"Be careful son, but be free"
You were warned, and yet
higher and higher you flew
closer and closer to Apollo
and your wax wings were melted
with his embrace.

But tell me, Icarus,
was it worth it in the end?
How did it feel
to graze the heavens?
Tell me, dear one,
how did it feel to live violently?
to live carelessly?

"Be careful, son, be free."
You chose to live,
if only in that moment.
Higher and higher you sailed
until your very being insulted Apollo
and with one kiss,
your wings were destroyed.

After giving up the fight to feel
laying down all weapons
and allowing the numbness
to creep over me slowly
like ice freezing,
from the edges inward,
until my soul was fully numb.
So you will have to excuse me
if I am a little clumsy when we touch.
You will have to excuse the zombie fingers
when you try to hold my hands,
you see, they are out of practice,
as if back from the dead.
You will have to pardon
the creaks and cracks in my heart
when you try to warm it,
you see, it has not been used in a long time.

I don't want prince charming
suited up in armor.
I want a flannel clad man
who will help me
keep my demons in line
and I can help him tame
his inner monster.
You Disney girls keep
looking for Charming,
I'll keep searching for a Winchester.

When a spirit
cannot rest or find peace
roams aimlessly,
hurting people that it encounters
you have to **** out the evil

Salt
Perfect little crystals
so perfect they are almost holy
they repel the evil within
Keep the bad trapped inside

Burn
Turn it all to ashes
Destroy the evidence
that it was ever there to be evil
that is how you keep from getting hurt

and so I choose
to Salt and Burn
all memories of you.
all the times we spent together
and all our laughs
because my soul deserves rest.
I deserve peace.

Sometimes you are the moon
Your spirits soar
and you shine so brightly
you drown the world
in your light.
Sometimes you feel beautiful
like nothing can hurt you.
You are suddenly in control
of the nightly push and pull
within you.
For once you are above
the sorrow and pain.

Sometimes you are the wolf
You feel vicious,
Cursed, and angry.
You are fighting
with every ounce
of your being
for power, for survival.
You hurt someone,
someone you loved,
maybe they stepped out of line,
or maybe they made a mistake,
You lost control,
gave in to your instincts.
Sometimes you are so low,
you lash out,
throw back your head
and howl in agony.

When you are the moon
when you are sailing above the clouds
you can almost forget
the pain of being the wolf,
the pain of being so low.
When you are the wolf,
when you are lower
than you have ever been,
You think only of being
someone,
anyone,
other than yourself.

Aurora,
you were change
you lit my life
brightly and beautifully
for just a little while
you showed me what it was
to not be in darkness
your light illuminated me
and all the pitch black things
I had been living with
fled.
But your light left me blinded
blinking
once you were gone.

"What inspires you?"
He asks as her eyes begin to light up
She starts thinking about
all the worlds that her imagination
has led her to
and all the places
real, and fictional,
that she longs to see.
Her mind shoots across the galaxy
and she thinks about
Poetry and Space
High fantasy adventures with elves and magic
Her eyes sparkle with stars
that could be other worlds
Far Far away
Her passions bubble up
with volcanic heat
she pictures all her heros
from Athena, to Bilbo
and he says again
"What inspires you?"
she says gently
"Are you sure you want to know?"

Kith and kin of Pheidippes
she knows nothing else
lays everything on the line
throws herself into the task
the task of protection.
To stop means of harm, or sorrow
the curse of the coward,
knowing only flight
never knowing love
never finding rest.
She has yet to learn
you cannot outrun the past
for the past is too strong.
Sometimes, dear runner,
you must be still.
Sometimes, dear runner,
you must stand your ground.

The sky is dim
Abandoned by Apollo
having yet to be kissed
by Artemis.
A lone girl
stands on a rise
looking to the heavens.
She is searching for meaning
searching for purpose,
feeling lost and empty,
feeling as though the sun
crashed his holy chariot
never to ride or rise again.
Feeling that the moon
has fallen
from her heavenly throne
never to shine again.
The girl, alone on the hill
alone in her heart
feels the darkness
creep into her soul.
Feeling that she too
has been abandoned
by life giving
Apollo.

If you think about it...
the "GRIM" Reaper is not such a bad guy.
He greets you in death,
holds your hand gently
and walks you
to your deserved afterlife,
the one you earned for yourself.

For if you have ever walked alone at night
even within the safety of your own home
you know the terror of darkness
and silence, crushing silence.

The Reaper leads your soul through a dark void
a million times as harsh as an abandoned stairwell
or any earthly darkness.
He does not choose which side you go to
Heaven or Hell.
He simply reads your chart
sees the location that you have earned
and escorts you safely there.

Love is not polite
it does not need to be invited
over the threshold and into your heart.
Love comes like a thief in the night
claiming who it wants,
claiming what it wants.
Love is not docile and calm.
Love is a warrior,
breaking down the best armor
and crushing those in its wake.
Love does not spare the feeble of heart.
but finds them
and binds them
and makes them its slaves.
Love is not patient,
it does not wait until the time is right.
Love is violent,
it demands to be felt
deeply, and completely.

All roads lead to Home
you may lose your way for a time
get swallowed in an ocean of doubt
but keep walking, or swimming
keep your head up.
Eventually you will find yourself
find your destination.
It may take a while,
but all roads lead to Home.

All roads lead back to you.
I may have gotten lost for a time
may have sunk deep into an ocean of doubt.
But I kept walking
kept swimming.
Eventually I turned up
at my destination,
on your doorstep.
It took a while,
but all roads lead me back to you.

Its so easy to tell
when she is broken.
Shell fake a smile
but her eyes go dull
a sad shade of green
with hints of blue
Like sunshine in the dead sea.
She smiles
her cracked porcelain smile
and her inner fire flickers
like dying embers
she tries to hide behind a smile,
but her eyes speak volumes
her mouth dares not.

Some nights
those old scars
hurt as much
as the day
they happened.
Itch as much
as if freshly healed.
Some nights they
are raw and they sting
even though they
are old and closed.
Some nights you feel
them burning and hurting
deep inside your mind
old wounds,
mental and physical
they itch and sting
long after they have
"healed"
sealed.

For the wolf
the Moon is a curse
a foul transformation of pain and shame
forced upon him by nature herself.

For the Sea
the Moon is a cruel lover
forever sending her away pushing her aside
only to draw her back in again endlessly.

For the Poet
the Moon is a torturer
forcing upon her emotions of all sorts
we feel happiness, and love, life and death under it's light.

The Wolf picks himself up once more, survives another night.
The Sea cries salty tears of scorn, but yet she returns once again.
So also must the poet pick herself back up, and carry on another sleepless night.

Don't tell me I am beautiful
unless you have seen my soul.
Don't tell me I am beautiful
unless you have touched the dark corners of my mind.
Don't tell me I am beautiful
unless you have brushed against my scars without me flinching.
Don't tell me I am beautiful
unless you can see me for more than my ****** structure and pretty eyes.
Don't tell me I am beautiful
unless you are willing to sit up with me while I cry in the night, it will happen.
Don't Don't Don't tell me I am beautiful
unless you see me for who I really am under my mask.

You are naked.
Alone.
In this room you have been in countless times,
but is in no way comforting.
The walls are all white,
the floor, sky blue and white
checkered tile.
You look up,
the single bulb flickers for a moment,
you walk towards the tub
in the center of the room,
it is an old style tub
with the clawed toes.
You turn the faucet,
it begins to ooze
dark red.
Is it mud?
or maybe blood.
you plug up the tub,
and sit down on the edge.
You watch the ooze
slowly covering the porcelain
and you get in
you sit down.
The ooze comes just up to your knees now.
It is odly cold
staining your skin.
You shiver,
but lie back anyways
as if to relax.
The ooze creeps up over you
engulfs you
smothers out all your senses
except sight
everything is silent now
and you can no longer breathe
The ooze is all around you
sloshing over the edge of the tub
and staining the tiles
sky blue and red.

We have unfinished business
You, Me, and the Universe.
There is something we
are meant to do together.

Some reason that the reaper
stayed his hand.
Protected us from blade and pills.
Some reason we did not move on
into that great beyond
even though we groped in the darkness
looking for the sweet kiss of death.

The reaper did not want us
because the Universe is not through with us yet.
We have something to attend to,
something that caused Charon
to refuse us voyage.

We have some grand role left to play
As lovers
As friends
As something.
The reaper does not want us
just yet.

"All in all is all we are."
Is the sum of the pieces
greater than the whole
or are we just our experiences
mixed with a little DNA
all of it piling up inside of us
like boxes from an abandoned home.
Genetics mixed with luck
some grand
Cosmic joke.
or even an accident
OOPS
of some selfish god.

It seems I am in love
with ideas, notions,
and places I have never been.

I am in love with the idea
of forever,
of waking up beside
the one I love
everyday, until we both
cease to be.

I am in love with the notion
that there is someone
perfect for everyone,
that someday I wont
be all alone.

I am in love with the idea
of complete happiness
of being satisfied with
exactly what life hands me.

I am in love with places
that I have never been
places that I may never
get to go.
I am in love with
skylines I may never see.

I am in love with the idea
of love itself.
The notion that one can
accept someone
exactly as they are
and run away with their heart
to places neither
have ever been.

"my mistress's eyes are nothing like the sun"
just kidding,
Shakespeare was an *******

You've seen her
Headphones in
With music up
or in conversation with
ten people at once
She can't stand the silence.
The sound of her beating
Broken heart
is so maddening.
As soon as the lights all die
As soon as the music stops
As soon as the people leave
her heart breaks once more
under the crushing, knee snapping
weight of the silence.

What torture it is
to witness love,
only from a far,
and never participate.

I find myself
writing about what
love should be
sharing cute couple
pictures with cheesy quotes
and yet still being alone.

I feel that I am doomed
to be the stenographer
of this little blue orb,
and all that lies outside its walls.
I document but never experience
I write but never feel.

My only regret is
maybe my one true whatever
has already come and gone,
and left me behind,
but wouldn't I know if I had
been in that one true
whatever?

And so, I will write on,
observe love from far away
and hope for my
one
true
whatever.

All you need is love
said John, or maybe Paul.
Argued I once
before I knew
what power love held
before I was enlightened.

Learned my lesson in your arms
became a believer when you smiled at me
and the world collapsed around you.
Love is all you need
said John, or maybe Paul
but definitely Hannah.
Love is all you need.

I am a manor
with two masters
I am a house divided
a soul in duress.

Half of me
sweet, happy, carefree.
Half of me
wants to dress up
to find  love,
to be neat.
Half of me
wants peace,
wants happiness.

The remainder,
is an *******.
cold, hardened, bitter.
The remainder
has lost hope
lost love.
The remainder
is tough and strong
never needing anyone.
The remainder
wants anarchy
thrives in chaos.

I am a house divided,
a manor with two master,
a soul in duress.

Immature
You lash out
you hurt those around you
Unfeeling
You lash out
you shut out those around you
Insensitive
You lash out
you break the hearts of those around you
Weak
You lash out
you burden those around you

Heaven
Valhala
Paradise
Peace lies here in these words
like a stone falling slowly in water
drifting downwards into
it's final resting place
it has long since given up the fight
against the current
But we did not give up
cannot give up.
We fight valiantly for so long
until we are carried off into
a warriors heaven,
which can only be a place of peace,
the gods way of saying
"You have fought well
rest now, and forever,
rest your weary soul."

You are the crispness
of a fresh piece of paper.
You are the smile
of a dreamer.
You are the first brilliant white
snow of winter.
You are the defining full moon
of the new year.
You are the brave early blooming blossom
of the first hint of spring.
You are high tide
after a long day of footprints.
For the love of change,
please stick around.

You were meant to love me
to tell me how beautiful I was becoming
rather than tell me
you dont like this or that about me.
You were meant to show me
how a man should treat me.
And it is no wonder,
the men I fall for
are just like you.
You were meant to calm my fears
of not being good enough
not cause them.
You were meant to raise me
in a safe place, with care
instead, you abandoned me.
You were meant to be a teacher
gentle and kind,
instead all you've taught me
is how not to be.

And so if I swear,
and curse your name
F word,
bane of my existence,
Remember all the things
you were meant to do for me
that you didn't do.

Smile little Red
that's it, my dear
but not too big,
hide away those fangs.

Pull your pretty little hood up
get it just right, my dear,
push back those furry ears.

Blink those pretty blue eyes,
but wait, something's wrong my dear,
was that a flash of yellow I saw?

Cross your legs now
and sit like a lady my dear,
don't let that tail poke out.

Tuck your hands under
your sweet little bag my dear,
put away those claws.

Watch out little Red
your secret could slip out my dear,
your inner wolf
is howling a little too loud.

Promise me, dear one,
When you find someone
in this great wild world,
someone who tells you
you are beautiful,
and means it,
even though they see your deepest flaws
and know all of your old wounds,
Promise me you will hold tightly
to them.
because you deserve
love and happiness.
Promise me that when
you find someone who
matches up with the pieces
of your broken soul
who's hurts are like yours
Promise me you will give them a chance
to ease all the pain you are in,
let them wash away the pain of being broken
as you do the same for them.
Promise me, dear one,
that you will not push them away
just because you are weary of love.
Promise me, dear one.

Hold me for a while
Love me for a while
I know there's no future
and yet I want you for a while.

Use me like a security blanket,
hold me close at night
when no one is around,
I don't mind.

Hold me for a while
until you can stand
firmly on your own.
Love me for a while
until I am no longer
of use to you.
I don't mind.

I'll comfort you,
be near you,
wrap you in warmth
Protect you from the dark
even if only for a while.

I'm here if you need me
here if you want me,
here until you cast me aside,
to move on to bigger and better things.

The chemistry
Between two souls
Is something that cannot
Be learned.
You cannot learn attraction
Cannot fake a spark.
Its there
Or its not

"What happened here?"
he asks
and rubs a questioning finger
over a knotted old scar.

I was hurt
in a battle against myself
a war really,
is the real answer
that I do not say.

"Nothing, just an old wound"
I say instead.

Sometimes the battles of the self
are the worse kind.
I wish he would say.

"It's okay, as long as it stays
an old wound."
He says instead.

I keep little things
Close at hand.
I keep them to remind myself
that this darkness is temporary
that things will get better.
Little notes written by a friend
something as simple as
"I love you"
or "keep your head up"
I keep fortunes
with quotes I admire
quotes that remind me
that it's okay to not be okay
that it's ok to fall apart,
but only if you're strong enough
to put yourself back together.
I keep little things like ticket stubs
reminders of dates long past.
I keep these things to remember
but also to help myself forget,
Forget my sadness for a while.

It gets better
She promises.
I promise it gets better.

He looks at her with
eyes red and swollen
When? When does it get better
When I'm 34 with a job?
When I'm 64 with grey hair and a cane?

I'm not sure when it gets better
I'm as low as you
As sad as you
She says
I suppose I've just gotten
Used to feeling this way.
But I hope it gets better.
Maybe we should make it better
Together.
Maybe we should claim our own happiness.

Great anguish brings great inspiration.
Words flow from my lips,
Fresh and cool. Trickling ever downward.
My mind never stops rushing and my pen follows suit.

When in times of great happiness I am sent out to sea in my own ideas and hopes.
Words are salty little splashes of ink.
The pen my canoe and the paper my little boat.

Between great sorrow and deep happiness is a desert of contentedness.
No words quench my longing
when words could cleanse the land,
flood my soul.
Thirsty, lost, hopeless,
wandering in dust with no voice.

I don't write anymore.
I haven't picked up a pen in a year and a half.
The words are gone and I am empty.

I look at an autumn tree and don't see renewal and change.
I see the oncoming winter
and the cold depression it will bring.

I look at a sunset and no longer see the universal canvas.
I see the end of a long day.

I look at a stream and instead of imagining the lives of fish
I see only perpetual change.

I don't write anymore
and it's killing me.

The songs of your heart
Their mellow undertones
and quiet longings
as well as the small skips
where you have been broken,
those little lapses in music
that you hope no one hears
All these things
Harmonize so well
with my own heart's song
my silent desire for peace
and companionship
my Fiery interludes
calmed by your steady, sweet melody
and the cracks in certain places
that we both avoid
You needle over me
and understand
even when all I can muster
is a desperate squeak
or silence.
Together we could make
such beautiful music
whether the tempo be
fast, or slow.

The masses whirl
My head spins with all the colours
The reds the blues
Everyone smiling and happy
And yet I feel alone.
The masses don't touch me
And I don't touch them
I keep to myself
And they pretend I am not here.
I will never be a member of the masses
I am too withdrawn.

She has walked alone in darkness
so long that she cannot
recall how to match pace
with another.
Cannot walk with someone
even if they hold a light
even if they are a light.
She cannot trust them
to keep her safe
in the darkness.
She knows what it feels like
to walk all alone in darkness,
to touch souls,
but not to be touched in return.

Alone she walks with her head held high.
In one hand she holds her shoes
holds her worries.
In the other she holds tightly to her dreams
She is wordlessly mouthing
the song of cement.
The pavement is warm against her soul and her soles.

Eyes open, looking but not seeing
only one foot in front of the other
and nothing else matters.
She could walk forever this way,
singing softly,
the song of cement.
The pavement is warm against her soul, and her soles.

Past accusing eyes, and judging grins
She walks forward, in whatever direction suits her,
On any given day she will disappear for a while
her voice building up
the song of cement.
The pavement warm against her soul, and her soles.

Moving no quicker than her thoughts will allow,
a single step at a time
or all at once.
She wanders wherever thoughts and feet can take her.
She is shouting now,
the song of cement.
The pavement is warm against her soul and her soles.

I put my war paint on
I wear the stripes
and I carry my sword.
I pick up the pieces
every day
I march on.

In reality I am
a village
burned to the ground.
Behind closed doors
I am a causality of war.

Yet come sunrise,
I pack up my sorrows,
I march on.

At least I'm writing again
even though it's sloppier
than kindergarten scribbles.

At least I'm writing again
even if it's darker
than a moonless January night.

At least I'm writing again
even if it's not
easing any pain.

After her heart
had been broken
one last time,
she promised herself
Never again would she let
some boy
with his head up his ***,
sweep in and woo her.
She promised herself that
she would turn off feelings of love
ignore them,
like a tired mother ignores
a screaming child.
She promised that she would never
let some boy break her heart,
never let some  boy even come near
her heart.
She decided to lock her heart away
but then when she wanted it,
she found it was no longer there.
So she wanders, empty and unfeeling
with a hole where her heart used to be.
She learned that a broken heart
is better than being heartless.

The hand that penned those words was mine,
but the soul behind them
the crimson flame and silver tongue that spoke them
isn't me anymore.

I'm not her;
Hell I'm barely me.
I remember her
in the way one remembers a long lost friend.
Distantly  and with fond thoughts.
Those words are no longer my words
for I am not that soul.
I am a shell of who I was.
A broken, tired, warrior fought too long.
I've lost her hope her happiness.
I've watched  her dreams die.
I've given up everything she wanted.
I've changed

I don't know who I'll become  or where I'm going
but I'm not her anymore.

Part of me desires
to be known,
understood,
loved.
Part of me wants
to have someone,
someone to come home to,
someone I can tell all my woes.
Part of me knows
I deserve love,
knows I am a good person
knows that there is someone
somewhere who could love me.

and yet, when I am alone,
Part of me hates myself,
thinks I am never good enough.
Part of me doesnt even
want to try anymore at finding
my whoever.
Part of me has given up,
wont let me pick myself up
to carry on.
Part of me cries myself to sleep,
feels empty inside,
and has no will
to accomplish anything.

I am in love with places
I have never been
Places I may never go.
I long for a man
I do not know
A man who may not exist at all.
I give myself
as friend
as companion.
I crave love
affection, passion.
My heart is full of these things
and yet, I am empty.
My soul calls out for something
that I cannot
bring to words.
I am sound of body and mind
and yet,
I am broken.

The things you say
have impact,
great or small,
every word that leaves your lips
can hurt or help.

Squeeze out all the toothpaste
the tube.
It made a mess didnt it?
now put it back in
the tube.
you cant?

Words are like that,
once you say something
you can NEVER take it back
no matter how
big of a mess it made
or how hard you try
to fix it.

The torturous insomnia
gives way to nightmares
that chill her to the bone
and the nightmares break
leaving her empty and depressed
and she lies in the crushing darkness
sleepless and terrified.