nothingness so intense I could feel its presence even when it was not in sight, even as I slept it watched me from the corner of the room. I believed it to be just my imagination, a paranoid spectacle that resulted from my overworked mind. You see, I recently went through a tragedy so deep, not one could feel my pain. The girl of my dreams, my reason for life and all that has ever been good, left me one night.
My entire life died under the starlit sky.
She fell with grace to her knees, so like an angel, with the knife stil
Winter KissMany solemn years ago
In midst of frost and powdered snow
Down curving path he walks his lonesome
In this chaste and still December
Deep within the shaded grove
Each singing bird a treasure trove
Behind a tree of elder years
Like faerie dust, a dainty whisper
Moves like summer, sings like rain
Maiden fair of midnight mane
Spinning 'round in blissful union
Upon his lips a winter kiss
Evergreen needles brush porcelain skin
Losing himself in her delicious sin
The shrieking wind then takes her leave
His lionheart skips beat to empty
Gentle crunch of fallen leaf
Hangs his head to hide his grief
Seasoned mind and homeward bound
In this chaste and still December
Sarah Smiles"When I was younger, I had a friend. She called herself Sarah, and we were as close as any two girls could be. We were never apart, bonded together as tightly as the ribbons that held up our hair. One of our favourite things to do was to dress up and make-over our Barbie dolls. There's something soothing about brushing that long, blonde hair with a plastic brush no longer than your fingernail. We usually used markers as make-up, but occasionally some of my mother's lipstick and nail polish made it's way into our tiny hands, much to her annoyance. My Barbie always ended with over rosy cheeks and pink highlights. Sarah, however, liked to paint hers a little differently. Nearly all the hair would be cut off, what was left of it would be coloured black. The lipstick always smeared and the eyes, those eyes would always be shadowed and dark, as though this poor doll had never known sleep. I still remember when we finished, Sarah would say to me, "You see, her eyes hold so much pain, so much
Golden MorningAnd in this darkness, never fleeting, always with me
You bear a flame, drawing nearer
To spirit away these lonely tears
Love so dear and tender, gentle warmth
Scare away the fighting demons
Before the dawn, dark and vile
Stay, my love, always near me
Cross all borders, fences shattered
Don't leave, walk into the evanescence
Of the sighing, swirling mist of morning
Oh, gentle love, formed of sun's golden light
Take us far above the sorrows of this sad night
Inkless PenTonight, fly home
On the wind, through clouds
Fashioned into my past
Dark, it storms
Rain mixed with tears
Which flow from merciless eyes
Past flies a dove
Failing wings, battered dreams
Spiraling down, I carry on
Held high by eternal stars
Yet when I arrive
To where joy and comfort lives (lived?)
I find you gone
Missing like the last piece to a puzzle
And I realize
Love is an inkless pen
Hopeless as the words of a dying man
I leave for the last time
On rolling waves that breathe in time
With my own unbeating heart
Life on a Television ScreenLife on a television screen
Eyes watch every quivering move
Thousands of eyes, flies on the wall
Dissected under the limelight
Ants under a magnifying glass
Held by the hand of a tainted child
Sun kissed skin, mermaid hair
Praise seeps through every pore, false modesty
Falling in and out of lust
With every evening past, drinking to hide from what's been done
City lights, darkless nights
Until the mo(u)rning, sun so bright
Crying from this tired heart
This tragic life begins once more
My Thoughts Are A StormThe scars you bear I wish I could
Die for, only the best do I want
For you, to be happy, the fault is
Mine own which tore us apart
Some days I was screaming inside
Yet I found complete happiness
With you, when you told me my
Apology was not accepted, it was
Like hearing news of an intimate
Suicide, your hate filled mind
Killed me inside, my thoughts
Are a storm, raging memories
Of every fight, every flaw fighting
For attention, yet the savage longing
To fall once more into you comforting
Arms, but who would I be if I
Allowed myself to go back?
Corpse BrideGirl so sweet, only seventeen
A prettier sight you'd never seen
Long raven hair, soft pale skin
A heart every man wanted to win
Clear blue eyes, deep as the sea
As gentle a soul as there could ever be
Then one quiet winter's day
She ventured to where she used to play
A forest so thick, not bothered by light
But not too far in she was given a fright
For before her stood a man so strong
His piercing eyes watched her far too long
She turned, a sparrow in flight, too late
He held her fast, told her to wait
He meant no harm, he looked so sweet
And so they agreed from then on they'd meet
Every day they were together in secret
She felt happy to bursting every time they met
A few weeks later, he loved her he said
So with this, alas, they agreed to wed
She wore her mother's antique wedding dress
They were to meet late at night, under moonlight's caress
Poor thing, she waited what seemed like forever
But her love would soon complete his wicked endeavour
She sees only a shadow before it all goes
enduring biopoiesis getting over it
in quick gasps of rabbit fur
and valley tangles
we would have
had such darling
strung out on fake roses
floating on our sun-striped backs
but we're so
some world-children cutting
out, tuning in yet
Cheshire Cat-Pandora Hearts
Eyes the color of crimson
Clothes black like nightingales
Chalky white skin
With disinterested gaze
Hair dark blood and disarray
Claws covered with malice
The kitty smells evil bringers
To hurt its lost master
The calm but volatile cat
Protects its masters harsh memories
From the master herself
But you job is done
Go to sleep
And perish within your maze
Made by the Abyss
And in this dark harvest of season
My life has completely lost reason,
For which or against to decide.
All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tide
In sadness and in kindness
In light and in darkness.
In a boat made of hope
I shall sail to tomorrow,
In a winding hurricane
Made of treachery and sorrow.
There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...
Piercing, slashing though my head.
Starting somewhere in heaven,
Ending somewhere in hell.
Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.
Are the armies within.
In my head they are all thrashing.
On the heaven's and hell's whim.
To be light or to be darkness.
A perpetual array.
It's not merely my choice,
But the choice of the way.
It's an option of the voice,
It's a thin line of gray.
Is it a choice forced by fate,
Is it a pre-set time and date?
Or a choice to which I myself sway?
But here's our story anyway .
"Nothing that I do will matter.
As all things will merely shatter!"
All my hopes thus darkness scatter,
As it shoves me a decree.
As it si
slippers your ghost eats peanut butter
out of the jar. an atomic grease
fire tongues our oven like an
if only we walked on clouds
if only we lived in the belly of the ocean
Not My Kind of Fairy TaleDon't give me the Knight
Whose armor shines so bright.
Give me the Knight,
Whose armor is dull and broken.
Whose horse is weary,
Whose heart is heavy.
Give me the Knight who looks at the dragon with pity,
For that dragon has done nothing,
And is just as imprisoned as the princess he guards.
Don't give me a princess who only wishes to be saved,
By that Knight whose armor shines so bright.
Give me the princess who wishes to escape yes,
But wants to free the dragon,
Who does not wish to marry her savior--
Nay, give me the princess who wants to explore,
Who wants to live and to learn.
For the years of imprisonment only made her yearn,
Not for the Knight whose armor shines bright,
But to see the world and live in the light.
Do not give me the evil dragon,
Whose soul purpose is to give that bright Knight something to fight.
No, give me the dragon who is weary,
Who longs for the freedom of the sky,
Whose leg is burdened with chains,
And whose heart aches for the princess he must guard,
heart brokenIn my dreams
It was me in your arms
My lips on yours
There was only us
And the clouds
And the stars
It was the world and us
It was us against the world
But in your arms I could take it
Anything the world dished out
And with your kisses I was strong again
In my dreams it was me in your arms
My lips on yours
But in reality
It's always been her
you can't have it allBut you can have eating wild grapes and their skin like beetle wings
cocooned in bruises. You can have swings that go so high you kick
a hole in the clouds. You can have chickens following you through the front door
and the cat’s gift to say, Look, I am taking care of you.
You can have happiness, but tempered as
your first taste of wine when you hid your puckering face
because you were eight years old and dangerous.
You can have a touch you blush for, ferret hands dancing,
small and terrifying and knowledgable.
You can have an aspiration of “us” held on one stool leg, darting breaths but
never admitting to dreams, to a stew of practicality.
You can talk to her, sometimes,
and even mean something.
You can have the book you stole after she stumbled,
and “that” word sank into your hands. You can’t cure cancer,
but you can have two sets of spoons in the same sink
although she’s only touched the one you lent her,
the one you didn’t expe
san gabrielSometimes you dream about a burning grocery store and it means nothing.
This is me standing in a hallway realizing that the people who left
aren't showing up for dinner, that's why it's only a theory.
Look at these streetlights, look at you wearing that wreckage on your face,
soaked in radio. To white windmills flickering across the coast, to
your dogs barking like shootouts behind these gates. An old forest flashes
against the bridge and starts breathing; headlights bleach our hills
and you say "What kind of ending is this, I'm never here anymore." And Hell yeah,
I think, how insane that the species blooms in catastrophe, how improbable
to survive this lottery, to conquer the probability of having never blinked
toward the blinding white shipwreck, to find an abandoned planet
and fill it with chairs. And this too; we sit in a parking lot in California,
the hospital glowing around us, and roll a blunt. Yellow light humming like soil,
twitching like grass. It's been quiet, I say, my phon
david and goliath.He passes under
the dying streetlamps'
darkening splashes on his face,
against the rooftops.
The tarmac, painted with his footsteps,
white lines of vertebrae
tickle along its back.
Lovely glass, shattered fragments
ruffle the curb of the pavement,
strands of rainwater
whisper along the gutter
in hymnal honesty; and sunlight seems swallowed
by the swollen beast of night.
prickle at the back of his memory,
a nervous pattern of speech,
syllables of iambic chattering
teeth against the cold:
the hotel window, shining with
the gaze of a thousand tourists' wonderment,
is where his own eyes rest,
as if the world is born anew
and love-songs spike the evening air
his life-tousled hair. He
walks on, passes on,
a stranger in a foreign land;
the moonlight seems
to turn about him, embrace his form,
a lonely touch, not quite animate in its caress,
but his love was the colour
of seawater on gravel,
and he would not take the taste of her brea