she was drenched in darkness

so much so

that when the scarce source of light

shined upon her

she basked in its beauty

she was petrified

constantly,

and she still faced her demons

like she breathed air--

not with ease,

not with tranquility,

not because she wanted to--

because she had to

I paint with vibrant hues

in hopes the immense colors

will stain my hands

and seep into my soul

but

the tints always dull into shades

and I reverse to the nothingness

when she is alone at last,

she curses

and cries

and erupts into chaos,

for there is no one in the world

who would accept her madness

and still see the sanity

she made art

to unscramble

the tangled lines of madness

that screamed in her head

and to transfer the insanity

onto a canvas

that wore it better

she gravitated toward knowledge

much like

the moth to a flame,

and the flame that knowledge was,

it burned her

the scars of her yesterdays

would not allow her to see

the beauty in her skin of today

I had given up

on a place like Heaven

when I realized

that I was mistakenly placed

into the confines of Hell

and that my only savior--

the all powerful,

all giving,

and all merciful--

was a beautiful lie

I am quiet,

for I learned the hard way

that words fail me,

and my actions bring music

to the gaping silence

no one believed her

until she screamed

in agony

that she would gladly

trade Hells

with the Devil

at sunset

I can finally breathe

when I feel the colors of the sky

pour into the

dark, emptiness of my mind

she did not aim

to reach stars;

she aimed to escape

the ground

and to touch the sky