I dream of my childhood freedom
When my fragile innocent bones,
Would run through overgrown fields
Of daffodils in summer sun.

Those snow prints mark you
Like a howl at the pining moon
Crying at your beckoning calls,
Family and loyalty runs deep
With wilderness in the night.

You find spaces in hollow pine
Whilst stood on boulders,
Your cry screeches through
Descending moons and bark,
The most gentle of heart
But viciously snarls and bites.

Coat as thick as the ground you tread,
Scratching at your fur as snow flakes fall
Shaking like the leaves
in cool breeze beneath your feet,
Blending into snow but only able
To see pearl smoky quartz eyes.

I walk listening to music
Inside my own tranquility,
Searching these lonely
Yet full streets,
Like a ghost town
For the sociable,
Attention is directed
Toward phone screens,
So we talk about the unspeakable
Silence at an awkward occasion.

We try filling the gaps that we lost,
The cracks that had been opened,
We seclude our souls in this
Marvellous giving world,
We reach for arms but
Can never seem to grab them,
We beg for help but can't seem
To give our own emptiness.

For all could be filling our gaps
Like we need to be fixed,
The falling trees and lives
Match those of sticks and stone,
Sticks resemble our innocence
Whilst stone indicate our hard
Relentless ways to hurt one another.

But I continue to stay in my own
Tranquil world of loneliness,
Because I've grown accustomed
To the curtains I can draw
So easily shut,
I've grown accustomed
To accepting that we will never
Be caring souls anymore.

Even if I had stars in my eyes,
Would you still make a wish
If they flew past as you looked
Into the forever fading sky.

Not only does
The early bird
Catch the worm,
But they see the earth
Open into glorious horizons,
Over her blanket.

He squeezes her shape into a suit that fits
But happily disregards the ones that don't,
As every material or materialistic item
Is merely just temporary clothing he wears for his comfort.

Her silky waist down and up to her cotton flammable heart,
Both burn and tear just as easy as the next,
Despite his sweet persona,
He's as bitter and acidic as chemistry gone wrong.

But he washes and rinses her into a wave of hope,
And she drowns,
Because she has been habituated to drowning.

Cold bones is her love,
But he always glides away like a ghost in the night,
Questioning whether he bleeds the same blood,
Because is it humanly possible to do the things he could.

She has dreamt of his silhouette all night
But is unable to see the whole faded image,
The silence has become part of her,
You clipped the angel wings she would bare just for you
And is no longer able to fly.

Instead she drowns in an ocean that you quaked,
Suffocated on an island of crashed cold bones,
Cold, cold bones.

Even when she was the soldier
That never fled from battle,
You made her the brute
With a machine heart and machine mind,
Steered from her innocence
And tenderness to be kind.

A fresh lick of paint
Is applied to these houses
That are so far and few
In between.

Just like deception
And lies that are covered
Up to steal another life force
For your benefit.

But you don't think I see
The transparency of your ways,
I've seen your type before
Succubus of stone hearts.

You reap and haunt
The dreams of innocence,
Men who are so happy
To be loved and to be whole.

But that's your favourite trick,
Once they're yours, you disappear,
As you siphon liquid gold
And purity from trapped souls.

Trapped in an endless cycle
Of doubt and hope,
But they still hold onto
The woman they once knew.

If that woman ever existed.