For my best friend, Naomi

like yellow flowers
on faded dreams
you came to me
gently,
with the soothing voice
of a sweaty spring
thank you, old friend
for being able to be
dark enough to see
the hidden light
in me

i will not go into the times we shared
asphyxia and summer air
juxtaposed to form
an inseparable pair

who am I, old friend
when the ship´s horn blares
if you made me who I am
(if you made me scarce)

like yellow flowers
on faded dreams
you left me
softly, without
any warning of
the lack of color
(there would be)
without your splendor

Did you hear about the small boy
Who smiled...
In the pouring rain ?
Legend has it, he was an angel from God
That got soaked with change.
Some people say
He only can been seen
When you walk by faith..
Oh what an amazing sight to see !
A small boy, wanting a Man's strength...

©MH

I never understood,
Why I was going through so much pain..
I was a absent minded, quiet boy who finally steped up and speaked,
Got laughed at by all my peers,
So I sat down, in defeat.
Hypnotized in silence thinking about how words is now my number one fear.
Sticks and stones may break your bones
But words can NEVER hurt me ?
It can crush you, maybe not physically
Mentally, it felt like a heavy handed, boxer's punch
Hitting my soul in the 1st round
And he's down for the count.
1...
2...
3...
4...
5...
6...
7...
8...

-I get pulled out of class before the bell rings.


©MH

The countenance of her throne
epitomizes the state of her soul,
and this countenance I shall describe
but only to who may tolerate the details
of its most uncanny existence.

A clique of stallions
gallop about in a nauseating blur,
their red eyes glowering under
the amber light descending from
an ominous sliver of moon,
its mere presence prompting on
the inversion of the stars
and the curled screeches of
the morbid beasts
whose fur hangs darker than
the trembling eye of Hell.

Atop one lacerated saddle
rides Her Majesty--
The Queen of the Circus,
deranged like the specimen
she keeps in her company.
And,
with every cacophonic rise
of the carousel,
she howls,
her ******* cries as primal as
the stallions' untamed whinnies.

She bites her lip until
she can taste blood
(and ***),
throws her hands to her temples
in ****** wistfulness--
pale limbs encompass teased hair
where decomposing acorns
(rotten kisses)
and bouquets of Nightshade
reside amongst the tangle
of Medusa-Esque curls,
amongst large, brown eyes
that sparkle gold under
the cursed heavens
which have been simultaneously
pleasured and scandalized
by the sight of her bare *******
clinging to sheer leotard,
by the sight of her body swaying
round the rusted poles that
have sunk themselves into the horses' skulls
like a ring sinks round
a glass bottle
or a lover's finger.  

Of course, Her Royal Darkness
is more than just a Circus Queen.
She, indeed, entertains
a grand variety of morbid hobbies;

She is a Fire Eater
{spitters are quitters};

Grave Digger
{she dances the Charleston atop
treasure chests of bones and
bones with carnival mobsters};

Crystal Ball Prodigy
{reading palm | l|i|n|e|s | like
p
o
e
t
r
y};

Ring Mistress
{**** or ****,
purr or bite--
what shall it be?};

Acrobat
{knees perched above shoulders,
a man's mouth between her legs};

Ventriloquist
{"I'll steal your breath away, darling."}


Why yes!

She is a Jaqueline of all trades.

"Pick a card! Any Card! ..."

"Is this your card? ..."

A heart is drawn,
cleaved between her teeth,
each pulse of vein
a magnificent drum beat
against her tongue.
With the blood of her prey--
juices as thickly sweet
as candy floss--
she marks her territory,
parades her ****--
a pink handprint
smeared across the hide
of each stallion.

"What dizzying artistry...
how lovely--
how...insane,"
she laughs,
each high pitched giggle
a homage to the maddening  musings
of her soul
(and her throne.)

The mythful, innocent, fresh,
Painful,
Reflection of the foolishly isolated,
Stubborn,
Passionately light, sea
Cleansed my condensing soul and lure me to
Its royal seat,
In its authoritarian pride.
To its greatness;
To my desperate need;
Instead of a fulfilling admiration,
I struggled, in all anxiety,
To leave an eternally visible trace,
A scar,
A mean,
In the order in front of my almost fearful
Sight.
Though, all is lost:
As I stomp my helpless hope in the soft,
Ignorant,
Lifeless, seeds of sand
The sadly benighted,
Or, rather,
Merciless,
Fluid,
Took in, in its reign,
The task of erasing,
Tracelessly, my deeds.
Leaving me with meaningless existence,
Waiting to rot and vanish, down further deep