If any of us felt the cold of the sun
We didn't let ourselves know it until the end of the day.
We didn't let ourselves show it until May was over.
No one ever let slip the ideas or that we we're stuck inside a supernova.
Nothing came between us on those Spring afternoons,
Or in those twisted nights where we turned into loons,
When the clock started to move backwards and something was expressed,
Something wrapped up in foil, kept cold and compressed.
But somewhere out there in the back of our minds,
the message was sent with the passing of time.
Everything is as it should be simply because it is,
How we express ourselves is like when we were kids.
And sometimes when the lights are out and the curtains drawn,
Something comes stirring that doesn't rest until dawn,
What it is I can't quite place,
But it lurks on as I motion from place to place
When this is over and I am elsewhere,
I'll look back and wonder why it is that I care,
Being on some distant plain I shall digress.
And hope that the animal in my mind can finally rest.
Words are misgiving and maybe I've said too much,
But I continue to write and I think its not such.
So whatever I draw from this somewhere down the line,
I can carry on going because everything really is fine.
And this life I live is so uniquely mine.
I compose each word with the most careful pen stroke
Ensuring you truly grasp the feeling I wish to invoke
My words must reach you soul or this ink is in vain
Let my written voice sink in like a needle to the vein
I need for you to receive the message that I wish to convey
So read within these pages what my lips will never say
I will write and you shall see what lies within my soul
For my work to reach within yours is my ultimate goal
God is the thought
So sacrosanct and pure
As you feel; so you thought
And he came alive for sure
For your thought made God
As he sure made you
And the way you think
Thus did he become
The connection in the link
And made us all feel welcome
For God is your thought
Of all you pure do consider
So does he become
And then shall he deliver
You from all misery and pain
And reveal it was all not in vain
Searching through his bloodied clothes.
Searching for what is left.
With the rage, I cut into his chest.
I want his heart, for safety and comfort.
I rip it out and cradle it
I want it for others but I shall never reveal them now.
I love very bit of this heart.
You say I am a beast?
Look at you, I know you have done sins.
I am a dark being.
I love the screams and moans of pain and death.
I just don't know what happened to that little girl you had once seen.
Now crying and imbalanced.
I have made a doll.
It has the heart that I cradled
It looks just like him.
He talks to me.
Calls me "Little Dove"
At night 'he' comes alive and kisses me with those sharp teeth.
That wretched smile drives me insane.
His a demon, bursting out if my chest.
Putting his bloody doll like hand on my pale white cheek.
Killing me with his poisoned kiss.
I am paralyzed in time.
I love him ever so.
He says to me that me can make me a world of blood.
He makes me dream of haunted things.
Wounds, stitches, knives and more lovely.
I am happy that he can make my world come true.
I love that I am crazy, because he makes me feel better.
I love you, demon of my dreams.
Is afraid and faint
Crawls through night
That fills wrecked veins
Voice is cracked
And nights are cruel
The absence of light
Ensnaring the fire
Destiny is veiled
And faith is cruel
Hope is rejected
Cry is burning the air
Is ashamed and cold
Waiting for rain
That shall wash your pain away
And spilled tears
I didn't know exactly what your name was for a long while. You've been inside of me on numerous occasions. Sometimes when you visit, you stay for weeks, other times you might only visit for a day - whatever the length of your visit you never cease to leave me questioning my ..sanity (If sanity exists any more)?
I can’t tell whether you’re part of me, or if you’re merely a confused visitor, who happened to once find some empty cavity in me that could foster you for a while, and have since returned from mere convenience. Either way, I still haven’t yet decided whether I like your company or not. We shall see.
I appreciate that you never let me become too content. You omnipresently remind me that I do not deserve to be too happy, too blissfully at peace with my surroundings. I thank you for that. It reminds me what I need to do, who I need to help, what I should do, and who I should be helping.
I don’t like how guilty you make me feel. I don’t like how I've grown to become frightened of what you might, one day, make me become. You've made me think and consider things I've only ever shunned others for thinking and doing. Why the fuck do you do that? Do you know how confused it makes me? You've made me feel like I'm only controlling about 90% of what goes on up there. I hate that feeling. I'm still in control, I know that much - but even that measly 10% that you've taken from me makes me feel robbed.
You've made me doubt my aspirations. This is what I probably hate you the most for. I know I want to write. I want to write about the people who deserve to be written about. I want to sit with them, I want to watch and feel their suffering, and I want to somehow translate that into words and put it in print for the world to read. But I don’t want what I write to become merely a story to the people who read it. I want them to read it, and feel it seep into their skin. I want them to feel the pain of the people whose pain I am writing to them about. I never want what I make to simply become a ‘show’ to people. But I can’t do that. That’s not how people are made.
You make me think I adamantly hate people. I know I don’t, I hope I don’t - but you trick me into thinking it with such conviction that, when you decide to leave me, I'm left wondering whether it was really you or I who put that in my head in the first place.
There are bad people in the world. Hell, most of us are bad. We are horrible. Our morals and our beliefs turn us into things we never wanted to be, but somehow all ended up as. And once we've become a monster, very rarely can we become the pure, good, perfect things we were born as.
But, I know that some people have goodness in them. I hope that I am one of them. It frightens me like nothing else to think that, maybe, I am not a good person. That I am as disgusting as the people who switch the channel when something comes on their television that isn't a fictional drama, comedy, murder-mystery, whatever, because they find it unpleasant. Or because it doesn't effect them.
I don’t want to be just another person who donates money to charities, walks around in old, inexpensive clothing, volunteers and help people, and does it because she wants people to look at her and think “Damn, she’s a good person”. I don’t want people to think of me as a good person. I don’t want people to think of me at all. I don’t want people to know what I do, why I do it, or how I do it. I just want to do the things I can, have people benefit from them, then remember the THINGS. Not the face or the name of the person who did them.
I want a stranger to think “Someone gave a homeless person their shoes. I could do that. I could give a homeless person my shoes. I have another pair, I don’t need them. That’s what I’ll do” and do it. Then maybe someone will see them and do it also. But to think that someone would think of the deed then link it to me, or to a face generally - that repulses me. It repulses me into thinking that, somehow, every person nowadays is objectified, and every object is personified. And it’s terrifying.
I go to sleep every night with that thought in my head. I don’t know who to blame for putting it there. If it was you, Electra, just make it clear that that’s the case. I will forgive you. I will still let you come back when you have nowhere else to go. I would just like to know.
For now, that’s all I have to say to you. I hope your stay is comfortable, and you’re experiencing a pleasant refuge from whatever you are hiding from. When you next leave, please make sure to leave me what is mine. I often find myself feeling, after your visits, that part of what I had has left with you - which, generally wouldn't bother me, except I've never gotten those bits back.
Love, your ever-accommodating E.
Why must i be angry,
Why cant i be happy,
Im stuck with this disease,
It slowly eats at me,
Causing pain and suffering,
Instea of the good things im enjoying,
The pain, the evil,
Cause that is my seal,
My call, my path,
I leave behind a trail of wrath.
See it on the ground, an on their faces,
I am the thing that thrives in dark places,
I listen to the rock and the metal,
But i have no purpose and im like the kettal,
Only talked about as if im a joke,
I have a purpose, i hope you all choke,
This is my life, its not yours,
Shut up and leave or you blood will pour,
Flow down the streets, feed the rats,
Cause thats where ur body will be left at,
The forgotten place,
The evil space,
The longforgotten sorrow,
Youll find me tomorrow,
Sittin right here, not a change in mind,
But thats because they left me behind,
Suffering within my own head,
Please kill me or let yourselves be dead,
None shall survive,
None shall thrive,
Just take this from me,
And let me be,
Take my anger,
Leave me with laughter,
Im tired of being mad,
Id wrather be sad,
But i dont care,
Just dont sit there and stare.
Im stuck in a state of semi anger,
Just dont touch or youll go over,
Over the side,
Theres nowhere to hide,
Your dead now,
I dont know how,
But ur gone so it doesnt matter,
How you hit the ground, look at the blood splatter.
Stuck between two names,
Stuck between two destinies,
Will I go up in flames,
Or will I be consumed by the beast in me,
I want find my place,
In this world that empties me,
But I want to disappear without a trace,
But that I know can never be,
One or the other,
I must choose,
Should I find love with another,
Or all of it will i lose.
crisp from the core
cut in half and a bore.
I want some more sand!
I'm tired of cement beneath
the slabs of meat I call feet,
the movement doesn't beat
it fuels it.
on my way uphill, the stretch
is between my thighs. Sweat!
this weather is no good for fancy clothes,
I've got pit stains up these hills.
I'd say I'm looking on the bright side, but
it's more of a stare, or perhaps it's the light
that's stalking me, because I can't seem to
this soul is melting through this flesh which
can't let go of winters breath, what once was
afraid to freeze to death wants nothing more
than a cloud or four, to shade their skin from
the heat begins.
Summer is no enemy,
Winter is no friend,
all I want is Fall again!
The spring is here,
my nose is red,
the seeping of color shall spread
down and all places around,
it'll push and shove as
my body is covered
in the guilt of not taking
the time to properly supply myself
with sun screen.
My soul sees and seers,
What I seldom do not want to hear;
She feels more than I ever do,
Of all those moments,
Which I wish were untrue!
And even then she stands strong,
Without a tear,
For she knows;
Wet eyes and weak sighs,
Only makes paths -
Slippery and treacherous!
My soul strengthens the physical me;
In every prayer she weaves,
A new thread of belief,
A wrap for a lifetime;
Soon shall be stitched...
Keeping us and our faith warm,
Even beyond eternity!
The Aces check their sleeves,
Hearts rippling across the breeze.
The Queen arises
Torn dress ripped at the knees.
The Jack saw his fill
And quickly took his leave.
Stood trembling in a doorway,
Mind struggling to believe...
The King was an alcoholic,
It was widely known to be so,
Each eve he would sit solemn,
Wine in hand and sword on show,
Clapping to the Jokers' japes
As he danced and sang
About love and fate.
But how was the King to know?
Not two rooms away,
His wife had laid and procured
A cuckold and a fool...
The Jacks had had enough
And promptly marched
Into his room.
Armed with only knowledge,
To unleash the inevitable typhoon.
The winds will rise,
This house shall succumb,
Till the house is done.
And all that remains
Among ash and decay,
Broken hearts and broken spades,
Is the Jokers last laugh.
A mockingbirds call as daylight fades.