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  Jul 15 South by Southwest
Betty
Sleepy blue ocean
Hiding in a cowrie shell
I heard her snoring
Wondering what it would be like to re-live the magic of being six !
I twist the black smoky quartz crystal between my fingers,

Staring into the void of the darkness in it's shimmer,

Remembering how the stars predicted

That I would be, and am destructive.

I used to be the angelic who thought they could do no wrong.

Never fathoming dancing with the Devil.

Oh but not I, no longer.

Satan himself sees me at the ball and bows.

He knows to kiss my rings

Cause what a privilege it'd be to waltz with me.

Lilith my Mother, the one who will never bow.

I glide my tongue across my canine's

Only imagining the fangs of a lion.

I am a fallen angel, who painted her wings black.

I stare with blank deranged eyes, knowing I could disconnect

From whatever little soul I have left at a moment's notice

If it means ripping out throats to get what I want.

There is a fire roaring in my charcoal heart

And all I want is pure power.

More power, ferocious all consuming power.

But nay, not over the everyday people,

Only those who dare cut their eyes at me the wrong way,

the ones who question what I am capable of,

The ones who try to steal freedom,

and most importantly,

The ultimate power over myself completely.  

I stare at the crystal and throw my head back in a deep maniacal laugh, reverberating through my throat.

They have no idea who I am to become,

and really neither do I but one thing I do know is,

No one will be able to match my fire.
Muahahahaha! I will become better, stronger, and free.
First,
I strive for beauty
I wait for the bell to chime
the lightning to strike

Today, it seems,
the skies are clear
those chimes of midnight
are silenced
they boycott my breath
heap ash on the urgency of ringing
and leave me dizzy
in my decline.

But if the past
truly is prologue
it will all come round again.

Language will make its magic.
Sweetness will ooze from
the open wound
of my heart.

There will be words
in the order and rhythm
in which they were intended.

And poetry will breathe yet again.
I was there
it was real
I breathed
and sweated
as each moment
did its power peel--

my ground
I stood
I didn't yield
despite the wounding
in calm acceptance
myself I managed
to heal--

life is lived
much in suffering
despair I would not-
my equanimity
nothing nor anyone
could ever steal
  Jul 15 South by Southwest
Brett
A rusty cage conceals me
Deep beneath the waves, of another passing day
The blood inside my veins
Is laced with warmth, that erodes away the pain
The needle scratches vinyl
As the pills provide the music, singing sorrow in my brain

Lost on the lamb
Searching for the touch, from my own callused hands
A wind-up ballerina in her box
Doesn’t spin and twirl like she wants
Damaged dancer
Standing still, inside my antique heart
They have come to ***** the Rooster.
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