A horror movie scene as the heroine escapes.
Everything is still besides her convalescing breath and the distant, chasing wind.
Not a noise is heard except the fall leave's rattle and the birch wood's moaning bark in the moonlight.
Her body slouches into the protection of a lone shed, and shrouds itself in the aroma of cut grass.
A tense brow relieves and tired eyes close, thankful to receive the momentary peace.

A possible misstep turns the wary peace on end with the jagged cut of broken leaves. The once relieved brow now concedes surprise as wild eyes are cast towards an opaque barricade.
Sly pieces of garden equipment leash a weathered jacket in place as she attempts to stand.
A cackle is heard, a shriek undone.
To spite the brittle wood, the formulaic jump-scare-skeleton-hand bursts through the shed's solicitous walls, set to declare the last of a weary soul as his own.
The wind catches up and spearheads any hole it can find.
It begins whistling around the dim room like a tornado elated to havoc behind a castle's walls.
The tree bark howls, the leaves, now delight.
We learn there is no reprieve for a begging champion.
The camera backs out of the splintered hole, and pans over a silhouetted forest to face the waning moon.
The hero succumbs with muted screams to a gore far below and out of frame.

Our only closure, a black screen, with bright white letters, slowly scrolling up.


The end.

Lurid pressure in perfect hiding,

Heat rises amidst quiet timing.

Covers conceal fingers,
And skin conceals-

Well,

Only from the blinded.

Flitting breath from lungs to neck,

Begging tongue,
And baiting breast.

Tentative flesh,
Upon tentative flesh,

What comes next?

Anything I want,

If this is,

Yes.

Butterflies turn to moths in the drapery of your stomach.
They spread,
And the feast begins on the fabric lining the masonry of your summit.

Your satin sheets,
The place you come to cradle dreams.
Who knew,
Were vulnerable to these wing'd beasts.

It's three am.
You want the arms of a man you've never met,
It only takes a bit,
Nibbles on the neck,
Only takes a little lip,
To get a little wet.
Beach day soon,
Summer comes as soon as you do.

Pain or pleasure?
A poison picked,
A moment missed.

Ingested,
Until you're sick.

Every measure,
Enticed so quick.

Embraced,
Brick by brick.

Oh,
Hugs of concrete.

If there were a language for walls,

It would mumble,
Per broken jaws.
The sun would shine through fragmented holes,

A windows' lone goal?
To magnify heat,
Til' all was engulfed.

With confirmed dead inside,
None knock, as they've read inscribed:

"Family tree,
Difficulty,
Unavailable."

"Family business,
Buy one,
One comes free,
Fire wood sale."

This isn't him,
This can't be the face he's left here,
This isn't the face he's used to seeing,
Solidified in the mirror.
It can't be the current one,
Or even close,
It's not at all how he recalls from the ponds he's known.
Not the one admired,
On crystal clear days,
Or the one sang with,
Through some humming nights.
Maybe his memory is just fogged up,
Maybe this reflection is just blurry from the showers,
They'd have burned others skin.
Still this can't be the face.
Not with the potholes for eyes,
Waning moons for lips,
And cliches for brains.
Or maybe things,
Maybe they do just change,
Maybe sometimes somethings sink in the earthquakes,
And are never swam in again.
Maybe sometimes there's no hope for reversal, redemption,
Or some rectifying light to right what's left,
Only hope in surviving the new.
I guess that's all there ever was.
If only he had it sooner,
He would have thrived in the old world,
Found melodies in the days and more mirror-less memories for the nights.
Only then could things be better off,
Different.

I am the candle,
You are the flames,

I give you vision,
You give me strength.

You are the reason,
That I was made,

But if you get too close,
Then I'll melt away.

About the signs,
Red flags,
Or happy notes,
Scented mail-box-pine?

Did they explain in ways that you could hear,
Spell his name in your tongue for your ear,
Draw in the lines from his mirror?
Or was it fear?

The sketch artist quit long ago,
What was the crime,
What was the trouble?

Oil spill words,
Gold that chokes out the birds.
Thought we could be deep,
But only sip from the sea.
And into the bay,
I promise to only stain the sand,
Until you look away.

That boyish heart rescinds,
Others call it growth,
What of worth has he,
If not the love he's known?

Now here stands the man,
Or that is what's supposed,
Whatever happened to,
His storybook betrothed?

The way we touch no longer lingers,
With butterfly tipped and desperate fingers.
We kiss here on the dotted line,
Rent will pay in full on time.
This is not what he has read of love.
So simple to refuse,
The art of growing up.

Balcony perch,
Romeo's known role reversed,
Juliet below in harmonious search,
What's a name really worth?

Mental illness is like burning paper in the daylight.
You can hardly see the flame, but the pages disappear.

These nowhere towns,
Mountain tops snow-capped long through march,
All else,
Enshrouded in brown.

Though people live here,
And seems they aren't broken down.

The paint peels from the motel,
The mother tends to her daze,
The attendant ponders the insects of the sill,
Tumbleweed the only things, un-willing of being still.

Life is good here,
In these hazy,
Background,
Nowhere towns.

As this world degrades,
And we've had enough of the old ways.

I can only wonder what becomes,
After this new birth,
Decays.

I know this world's rules,
And those before,

And I may know of what comes next,

But I will not know what rules,
As they call the next of next,

The fool.

I wish to leave this place,
If only in mind,
The same way I save my self,
The same way I decline.

I may be all in black,
But promise inside is darker,
Haven't you ever heard?
Never judge a book by it's cover.

I avoid the ocean,
The waves may crush these bones-
I stay safe upon the shore.

Although I may have loved to swim,

At the beach,
My feet,

Remain in the snow.

I am not only some peaceful stream of the forest,
Twinkling beneath songbirds,
Watering romancing deer.

I am also the river that cuts through the mountain,
That carves the earth to better fit my ease.

The one bears dare not cross.
The cascading ire,
Raptors are unfit to tame,
With any bellow.

Men will come to know the rocky bottom,
And winding parts,
Men will come to know their helmets and life preservers,
Won't be salvation,
When I say that they shall drown.

One part calm,
Two parts storm,
Three parts shipwreck on the shore.

Four parts home,
More parts gone,
All parts missing the calm before.

Up and down and up, and down, all around and all over town. From the upwards of peaks to the lowest of streams, just listen to me and you'll find where you need to be. Just get through this creek, take your time and find peace, then you will learn how to follow your dreams.

Your thistle bush affections,
Vibrant feathers for the bait.
Carried by my sock,
And buried miles away.

We live in trees next to streets, of people we'll never be, always getting cold feet, instead of living life happily.

If we're talking taking risks and ignored advice.
When falling to your lips heard,
"Boy, better think twice,"
I asked if stars hurt the sky.
To grant a wish this longing kid;
In making yours and making mine,
Slipped and closed the distance between,
You and I.

I feel my spirit drift to yours,
It's not exactly a good thing, is it?
Do we know,
What it was,
All my colours,
And all of yours,
A blur,
A brown,
A morose.

I wish to learn all the curves of your lips,
How they lie,
How they taste,
How they pray,
How they take smaller creatures,
And convince them to stay.

Revenge is sweet. But really is it?
Anger is defeat, seems more realistic.

I liked how you talked once upon a time.
But beauty and the beast is black and white.
I'm an all or nothing kind of guy.
Guess I'm not really what you like.

Burnt matches for kindling.
Ashes with embers only painted orange.
Thought we felt a similar thing.
Cigarettes in the moonlight talk a lot more.

So it's over, I know you now,
A body is all you're worth.
So it's over, I know you now.
A little piece of heaven, tasting like dirt.
So it's over, I know you now.
If there's a crowd, you'll say the words.

Found out why you sit a lot by yourself.
Two trains of thought and mine's running out.
Away from you, I hope you're burning,
I won't feel those flames by the morning.

Burnt matches for kindling.
Ashes with embers only painted orange.
Thought that we felt a similar thing.
Cigarette tips in the moonlight talk a lot more.

So it's over, I know you now.
Just a girl.
So it's over, I know you now.
A backroom museum piece.
So it's over, I know you now.
No pictures, please.
No pictures please.

We have our whole lives to grow up,
And only so much,
To stay young.

It's a **** shame, how that happened, and how it is, was it magic? Or was it ****?

Marble skin,
Sculpted clutch,

Solid and tender,
To the touch.

Depth of character,
Length of reason,

A modern day Greek,
In exactly his season.

You tore us apart with all these lies,
I wonder if he'll be surprised,
When he finds what your honesty hides.

Passion as it waves.
Tidal breaking in and out.
Day time and it's long night.
I dread the coming drought.

If I don't speak while in tow,
If fish don't bite,
If I don't sink below,
If I don't see the blight.

Maybe in the morning,
There'd be light,
Anyways.

She's a model of imperfections,
Flaws fall on her face in ways that define grace,
She's a goddess without direction.
Her words encourage and lace dreams to a place you can reach if you just believed.
Her upper lip juts out a little too far so her teeth can clink yours in toast to good times when you kiss.
She's a little too short only so you can sweep her off her feet with a little more ease.

I have two blankets on my bed and I still get cold, guess I need someone in the night to hold.