i knew it,
after that dream that I cried
because you left me,
i knew that you'll do it.
And you did it,
and you will always will.

small chill sets through past& present
tides' turns; although, somehow, i've been
sweating more, lately. nerves, or insides
slowly lit& spread. but, if you truly
were wildfire (and, sometimes, you
are), i'd stay the kindling that i am,
anyway.
                   the light and
length of days
                              shuffle,
as normal steps, in this adjoining dance,
and i try not let it show but,
im still feeling the same.
still aching and burning.
little shivering hope, sat by a
little wavering candle, whispering:
you might change your
mind, but
people seem to stick to
their songs, and
i'm not quite sure if
you'll change your tune in time, but

i still adore you, so
i'll just keep waiting,
for now.

but i can walk around, having
written all the angles between
streets in the ravines in
my skin. and i can still
stare at the sky, from hilltops,
and know maybe the world doesn't
have to carry so much meaning or
get dizzy whilst spinning or even
notice that,
in its silhouetted waltz,
the moon, brilliant& alight, is quietly
headed out to sea.

so many feel
not enough sleep
picking up the puzzle pieces
    and quickly throwing them
back down             farther away
    where i become oblivious
        to what had happened
              the night before..
                                  
                     ­              i woke up lying
                                      in a bed of roses
                                          crushed shoulders
                                 and numb fingertips
                                i sworn it had been
                            a humble beginning
                                      her sweet voice
                                            of calming
                              with that glazed over
                                   look in my eyes
                        she plucks at petals carefully
                              with expert precision

apart from lacking in
any real sleep
    it as in the fire
was nothing but
a prickly cactus
            a stone hedge maze              mirage

She trips and falls into my path, overeager
with bright smiles and a kindness she tries
to conceal.

The first time we met she fell into
my bed on the pretence of stealing
music and laughter.

Persistent she hovers on the edge of my
life, ready to invade, for a time, whenever
invited.

She has soft skin and hands that are
engulfed by mine; a quiet voice that
falters when shouting.

I wonder if she has other men, who
too extend the right to stay only
for a while.

I wonder if she likes it. And I wonder
of the hesitation that drops
from my skin to hers.

Little maidens, when you look
On this little story-book,
Reading with attentive eye
Its enticing history,
Never think that hours of play
Are your only HOLIDAY,
And that in a HOUSE of joy
Lessons serve but to annoy:
If in any HOUSE you find
Children of a gentle mind,
Each the others pleasing ever--
Each the others vexing never--
Daily work and pastime daily
In their order taking gaily--
Then be very sure that they
Have a life of HOLIDAY.

Underneath the moon, in the sea.
The only place away from chaos, in peace.
Plunging downward into the deep.
To extinguish this burning flame in me.
There isn't true life without death.
Death of the old me.
Sensing awareness in each breath.
I just want to go away in peace.
Underneath the moon, in the sea.
This is the place to be.
Although I feel this life isn't for me, I have to believe in something or else I'll fall for anything.
I've never lived before.
Eternity spent, soul locked beneath the floor.
Realization seeps into my pores.
This is the calm before the storm.

The view of the shore.
What does life mean anymore?
On the land, I'm feeling so restless and my confidence is so scarce.
Burning heart, I'm selfless and conscienceless, but these dreams help me to bare.
There is goodness with you to spare.
Ignorance polluting the air.
So I'm underneath the moon, in the sea.
Embody the art within the.

I'm not living nor am I dead,

Simply laying on a stretcher bed,

I hear voices above my head,

the sound of tears being shed,


I feel my mother grasping my hand,

rubbing my skin against my medical band,

I hear the docter's words in my head,

Waiting for a response, a movement, or a simple breath.


The machine no longer sounds the beats of my heart,

It's monotone, continuous, with no end,

My mother's warmth is ripped away from my lifeless hand,

She screams and I hear it fade as she's pushed away from my bed,

I reach for her but my body does not do what I command,

it lays still, peaceful, like the dead,

but i'm alive trapped within my own head,

I'm screaming, crying, wishing they would understand,


I try to calm my mental stress,

but then heard electrical wiring,

and began to panic within
                                             once again,

the metal plates were placed against my chest,

in attempt to resuscitate, revive, and bring back my soul, once again


There were seconds of silence,

not a single breath,

until the sound of the machine beeping,

That's when my eyes flickered open, once again,


- Izzy **