Each betrayal sits with me on my shoulder.
It whispers its toxic shame into my ear,

Thin frame, frail mind, and heart light as a feather.
I slowly come to accept that death is near

My mind blocks the memory of you,
Without my meaning it to.
Subconscious defenses
protect me from feeling pain,
But after each wheel you slashed
from my racing heart,
I know I am not the same.

I feel like a hollow tree that holds it's shape but is dead within,
An outward appearance to keep and maintain,
While other creatures inhabit my skin

I don't know who I am anymore. And if I tried to reclaim a chance at life, I don't think I would win.

Ivy sprouts from the ground
fertilized by human decay.

Eyes grow, and the plants see,
legs ripen, and the greenery
walks among us.

Carnivorous, they feed
on strictly human meat.
They are Nature's punishment
for humanity's destructive greed,

But they are also Her salvation
and grounds to plant new seeds,
which promises the future
a second chance to breed, hopefully,
life that lives wholly for the benefit of Earth and Sea.

There is no love for me in here. When I peer my Eye inside all I find are empty spaces.
I never hoped for this outcome,
but sometimes (frequently, often), I find myself with only one option.
My Spirit is frail and exhausted, but it is not for that reason that this is the path I have chosen (accepted).

It is because I am an organism that cannot control my heart's bitter intent to hurt those who have hurt me.

Knowing what is to come, selfish undeserved tears drift over the crevices of my well-rounded cheeks.
And it is the spark of that selfishness that has allowed me to see: I should not exist.

Not if I have allowed something cold and dark that chases desire to settle within my chest.
Not if my intent cannot remain pure and always for the positive growth and development of the World rather than the ego.
When mine was tested and tried, it proved not to.

Because the pieces of me that fought so long and hard for a worthless cause have lost their flame, I will feel nothing until the end.

The ensemble plucked their violins,
blew their clarinets,
and struck their triangles at opportune times.

The music vibrated throughout the theatre,
winding between the pews and pillars
to reach the ear of every soul present.

The seats hummed to the deep strums of the cellos,
every pitch of the clarinets bounced from the decorated walls:
the sound encompassed the great room.

The stage was gracefully lit to expose each musician at work.
Amid the soft yellow lights were figures robotic men,
slave to the script that they no doubt strained for hours to learn.
As for their appearance, they wore matching white,
curly powdered hair wigs.
Looking akin to the hair on George Washington's head!

But despite the rather humorous display, none could argue
that the music that splayed from their steady hands
was anything short of exquisite.

Well...except for my dear old Aunt Floyd.

"Awfully quiet in here," she exclaimed.

The forlorn night of the moon is born,
the light of the sun gives to it birth.
What lives in the dark of the shadow,
cannot be burned by the flames of the sun,

Lest nature is to be denied its grace
and Chaos is to roam free.
Though, there is room on Earth for both
darkness and light to roam within their bounds.

Earth's heart to beat life into the vein
It's mind to hold death in its will
It's palms to tend the wounds of its flesh;
to give life anew,
and the soles of its feet
to wander again in death's valley.

The presence of the day cannot here touch ground
All the same, the shadow cannot reach the mountain's peak
Earth knows what boundaries to put in place
and it is Nature that obeys them.

But it is humanity that denies Nature its right.
We breed Chaos within the wind that blows
Spreading misfortunes around Earth's sphere.
Our wars and will to dominate life within and without our kind
famine the land of its native prosperity.

Earth screams that it's palms cannot keep up;
Cannot heal the damage done in time for more to be done
But humanity, ever burning with primal hostility,
willfully ignores its call to peace.

We burn in the shadow, and chill in the light of day
Offset the balance of Nature, and live selfishly
as the moon in the forlorn night burns clear,
and the sun in the opportunistic day is snuffed out.

The lights flickered so quickly
I almost thought I merely
blinked.

But my eyes, I'm sure, were open
And I felt a presence foreign;
ghost

The cup slid so subtly
I might have missed it, surely
except,

It was already
so close to the edge
that it fell
and
broke.

The sound of shattered glass
sounded so sharply
I almost thought it cut me,
not ghost;

poltergeist.

And it showed me
that it was not yet
satisfied.