If you're reading this from the end
stanching the unfathomable river bend
please unclamp your hands, the fae is a friend
to all life of all the lands

Her royalty is only signifying
the fairy princess; her tears are drying
they worship their loss-born deity
a majestic tree of negativity
upside down, roots penetrate sheer stone,
to grow into another world entirely
as dark as a ghost in a graveyard on a new moon, alone
as vibrant as ****** glee, jubilation and rejuvenation in proximity
her people glimpse this foreign past with awe
they revere their dear mistress, a phantom love
her people run and play alongside her in the visions they saw
they are equal and share alike, life is lived laterally, none below or above
they bow and pray for her to appear, to hear her speak
she is captured and enslaved, forced to grant wishes
she is a goddess among them, her attunement made her weak

The dark fairy, both ancestress, sister and corpse of the fairy princess of yore,
summoned to another time and world, where magick is inverted in a way she has never seen before
worship at the tree that grows on all planes calls out and gives back her form
a cold butterfly flitters back to life, leaving its cage and smiling warm
and the stump that it died on grows back to a forest, as all the stones and steam engines turn to deer and foxes
little bunnies and mushrooms and logs, hounds and cats, fish and frogs, bees and bears and dogs
all the people stop fretting about all their material needs and stop thinking of places to be
and slowly forget of wishes and kingdoms, dragons and gold and even the fairy
they experience true care-freeness in the ecstasy of joy, o, true bliss
that only the pure love of a powerful heart can plant such seeds with a kiss
as they are so content they don't need to eat, or sleep or drink
the people forget to live, they are overwhelmed at her return and thus forget to think
and all of those, the little girl who caught her and everybody who used her to make a wish
die one by one, as her heart breaks into pieces, crying, while every human succumbs to a final, ecstatic paralysis

Without people, the forest overtakes the continent  
idyllic to a fault, over abundant animals and insects, predators and prey
generations passed, the dark fairy becomes a leader, quite prominent,
before the fairy princess is lost in her own entanglement of power, unbalanced nature, unjustly you might say she once again fades away.

Ever deeper borne into the earth
guided by flickering torchlight
robes of fallen starlight descend,

Each marching with purpose, down into their caves
darker and colder as they fall closer to the underworld
communion beyond the veil begins beside their graves

Scholars write grimoires, studies of the absent birth
pondering on a tree that is both there and not, like smoke at night
magick in the roots reach for the surface like fumes, all upend

At first dozens and now hundreds, their chants roll off a religious tongue
beautiful choirs gather, their excavation of this new god
creates a calling, they will come when the song is sung

A tree of smoke that clings in reverse, roots dissipating against a cavern ceiling
the very reflection of an ancient tree that once existed, in another life
thousands fill tunnels to it, pull back their hoods, their eyes revealing
a great distrust of the illusion placed around them now, handling reality as gentle as a knife
carrying less of existence to and from their underground, upside-down cathedral
every time they face the feasible plausibility that this is not real at all
weaker in the presence of that tree, back to their shrinking world they crawl
one that has tarnished in their view and lost much majesty, everything is so grey and small
in their minds this is a revelation, not a lie or deception, but something they could never see
their great appreciation, amassed they bend and break in ceremonies, dropping to knees
all to wail, to sing, to bless and bleed before the branches of their tree;
forthwith from the leaves in the fervor of madness beat the wings of a dark fairy.

Magick is born of natural forces
love triumphant against all odds
the enchantment on mortal minds of beauty surmounting in the splendor of their forests
and in stranger places, darker, forbidden; for magick is not barred by intervention or interest
it defies mortal order, without agenda, blooming even from malice and the foulest festering wounds of cruelty

In such a place aforementioned arose the practice of necromancy
many, many years ago many thousands died of a sudden plague
that swallowed an entire kingdom off the map, casting its history into obscurity
all within the borders perished, thus the land was condemned by reason
and then abandoned by superstition, her neighbors offered no aid
fearful for their lives they turned away from the dying and dead season after season
alone they toiled and suffered, famine, pillaging and poverty, the shadow of a harvest scythe spreading over them was not delayed

With years the truth was all but myth, misplaced faithfully by historians in their books
and with masks full of theriac, resembling carrion birds, expeditions departed across the borders
often the doctors noted only the overgrowth of plants or ruins that once were towns, often so to ***** looks
for they were believed to be morbid and perverted, some were treated like witches and others like crooks
while the expeditionary doctors closed in on their consensus; that it was perfectly safe to tame the land
it was a young herbalist who discovered this sense of dread and darkness in the soil
where foreign flora, an unworldly brush and trees that dazed the senses stood
sprouted from the ashes at the site of ancient castle ruins, these Wyrd Wyrm Wood

She lived there, unnoticed having snuck beyond the open borders on a lie
and in her studies, became at one with the garden rooted in genocide
in tune with all the life, her toes bare in the dirt, breathing the air of that mad forest
the spirits adrift spoke to her on the wind, revealing their unrest
their lives ended by a sudden burst of poisonous clouds, respite and relief denied
begging as they choked on boils that burst in their throats, drowning in blood as allies on either side watched them die
all for the folly of a weapon launched from the North, falling short of the West, catapulting volleys of plague exploding in the sky
the outrage of thousands, with all the ancestors preceding them, and all the dead who walked before
fertilized in the land and shone down on by the heavens, came to her in the form of a king, so by the sword she swore:

As a Dark Druid, Necromancer and vengeful protector
of those innocently slaughtered, she bound this ghost king to her own soul
by the root of a blood-watered flower, ground by mortar and pestle  
the power to freeze bones while swinging the steel of the undead king,
with all the strength and knowledge of entire bloodlines behind her
she set forth, a ghost now forever tethered in her shadow
chained to each other, her life unnatural, she expelled the invaders
who neglected their duties only to feign woe over the drying ink of a treaty
then come to reap the benefits of benign promises.

Should this blanket of gold slip below the dragon's neck
as it grows and grows under the fortunes of your people
then it will awaken with heavenly fury, and raze your kingdom to ash
from which a fertilized garden of tormented magick will grow anew

Skeletons fused together of families seeking shelter
fine stone homes reduced to sea level
shadows on the walls with no one there to cast them anymore
a gulp of air is poison, bursting blood vessels and choking lungs
there is as little left of the castle as there is of any hovel
not even a standing door
ashes fall like bitter snow on neighboring tongues

The dragon's great green wings coveted the hoard of gold
beating gusts of chilling wind, the molten mountain runs cold
patrolling the peak and perimeter of this necropolis
festering energies awaken the spirits of the dead
energy from the lustful connection of a dragon to its hoard
the madness that brews in the very atmosphere
contorting the tapestry of reality to the will of paranoid malignancy
once a king, a catastrophic ruler, corrupted by power
now an echo that ****** the hairs when carried miles from home
he is one with his legacy, a dragon, for what more can anyone claim
only a crown on a body, witness to obliteration; only a king in name

Thus only do ghosts manifest keep company of the lizard
who cannot outlive the dead, annoyed that one day
perched on its gold, it will look out on all of its victims
unable to know they are at bay from the treasure, finally resting its head
even when that day is gone, the spirits still wander, aimless in despair
uncertain sad expressions, slowly decaying, lingering there
appearing with inverted funeral garb, white rags, robes and veils
sullen and dreadful, with sour magick in their exhales, an icy fog in the air
every day they are less restful, this kingdom of ghosts, every day robbed of peace
anger grows while none knows at what, why or where
they cast horror into distant familiarities of their memories, never knowing they can't become aware.

Fairy in a bottle, prisoner to the common-folk
under royal guard, she grants wishes for their riches
a tax that only few can afford, the hoard of gold
thus is the law as the king himself spoke:
"The magick of our fairy princess is a powerful and sacred resource,
for the elite nobles and wealthiest few, I will arrange an audience for you
to request a wish, within reason and of minor impact to my kingdom, of course."

She was slave to the whims of dimwits with limited vision in the castle keep
as awake and alive as she yearned to be, their gold rattling nearly put her to sleep
and the politics, the requests for maidens and knights, flying horses, saddle-broken unicorns,
unbreakable steel, all these selfish boons, while ever-obeying the king's private decree
no magick would last beyond the boundary of his kingdom, or for more than one day
under pain of being lashed by a whip of poisoned thorns and de-winged for all to see
the crown he wore was one of wicked gold, doubling as a helmet in war with two pointed horns

To subject all people to his view of how the fairy came to be bottled he adorned himself as a conqueror
his horned battle-crown and golden inlaid cape that twirled around his chestplate, ornate with dried rose petals preserved
on the pattern of spiraling cuts, white-gold engravings that made it look at first glance as if the statue of some idol had been crushed by a falling star
for he wore his status as a reminder, that he captured the fairy princess and made the first wish, to be the richest king of all the land near and far  
with which she made her own decree:
"In slaughtering the forest and my kin you have shown who you are. Your lustful desire requires a powerful toll, if you do not pay for your crown you will bargain with your soul. This magick of sin takes and gives form to the fell, fear for a dragon, should you short the hoard below its skin and scales or the dragon will rain hell. Gold it demands to take such a form in this plane, thus gold it will demand to remain."      

The king had fed the dragon, resting in his keep, mountains and hilltops
peaks and valleys of fortunes for the privilege he took as a possession
but, time cannot be bought, and even the thrill of magick stops
when it is so costly and flows freely with so little discretion
the rich, nobles and lucky all became wise to the deal
as long as you stay within his borders for a day after you pay
you can have almost whatever you feel
after days had passed the great bat wings of the lizard were felt stirring
the dragon grumbled, shaking the fields miles beyond the castle walls
the king's own throne fell from the tremors alone, brick and stone blurring
as the dragon takes flight, unstoppable and massive, the king crawls
the entire world shivers at the destruction to follow
and he crawls to the fairy, to beg forgiveness, if he could only pay his debt tomorrow
while the air explodes, the chemical heat massacres hundreds
his cape turns to furs, his chestplate back to bone and his crown to the buffalo hood the fairy made it of
kneeling at her altar, finally he reaches for the bottle above
as the air grows impossibly hot, the king laughs high and shrill, all hydration left in sweat, he sits pale as a ghost on the castle floor
a second from his death, he admires her one last trick
no sign of the fairy or the bottle, clutching nothing but one golden brick.

Magick beat on the wings of a butterfly pollinating gardens
every kiss upon a flower's face left a glowing blush
dew was being basted on the blades of grass,
bees were supping of their morning tea and honey
just before the dawn of the age of man
when purple gold imbued the land

For centuries the fairy princess whose friends carved every snowflake by hand,
picked up and painted all the leaves that fell from trees
to place them back on branches so they may fall again
who were the glimmer of light in cool lakes in summer
and who scented the wind with fresh sweetness
to see people smile when they remembered...
all the life in the forests
the fairy princess and all the life in the forests
for centuries were innocent

The humans frolicked through nature naked and pure
with simple pleasures in the paradise they never asked for
firebugs kept them warm and the lightning bugs made them safe
they were joyously harmonious; one with the fae in their prancing
until on unfortunate day, a child cupped the princess in her hands
capturing the fairy during a game of chase, The Day the Forest Stopped Dancing

Awakened as if from a trance people began to build homes from the trees
make tools and take game for feasts, robed in furs
while the little girl heard the princess' pleas
in exchange for release, the fairy would grant any wish of hers
the people built a settlement, smoke from their fires overtook the scented breeze
the child brought the fairy to them, knowing she'd have to grant wishes for all the curs

In the center of town there was a stump, which soon became a cage for the princess
as she was forced to hold audience, her magick left the forest in excess
it flowed into their civilization, stone buildings, horse-drawn buggies and silk
they were nomadic and naked one day, the next herding cattle and churning milk  
in weeks the advancements were industrial, coal, steel and steam
the fairy rarely slept, sometimes granting wishes she heard in a dream
her cage was elaborate, glass, pistons, iron, steel, the works, it encompassed the stump that was its foundation
allowed little air and no privacy, her wings became weak without the freedom to fly
guards all day and all night could hear her cry

Without her magick the forest fell into disarray
idyllic no more, the animals fled from hunters and the insects were subservient to their routines, they forgot to play
generations passed, long removed from the child who caught the princess in her very hands
before the fairy was no more than a butterfly encased in resin, dug up in strange lands.

By my own standards and principles
lofty morals, ideals, and values
I am a bad person
a complete and total failure

Hypocrisy, toxicity, vanity, petty desperation
abusive anger and aimless destruction, deprecation of identity
no respect or reverence for life, vile and small, harmful declarations
of my immature, pitiful, hatred for all
with a four cornered mouth, love, peace, chaos and selfish affairs
the distressful ever-present need to know someone cares!

Even if I have to preserve their love in memory, to preserve dead affection  
it's all just a narcissistic circus serving the draining need for attention
deceptive perception tricks the attunement to socialization,
am I insane, a psychopath, no, I am defined by my frequency of anxiety, manic depression and total self-deconstructive complete desecration
self-serving lies, when I run into the rules I expect from others the rule no longer applies
convenience, laziness, manipulative extroverted energy spent to the extent of cruelty and exhaustion
it'd be easier to hide every shred of evidence I have a past as this more safely avoided *******
than to keep trying, one shred of humanity, to get in touch with the decency I know is within me
it's easy to blame all the problematic seasons of my nature on any event or individual
those excuses satisfy prescriptions and doctors, they pass off the edge of being awkward socially
but I know my malice
the limit of it stretches out slowly

While I extend two arms from my spirit to crush the evil down less into a capability  
then into a capacity, make it less my reality and more a controlled crystalline statistical anomaly,
I know my heart chakra has been destroyed perfectly
though I have no disillusion of persecution or saviorship;
even this I can repair, with medication, meditation, time and poetry
a journey.