haven is my mother,
making my family tree.
are you writing?
you can always fix it later.
i'm alright, stop.
maybe if i turn on the lights
i won't be so confused.
its purple, but i pretend it's red.
because i slaughter.
i come for hades.
and every time I think of you,
i don't like it.
who the **** chooses the name kraig?

hes tall
hes much taller than me
and my mind is at war with itself
the male body is so very beautiful
i think it looks stunning
he looks ancient and stone
but not at all old
he looks like he is made fun of by his mother
and her mother
he has no mother
so much rage
i hate her
his eyes are so sad
i want him to laugh why can't he laugh
i want to be his mother
i want to be small in his arms
but i'm trapped
i'm broken alone
he's not true
i don't think hes true
so i take the form
and i love the form
equally to the other
and i cherish the other form
for it is forever etched into my mind
the taste of her body
the smell of her crown
he wears a much bigger crown
yet i want them both
and i want power
i want the crown

if what they say is true
then ill be the man at the end of the gate
not the all powerful one
just the one for the feared
i'll wear the crown
because i want to
but forgive me for saying
i'd rather burn this sphere
and everything that i've got
before i ever enter that horrid place
i'm afraid of angels
they're not natural
they're contorted
distorted
i'm afraid of angels

stop it
just stop
please stop talking
i'm tired of talking about this
i'm tired of your excuses
listen to me
listen to me
stop talking
stop talking please
i'm trying so hard
please
stop
talking
why won't you ever listen to me
you push me this far
you push me so far
you push me
you put me here
and you can't take it back

her nose is a perfect shape
the kind that points perfectly out
and is perfectly straight
her eyebrows are short
as if somebody took a razor and shaved them off
leaving only a few strand by the bridge
her eyes are cloudy
not particularly sultry, yet unexplainably seductive
her lips are the type you see in old movies
with the upper lip all pointed
and the lower over lined and round
she's got tons of scars but i can't see them
and it's not because i'm not looking hard enough
trust me i am
its because every time i look at her
all i see is her
that's why her features are so hard to describe
she's so familiar to me
her face looks like
her face
her body resembles that of the gods
she's picture perfect
the way she lies there
my god I could look at her forever
I could hold her forever
she is the epitome of grace
the epitome of excitement
and above all

i would rather dig to the foreign mountains
of which are cursed by the masses
of being unholy and rustic
than ever rise to the mirror
because i know it is horrific
and i do not see the beauty
i see the fear
i see
the beauty

it's like feeling eyes on me at all times
like angels tracing my moves
four heads turning my way
i can't move
they'll catch on
i'm held beneath my own breath
not a sound
no release
i can't get up
just to pass on the baton
just to trace the angelic figure
but i don't move there
i can't move there
i can't be seen
heard
eyes all around
limbs straight
watching me lord
there is no lord