Red is for the blood split.
Three drops; no more, no less.
Plucked upon a roses thorny edge.

Down

Drop

They

Drop

Tumbled.

Drop

­A stark contrast against the blanket of the whitest snow.
A wish was all it took,
For a spell had been woven through true loves magic.

The Queen belly, twas ripe with babe--
A princess-
skin white as snow,
lips red as glittering ruby's
and hair black as nights coal.

Her name:
Well Snow White, of course.
Or so the legend has told.

For what comes next is quite tragic.
For all magic comes with a toll;
An equivalent exchange:
a life, for a soul.

The babe was born on the morning rays, as for told.

With skin white as snow,
lips red as glittering ruby's
and hair black as nights coal--
For the Queen's last wish held true.

But for the King,
He grieved his sorrow for his lost beloved.
His happily ever-after crumbled throughout his kingdom-
like a wicked plague itself.

A Witching Queen rising in the true Queens place.
A evil stepmother-
for sweet innocent Snow White.

This vain diabolist, weaved her dark spell.
A magical looking glass-
appeared in front of her face.

"Magic mirror on my wall
Who is the fairest of them all"

The enchanted piece of glass
swirled and looped and then spoke.

"My Queen,
you are full of fair,
it is true,
but on this day
Snow White is fairer than you"

With a mighty jealous roar-
this Evil Queen called for her Huntsman.
To **** the one that might dare, to be fairer, then she--

Snow White's heart in a box
was the bounty!
because in the end the child needed to die.
For no one was fairer then the vainest of the Queens.

But you see:
The Huntsman of this Baneful Queen,
could not **** one such as sweet and fair as
the one know as:
Snow White.

A deer's heart,
is what is sent back in the Queens box;
But what became of dearest Snow White, you say?

Well: She went to live in the woods,
A small tiny cottage,
with seven little dwarfs.

What are their names, you ask?
Lets see:
There is--

Blick
&
then there is,
Flick
don't forget,
Glick
or then,
Plick,
wait a second.
Don't forget about,
Snick,
&
Whick,
and most important,
Quee.

And if you do not know them by these names,
what about:
*****,
Then Grumpy
Doc,
&
Happy
Sleepy and
Sneezy,
don't forget about,
Bashful.

They protected their fair Snow White,
from the Hideous Queen.
And for two year-
they kept her safe.

Until:
The Evil Queen conjured her magic,
and when the enchanted mirror gleamed back at her,
she queried--

"Magic mirror on my wall
Who is the fairest of them all"

The enchanted piece of glass
swirled and looped and then spoke once more.

"My Queen,
you are full of fair,
it is true,
but still too this day,
the young Queen,
is a thousand times fairer than you"

The Queen knew she had been tricked--
A wicked plan had been struck.
A old hag hid the Queens' face well.

Red is the color of ripened apple,
disguising the greenest of deadliest poison.
One bite: was all it took.
Snow White, asleep for all times.

But you see,
All magic comes with a toll.
And a true loves kiss, broke the spell.

This is a story about over coming the greatest of evil.
A reminder:
the light will always prevail.

I can taste it.
The sour-tang of anger staining my tongue.
It's a flavor that really sinks in.
This nasty, awful taste of diminishing rage.  

Swallow the good,
does no good.
It only disguises my mood.

This, festering negativity of a no-good mood.

Time.
A
fickle
thing,
indeed.

Neither here
Nor there.

But
somewhere
always
in
between.

In a world full of black and white.

Where not a soul could be bothered within their mundane ways.

There was a single girl, shining in full blasted, techno-color.

In this world of dark hues of haunting shades.
Vacant entity's, refuse to look up from scurrying feet.

Day in and out, they mooed like cattle.

But not the vibrant Crayola girl.  

For all she had to do was look up,
and she could see her rainbow arching in the clouds.

While everyone else, passed her by.

There's a ghost in my house.
Rattling handles on every door.

Throwing stones through the windows.
Sending shards to the floor.

The front door opens,
I'm escaping out the back.

The walls run red.
Striped in my ****** sins.

I cry... "Ghost... A ghost, in my house,
a haunted memory in sheets of white."

But I'm told, it's all in my head.
Given an oval pill to wash it away.

Lying in bed,
the moans and groans
start again.

I have a ghost in my house.
Not a figment of my imagination.

A ghost who rattles handles
into the dead of night.  

A ghost of white sheets
and fading memories.

A ghost
of my past offenses and greed.

The fairys laugh in their play-
letting the sugary pollen flutter onto pale lashes,
with their pixie dust drifting into the darkest of ashes.

I'm going to lay back down,
Amongst the fleeting flowers.
For I swore I saw the remedy,
Hidden with in your golden heart.

Alast, I could have it wrong.
Was it not you, who dare to tell me, "be brave".
But is it not your spent heart,
at her feet as the blackest of ashes.

Glittering fairy dust, could not hide the ruins.
For evils wicked had already been undone.

A curse; a curse, upon your wretch soul.

Sweep the cinders in a coffer-
Lock them under key,
Cover your tracks.
Hide the way.

I forgive thee:
I do, I really do.
But please, my love.
Leave.
For if not, she will find ye--
And it will hurt only me.

Hurry forth now, The witch sends her huntsman.
The howls, I hear them dancing on the winds.

Run.
Do not look back.
But please, my dearest of dears, forget me.
As I have forgiven you--

Now go: A thousands I loves you.
Leave me be.

Even through my flooding gates of pain.
I could still appreciate how unbelievable green his eyes truly are.

It’s easy to lie to yourself when you’re so debilitated. It something to come to terms with; to turn a half-truth into a reality.

I dream of you,
A dream in shades of blue and gold.
The color scheme is what calls to me.
A prisms within its own world.  
As the Partial beam,
deems me ready for the comet stream attached to you...

I dream of you,
like a melodic theme.
A gleam of hope, held within a world of downward slopes.
A helpful reminder, you redeem me.
Supreme among other musicians.
You are a song of musical theme.
Clean and creamy, with a side-ward gleam.

I dream of you,
in shades of greens and aquamarine.
A mind of calculating machinery.
I dream of you, and I know what is true.

I love you, with a world's eye view.

The cobwebs were hanging in the corners of the room.
While I'll confess I was lost within the masquerade,
of a dance full with the intent of death;
swirling till we sung with how to die alone.

In our ballroom, is what I need;
Step by step; unassumingly.
I'll wait for you there, locked in our rhythm.
I'll wait for you there, till time stands still.

And on death row, I will continue on with a smile.
My mask molding into my face-
Like the harlequin, dancing endless steps-
slipping down the path of the pagan.
I will pray to the god's and anyone listening.
To return me to my heavens.
To a place, I'll recall;
wasn't I just there---

In our ballroom, is what I need;
Step by step; unassumingly.
I'll wait for you there, locked in our rhythm.
I'll wait for you there, till time stands still.

And on I dance, until the days were done.
And then, there I sat with regrets...
Cobwebs hanging over shattered glass.
All the things I've never achieved...
For all I've done, for all I've been.
**In dreams until my death, I wonder on.

A storybook written deep within the glimmering sand,
the simple message displayed in between sunshine infused ink drops.

Drip
and
a
Drop.

Down
they
flopped.

Night descends; and all is lost.
Destroying everything acquired.
The glory of the lore gone;
gone to being expired.
The moon's ink was a tad bit darker,
A different story, altogether.

Heathens
and
Demons;

Down
they
go.

Well, just until the sun rises...

And out befalls the sunshine,
white ink drops plunging down upon
the glittering grains of finely attuned glass.
The storybook saved, until the next moonfall.

"I'm not mad."

Narrator: She was angry. And maybe even a little resentful.

Don't give up.
I said looking upwards.
It just the weight of the world,
bringing your tender heart down.

If their word corrupts you into silence,
I'll be the one to break that vow for you.

Don't give up.
It's just your hurt,
you're trying to hide.
Because I know, you want to burn bright.
Even in the darkness.
I'll be looking towards your light.

Misunderstood,
but don't give up.
Everyone needs to be heard.  

When your hearts heavy,
remember, I'll be there
lifting it for you.

I can hear you,
little miss understood.

Don't give up.

....
...
..
.
Till the moment he concedes to his worries, shame and fears.

He is finally free of the mermaids den. Effervesce ripples around him,
on the journey to the surface.
Deliverance echoes through him as he crests the waters edge.

He has made it.

Coughing up his panic. He breaths deeply; the power of patience and
perseverance.

He is alive.
and
He is free.

....
...
..
.

....
...
..
.

--And there he lays on the  ocean floor. Surround by all his misgivings and uncertainties. Jagged rocks like daggers in his back. They whisper a malicious sirens song.

"Rest," They sing a sweet love song.
"Rest and all will be well again."
All the while, he continues to bleed.

....
...
..
.

A vast and empty sea of despair circles from every side of his life. With waves of panic, insecurity, and shame lapping, every now and then, at the bottom of his rickety raft of lucidity keeping him afloat.

....
...
..
.

....
...
..
.
--The waters swells around him, drowning him in panic as it rushes into his mouth. He can't breath. Insecurity sets in as the shame descends into his lungs. The sea swallows him whole.

One bite.

down; down; down,

into the cavern below.
....
...
..
.

....
...
..
.

Will he continue to be buoyant? Onward in a grey sea of tedium and apathy? His rickety raft held together with persistence alone. Weaved, hitch-after-stitch, until it all falls apart.

....
...
..
.

I asked for the truth,
and you shapeshifted to sleuth,
crawling on your belly,
you simply misconstrue
an irrefutable, objective verity.

Tried and true, misunderstanding
what is out of your view.

Standing and demanding
but never understanding the variable,
to which not all lives,
will play out
the same way.

Mortals may think that death is the finally ending.
For you, my love; it's merely the beginning.

He's an angel
fallen from grace.
I'm a demon
ascending to the
peak of infinity.

Could we ever coexist together,
out in the harmonious grayscale?