I am the queen of what ifs
Sitting on a throne of could've beens

My fears are my loyal subjects
Escorting my dreams to the gallows

My ambitions are now prisoners
To my court of procrastination

I, the queen
Reign over all of this regret

Listen to the voices of present, past;
look to the future:
nothing will last.

Except for God's grace, eternally true,
take it now: it's meant for you.

Organic electronic sounds
reverberate throughout
this closed up room,
and I am swathed
in crisp white sheets
and indigo delirium.

The sun slips in and out
between the leaves
holding their breath
outside my window,
and I inhale
air that is heavy
with lost words
and melancholia.

The walls are grey here
and they call for sleep
and great cerulean silences,
things that might heal.
But old lovers keep on
sending messages
like Morse code
and new lovers
cut their teeth on
my collarbones,
smiling at the novelty
of a pretty face and
a sick mind.

I am such a rediculous being
look in the mirror without even seeing,
a decrepid image is all I can see,
is this thing really me ?
chipped away at all the years,
nothing to show but frozen tears,
how dare I think or even be,
sink back into the hollow me.

A skeleton key
opening a golden door
to a room filled with lead.
Smiles on hosts
with rotting teeth,
tongues of poison.
Garments of silk,
moth ridden,
falling apart.
A garden of roses
weeds slowly choking;
perfume of decay.
I walk
this crumbling earth
and will sleep
with no lies.