An ancient murmur like moss and vine,
A verdant spirit softly rose,
Full of poetry, harmony and soul.
She must stroll like water —
A sweet tendril of shade and blue.
Breathe and blossom, there she is,
Shining beneath, the Eden within.

So out of touch,
Lost, out overlooking sea.
Adrift, alone —
Cast out, wayside of the rift.
Scream, beg, but no sound.

Tired, futile to ease,
One foot forward, drag the back.
Adrift, alone —
Struck down, caught by the plague.
Scream, beg, but vacuum surrounds.

So uneasily unstable,
A crumbling world, can't fix the cracks.
Adrift, alone —
Fallen once, an angel, now trapped.
Scream, beg, but alas,

No sound.

I wrote myself letters,
And there they sit -
Behind the pink wax canvas,
Forever locked alongside
The skeletons in my closet.

Shame imbued in every word,
My soul spilled onto the pages
I ripped from notebooks,
To be added to the mess
Of my growing misery.

Eight separate letters,
Written over the years
And in every single one,
You can feel the desperation building -
Festering, like all my open scars.

I reread the letters,
Tears streaming down my face,
Leaving a wake of fire behind,
My heart stopped every at word,
I choked with every breath.

All the passive comments,
And the insults slung like bullets,
I was my own judge, jury and executioner,
How can someone become
Their own firing squad?

But what hurt the most,
Was the mantra of apologies,
Chanted like a sinner's prayer.
A hundred "I'm sorry"s,
Each one cutting deeper than a blade.

I wrote myself letters,
And there they sit -
As a reminder of who I was,
And of the place, I've sworn,
I will never go again.

The sweet nectar of Spring,
And a love forgotten with time.
Forever longing for the future,
Yet ignoring the past left behind.

The husky breath of Summer,
And a burning fire left to bate.
Forever haunted by memories,
Yet terrified of what does await.

The cozy dream of Autumn,
And the tired lover is lost.
Forever stuck fantasizing,
Yet always vulnerable and soft.

The cold apathy of Winter,
And the spark of love has gone.
Forever trapped in the cycle,
Yet waiting for a romantic dawn.

Hold onto me as tight as you can,
I’m just learning to walk,
And here I stand unsteady, terrified to fall.

As a child I ran, instead of taking baby steps,
Full confidence, and full stride,
Pride was all I ever saw on my mother’s face.

I could get high off of that smile,
So I became an addict, desperate to show my capabilities,
Dying to show my perfect qualities.

My mastery became a constant, an expectation,
And perfection became my whole life,
Even though society screamed it was all a lie.

Never did I feel worthy,
“Good enough”
Was a phrase I was foreign to.

So I sought out my worth,
And ended up finding my substance in substances,
I stole drinks in the moments I was alone.

A dangerous game, with rewards reaped in the dark
One sip, two sips, and a million more —
I‌ spent the nights drunk on gasoline.

Flames ran through my veins, torching my soul,
A silent torture devouring my brain,
Appeasing the demons within.

They told me I was ageless, and I fell for it,
Is that what it is? Not liquor, but maturity,
Is maturity my worth?

If the burning made me feel older,
Would the blood and bone feel the same way?
So, I scarred my own skin to test my theory.

It never brought the maturity,
The feeling I knew would make everyone proud,
But instead it reminded me I was alive.

I was ripped from my own apathy,
And instead of the numbness,
I‌ felt every emotion I worked so hard to push down.

I tried to fight it all off, but I couldn’t any longer,
The weight of the feelings I forgot I had,
Made me buckle at the knees and crumple to the ground.

For the first time in my life I had stopped running.
And as the paralysis left me,
And all the emotions flooded to my mind,

I saw clearly.

No longer was I blinded by the expectations forced upon me.
Slowly I will heal, and I plan to walk,
So please, hold onto me, and never me let go.

The Sun, my dear love,
My sweet Sol, I thank you,
For this marvelous gift
You have given to me.

This present of chasing you,
Is glorious, others would dream of this,
But did it need this catch twenty-two,
Did it need this sickness, this curse?

I am sick - diseased,
Due to your gift my dear,
Blessed to be in your love,
Cursed to be burnt by your rays.

I let my infatuation build oblivion,
I let myself decay in your presence,
I let myself fall, deep down —
Let myself become addicted to abuse.

Please take back this gift,
Please cure me of your curse,
This isn't love, it never was,
This is dependence, this is toxicity.

I let you drain my blood and soul,
While believing you're the light,
The very thing that brings life,
But I was only feeding your vampiric ways.

You were never the bright Sol,
You were the grey, the outlier,
I am the green —was the green
I too, am like you now, a vampire, dead.

Bring me my freedom,
Feed me my sweet future,
I must find the necromancer in his home,
Ask him to bring me back to life.

Just so I can run far away,

Just so I can turn back to green.

I live in a world of green
Yet, I'm a faded shade of grey.
A dark stormy night resides in my eyes,
While the world is teeming with light.

The world - it's beautiful,
Brilliant and lively,
But here I am —
In opposition, to it all.

I'd rather sit here, in my home,
Made from death and decay.
Lick my wounds,
And drink the poison from your veins.

Every drop, a new addiction.
A new need, a new desire,
To have the only toxicity
In a land of clean.

Let it course through my body.
Let it wrack my brain.
Let it come.
Let it be my downfall, my oblivion.

Let my fangs turn red with your iron.
Bring your poison to me,
I'll take the burden away,
Only few, can handle the grey.

Feed my dependence,
Bring me my abuse,
Take the necromancer from his home
Make him bring me back to life.

Just so I can fall again,

Just so I can fade back to grey.

A small flutter in the morning twilight,
Moving along with the tranquil wind.
A set of gossamer wings float and  hover,
A moth's last dance through the mist.

The ebony barked trees loom tall and mighty,
And deep shadows enshroud the bush.
Magic, early light rays glimmer down,
Counting down each the moth's final breaths.

A dewy air of sweet vapour encases,
And clings to the flora of the copse.
The birds sings songs of a suspenseful dawn.
Harmonious is the morn, as the moth lands for rest.

Sing out, you canorous birds, sing out,
Let the gossamer wings dance home on your song.
As the morning mist subsides to a sunny sky,
A life comes to an end, surrender to the dew.

And oh, the moth, she grieves the moon.

I could get used to the insanity of life.
If it meant that everyday,
I'd get to be lost in my thoughts,
Lost and falling,
Falling fast and for eternity,
And all of the time in-between.

I could get used to the delirium of living,
If it meant that everyday,
I'd get to survive in my poetry,
Surviving; flowing,
Struggling and furiously fighting,
To experience every last word.

Oh,

Oh, how comfortable I could grow,
If it meant that everyday,
I'd get to wander as a romantic,
Wandering and writing.
But oh, how bitterly sad is it?
That every line is just an escape,

From life's cynical realities.

She follows me, lingering,
A shadow of a person,
A whisper of a life.
The pale greys of her complexion,
They're haunting, they're horrifying,
And her small stature, is slightly less so.
Constantly by my side, is this tiny ghost,
She's screaming out, crying,
Begging for the innocence,
She was never granted.
She wears a tattered sundress,
Covered in butterflies of blues and greens,
And it falls just below,
Her darkened, scraped knees.
She howls out in pain,
Pleading to feel wonder and joy,
Just, one, more, time.
Always is she grabbing at me,
Yearning for attention,
But I never let
Her wispy grey fingers, grab hold.
Here she is, a wraith, a ghost,
An image of someone, after their death.
The crying child, the wraith in my room,
The little one begging,
To be young again.
I've learned to tune out her cries,
If I were to give her, the attention she craves,
I would have to grow up,
And face the maturity forced upon me.
If I were to give her,
The attention she deserves,
I would have to admit,
That, the little girl,
With the scraped knees, and butterfly dress,
That, that little, sweet girl,
Within me,
Is dead.

Please, give me space,
And all the stars above.
Here, the never ending sky,
A gaze of hopeless love.

Drench me in epiphany,
And hold on to my soul.
Filled by suns — galactic light,
Each step takes a tole.

Dance with me swiftly,
And let the void billow, bloom.
A sweet tango of lovers,
Kiss me — spark the fume.

Forever, oh ever, I'll dream,
Of the sky, the stars and space.
I'll let the cosmos drift on by,
As I take in every loving inch,

Of your sweet, heavenly face.

Wait for me,
As I live adrift in the cosmos.
Please, hold the rope
Tying me to this Earth,
As I scream out to the void;
Out to infinity.

Look away as my lungs collapse
From the weight of nothingness.
An inward fold —
A crushing silence,
Overwhelmed by futures past and bold.

Hold on to me,
And watch my shatter,
But please, love me, and avoid my gaze.
I yearn for the end of this implosion;
Renewal.

Yet, I wish to be a phoenix of the night.
As I am born,
As I die and am reborn again,
As my tears, float evermore
In time and space.

Look away,
Look away,
Look away.

But please, I beg of you,
Keep your hand on mine.
Please,
I beg you to stay.