When the frost
Started biting my nose,
And the ground
Was finally covered in leaves,
You came.

And for once,
Someone lifted me up -
Not from hell to earth,
But from earth to heaven.

And for once,
No one saved me,
For I didn't need to be saved,
Nor to owe anyone for it.

And for once,
The clouds bloomed,
And I let the rain fall,
And it washed away,
All that went before.

And for once,
The world was kind enough.

The sacrifice.
The pain.
Endless tears shed for nothing.
Caught between the blankets
In a panic room.

Suicidal, then asleep,
then manic-narssicistic.
Demanding, domineering,
Taking what you want
And chucking it away.

Force is not a virtue,
Nor is it a characteristic.
It's a curse, boy.
One I ought to break.

As I fold my final memory
Of my traumatic, desperate past,
I caress it, somewhat fondly,
Knowing it could never last.

It smells of pain, an awful cluster
Of events that should've been -
'I should have known,'
I whisper, flustered,
'I should have guessed. I should have seen.'

But I digress -
There's people waiting,
People storming through the street,
People talking, screaming, stating,
Hearts to hear and souls to meet.

And I fall into the masses,
Breathing in their soft embrace,
Breaking through the chains and classes,
Smothered by the light of grace.

I give up all vengeful wonders,
I put all my fears to sleep,
Cutting ties with tales of thunders,
Skipping over cuts that weep.

Back then it was oh-so simpler,
I denied the wrongs of man.
Oh, I'd beg, and heal, and whimper,
For a chance to start again.

I only exist
In the words that I write.
I gleefully skip from line to line,
Basking in the glory
Of momentary inspiration.
I slide carefully from key to key,
Drinking in the soft taps of the keyboard,
Manifesting my way
Into the hearts of all people everywhere.
I crave a stage, a crowd, a platform,
A place to immortalize myself,
To form an identity clean of sin,
To raise a new, sanitized, beating heart
From the ashes to the spotlight.
I wish for my name
To sweep the world off its feet,
To be shouted, or whispered,
Or chanted, or cheered.
I desperately want to be someone,
To be known, and loved,
And adapted to the needs of the watcher.
I dream of being consumed, and approved,
And loved, and needed,
So incredibly needed
That I might just allow myself
To exist either way.

The whiny heart
That's usually on my sleeve
Has gone into hiding.
I keep it in a safe,
Underground,
In the very bottom of my stomach.
It will soon go into witness protection,
After providing insight
In the trial prosecuting my feelings for you.
I keep it safe from you,
From your ignorance, from your insensitivity,
But most of all, from the possibility that
You might just agree with me.
And I will grieve.
And It will hurt.

"An angel,"
I wept,
Seeing through bloodshot eyes,
"My angel!",
I cried with a sigh.

But my love,
In a world
Where humanity bleeds,
Sins do not skip you and I.

I adore the crispness of an apple,
Thin, breakable skin
Encasing **** flesh,
Hiding danger in small doses.
Its dewy, red skin,
Could ****** anyone -
From Eve to Snow-White.
A bite and you're done for.
It's a dangerous fruit
To get from a stranger.
A witch in disguise,
An old lady,
Or God.

But you?
You didn't offer me apples.
You offered a single pomegranate,
Hard to crack open,
But hides dozens of nectar-filled seeds.
A single one won't do the trick,
So why not have some?
Just a little.

You?
You opened it,
Wide and inviting,
And watched me get
Addicted to the unsuspected,
To the soft and juicy insides.

You?
You watched me count the seeds,
Almost obsessing over
The delicateness of each one.
Blessing you,
Praising you,
Before biting into one seed,
Or two,
Or a dozen,
Or ten thousand.

And I?
I followed the pomegranate's many, many seeds
Feeding and feasting
Right from your hands.
Finding pleasure in the poison,
Innocently falling captive,
Taking the bait,
As you march me straight to hell.

It was too late when I realized,
Apples are for witches,
Pomegranates are for worse.