I do not write about the joys of life
Or the calm and gentle quiet of nature.
There is too much faked joy in the world.

I do not write about love and loss.
I dare not tug at the fragile threads
That bind old wounds in rememberance.

I do not write about worldly truths
And the fallacies that we are often told.
I have forgotten them ― outgrown.

I do not write about my thoughts
For fear that I cannot find the words to fit
And that my mind will soon consume me.

I do not write ― I bleed.

Your face,
is etched in my memory;
a beautiful portrait of colour,
to stay forever in this mind.

Your face,
keeps this man;
finding a need to love,
to carry on with passion.

Your face,
is more lovely now;
with each passing moment,
that reflects each passing day.

Your face,
surrenders to my kiss;
for my body and soul,
will belong to you, forever

Pour out the tears
From battered eyes
Into a rusted tin cup
Then forget about me
Because love betrayed
As it always seems to do
Leaving a grieving heart
In mourning, silently beating

Bold=Chris
                Italic=Tiffany

You are darkest beauty
Hunted by this frenzy
These aging, wizened eyes
Track you through the night
Prey for the predator

As for the creature feasts on the most unknown meal of all not the dark but thy light

Draining the sweet innocence
Hungry for the souls taste
But you stay just of reach
The closer to thy light
It burns at this darkness

The light shines with no effect upon thy dark but the dark shines no mercy but glory and hatred the dark predator gives to thy light

This creature feels only rage
Consumed at he can not have
Fury at what he can never be
For he never knew the angel
Of the darkest beauty in hiding

Thy angel of light bares to thy soul of thy darkest part of the creature of the dark exposes its true beauty and shines light on its pure light and the demon of darkness demolishes thy lights soul and the light shall stay nonimmortal while the dark overules the light and captures both sides dark and thy light both parish in a eruption of flames and disappear in a thin of smoke and never return to thy land of good and evil.


Collaboration by Chris Smith the dark poet
And Tiffany Gold

He is watching me,
Through the dust stained window
With his evil pumpkin head
Lit with an eerie candle glow
The axe from the shed,
Glints within the moonlight
This is no nightmare,
No dream,
For the beads of sweat are cold
I fear the tapping at the door
Then suddenly smashed to pieces
He is here now,
In this room
Raising that axe above my head
I close my eyes and tremble
Because I have no time to scream