I woke to a knock at the door one day,
And stumbled, to put on my gown,
The place was a shambles, and last night’s tea
In cartons, was scattered around.
I hate people seeing the way I live,
They shouldn’t call round, it’s a *****,
But called out, ‘Who is it?’ and got the reply,
‘It’s me, it’s the upstairs witch.’

I had no idea she lived upstairs,
The apartments are all very small,
The slightest of noises will carry on through
The ceilings, and paper thin walls.
I opened the door in bemusement then
To see who was pulling my leg,
She wore every colour the rainbow sent,
Pushed past me, and said: ‘Call me Peg!’

I followed her into the wreck of my room,
And mumbled, ‘I know, it’s a mess.’
She shrugged, and she pointed my PC out,
‘I knew it was that, nothing less!
You sit and you type through the early hours
I hear all your whistles and bells,
Your tappity-tapping is driving me spare,
And worse, is confusing my spells.’

‘I have to compose when the mood is high,
And that is from midnight and on.’
‘And I only spell when the Moon is nigh,
I can’t til the sun has gone.’
We stared at each other with little grace,
Both grim, with a certain intent,
She wouldn’t be giving an inch to me,
I murmured I wouldn’t relent.

‘We’ll have to come up with a compromise,
I’ll help you, if that helps myself,
I’ll spell in your program a silence key,
And you’ll be at peace with yourself.’
‘But what am I getting from you in return,
This sounds like it’s going one way…’
‘I’ll bring all your stories to life,’ she said,
‘In colour, and one for each day.’

‘I’ve written so many, you’ll never keep up,
I’ll need to go back through my files.’
‘Just open the drawer of your cabinet,
And I’ll carry you there, for a while.
I’ve seen all your stuff on the Internet,
Your devils and demons and ghouls,
I haven’t a clue what you think you will do
In a garden, with so many fools.’

She sits in her garret and plays with her spells,
I type without making a sound,
I open the drawer and I walk on the shore
Or hear bells from the church in the town.
I follow each lady I’ve written in verse
And make love when I’m feeling the itch,
They all wear the colours of rainbows at first,
And they look like the upstairs witch!

David Lewis Paget

I fall quite seldom, nowadays.
It's hard to love,
     when it's been stolen away.
Like the hands of time
     that rotate indefinitely.
I'll come back to you, my darling,
     next time, eternally.

It would be so out of character
To treat people how they treat me


But oh how sweet
Revenge could be

I would rather suffocate and drown in my mind than ask for your help
I would rather swallow shards of glass than keep up with this silence
I would rather spend my night counting stars than have a dream about you
I would rather cut my skin off than feel your touch burn them while you love someone else
I would rather have my tongue forget how to speak than call for you every single night in my sleep
I would rather bleach my brain with HCL than have it think about you always
I would rather burn down this house and lose myself somewhere than try looking for you
I would rather drown the butterflies in my stomach with alcohol than have them fluttering, dancing on your tone
(But truth be said, i would rather spend a second with you and a lifetime reminiscing that moment than be with someone else)

I'll bleed till I've no more of you inside me
I'll smoke you till I've exhaled all of your empty words that i was fed
I'll cry till i don't know what i was crying for
*I'll write till I give you something that weighs you down
just like how your goodbye weighs my heart down

She confused him, that creature of The Wild.
He belonged to her, without a shadow of doubt.
But she was the moon to his sun, The darkness to his light.
She was the yin to his yang, and the throes of fire that consumed his sea.
While he conquered worlds,
She stayed trapped in her self erected prison.
And as her flew to the universe beyond reach,
She sank in a bottomless pit.
And yet,
He was drawn to her.
Like the cycle that held day and night,
And the inexplicable line between captive and Captor.
        One could not exist without the other,
        *But neither, could they exist together.

To whom it may concern
I have laid awake, wondering what it feels like to be alive.
Even if just a moment, suspended in time, so I could re-live it over again.
I have lived a life afraid to turn a page
Fearing my suicide may lie on the other side.
If I could steal every second of happiness, That you have had.
My burdens would rain on your shoulders 
And I would be whole, for the first time, in a long time. 
Sheltered in poverty, I have never had a thing
Pictures of a broken home lie around me
This foundation was built to collapse 
I sit on the outside looking in
A painful truth, hard to bear
I see you, for what you are
And I have nothing but a cold dead stare.
I don't know what I have left
Or what the world will do to me 
If I could write one last thing to you
It would read "this place has nothing left for me"

I’ve been speaking in we,
when whats shrinking is me.

The old need to believe,
has now exceeded it’s peak.

I do not achieve,
because I’m still stuck on repeat.

It’s true that love is forever,
to the utmost degree.

If love is forever,
then how long will I try?

And try as I might,
it’s the downfall thats divine.

On the bottom of rocks,
you’ll find my villainous mind.

In the past I reside,
but the future is mine.

As I’m speaking as me,
I have need for reply.

So it’s caution I heed,
my heart bleeds by design.

I kept my answers small and kept them near;
Big questions bruised my mind but still I let
Small answers be a bullwark to my fear.

The huge abstractions I kept from the light;
Small things I handled and caressed and loved.
I let the stars assume the whole of night.

But the big answers clamoured to be moved Into my life. Their great audacity
Shouted to be acknowledged and believed.

Even when all small answers build up to
Protection of my spirit, still I hear
Big answers striving for their overthrow.

And all the great conclusions coming near.

All of us sat in a painful silence that draped over us like a cool quilt.  Each set of our electric eyes had lost their sparkle.  Swollen and scarlet, full of knowing what was to come.  I think everyone comes into the world with a little fire inside them that only burns for something once in your short existence.  She was the gasoline.  She was the bucket of ice cold water, too.  Maybe that’s why I can only take freezing showers and when I’m standing under the rain, I usually cry.  I remembered her perfectly; a pristine picture book of her best moments that my tired mind kept flipping through.  After a while I couldn’t take any more paper cuts.  I ripped out my favorite couple pictures and the book that kept her alive retired to the attic of my brain.  Her sleepy head resting on the broken shell of whom my dad used to be.  I sort of envied him in those last few moments.  She wanted him and it was clear, but we all wanted her in our own quivering arms.  To race against time so maybe we wouldn’t ever forget her, I know now that that is a burden he’ll carry forever.  Maybe parents really do know best.  You hear stories about people who have completely hidden their very own childhood from themselves; I hope that she isn’t one of them.  I think I might be how else I would have made it through the night terrors and the empty place at the dinner table.  It’s still vacant but we all pretend not to notice.  I can hear you breathing when I listen to classical piano solos and I’m pretty sure that’s why crying myself to sleep is normalcy and cold sweats feel like routine.  I can’t help but hate the sound of my own heartbeat because it won’t stop beating for you.  But it’s out of my throat and down the drain every time I revisit the thought of your precious little fingers and the way you loved to splash in the bath.  The last few stars flickered out that day so darkness just feels like