I haven't written in forever,
that's hyperboly, but still,
so this is a little something,
to brush away the dust
and cobwebs.

She had the most beautiful of wings,
and yet they couldn't save her.

She fell like a stone.

Why wouldn't you use your wings?
Why didn't you fly?

*Because my dear,
I saw no point in saving myself.

You threw the glass,
and your anger smashed it.
You cut your fingers on your own hate.
If you only would've been patient,
we would've gotten home,
without bloodstains all over your shirt.

*Dear brother,
you still have so much to learn.

Hair can be mischievous,
You never know when it will strike next,
Don't ever let your guard down,
Run when you feel danger,
Or better yet,
Xylophate it,
You must know what that means,
Make no fuss about it if you don't.
Either way, remember:
The
Hair
You
Love
Can...be your downfall!
Use care 24/7,
Let nothing convince you otherwise,
Let nothing lure you into trusting your hair,
Or it will stab you into the back.
Love your dog, but never your hair,
Once you do this, you will be:
SAFE!

Exit paranoia; poem is done.

Dreamer, it is time,
For you to draw your sword again.
Long enough has it rusted –
Laid unused –
As you slept in your prison of fear.
Wake up now! It is time for your dreams,
To come true.
Those walls are only as thick,
As you let them be;
They only hold strong,
As long as you fear them.
Now tell me you still have courage,
Tell me you still believe,
Because if you do,
Then tell me you won’t let yourself,
Suffer in here any longer;
You were not meant to die,
In this prison of fear.
So go! Break free! Fly!
Draw your sword and finally,
Leave those ***** walls behind...

My love, remember
when we first met so long ago
in your favourite bookstore.
Can you still see me,
with my messy black hair and way too big glasses
shaking,
carrying way too many and way too heavy science books
on my clumsy arms?
I still can see you,
with your beautiful brown hair ******* in a ponytail
running your fingers along the spines
of books filled with adventure,
looking,
for a world to enter next.
Oh and do you still remember,
the furious voice of the old storekeeper lady
as she flung up her arms and ran to her precious books
that I had dropped?
I still remember,
how you softly shook your head, chuckling
"You're so clumsy..."
while you helped me
to pick up all those books.

My love, but most important of all,
do you still remember the moment, when our eyes met?
How you
how I
how we,
finally knew wich world
to enter next?

Sometimes to truly love someone,
means to have the courage to let them go...

...is a bitter aftertaste,
that lingers for years.

Oh, how must a star not suffer,
seeing all that pain and tears;
yet bound it is, to it's throne up high,
can do nothing, except to shine;
and to sing it's silent songs.

It wants to keep save,
all those soles it holds dear;
but far away, it has to linger,
and can only hope, it's light
will reach those lonely hearts, at night.

Tip-tap, tip-tap.
Steps. All around me.
Tip-tap, tip-tap.
Steps. Following me.

Eyes. I saw eyes.
A lot of them.
Hundreds of them.
Eyes do watch...

This is no wind; those are words.
Whispering words.
Knowing words.
Words that hunt me.
Those are their words.

Those creatures have ears.
They can listen, and they do.
Closely.
They hear everything.

How do I hide?
      How do I hide?
            How do I hide?

I'll have to blend in, that's it!

They will overlook me;
they won't follow.
They will overhear me;
they won't talk.

I will just have to be
like them.

(But not really...
because I don't hear,
like them.
I don't see,
like them.

Because I'm too busy
hiding)