A monster
lies in wait
shrouded in dark
festooned in
onyx curls
of brilliant
disguise

its teeth
are as long
as my arms
and I wonder
how long
it has hidden
in my veins
like poison
its nails
brushing against
the bed
of my own

I dare not blink
not sleep
don't move
I am insensate
and frozen
this pitiful
state
has only just
begun
but it feels
as if I have
layed here
for eternity

the monster
never leaves
although
sometimes
it sleeps
and I taste
the infuriating tease
of lush reprieve

it always
comes back
no matter
how far
I shove
it down.

Maybe there is a reason for that.

historians
behold the treasures
of old

singers
paint the
words you
wish you could
say

mothers
cradle
and fathers
embrace
brothers
sigh with resigned impatience
and sisters
fuss

but
from all that
there is one
person
you love

the boy
in the
plaid
striped
coat
dyed
indigo

for he
just
called you
"love"
with those
startling
indigo
sunset
eyes
forced open wide

a crooked smile
with
just the right
degree of wild

that moment
split second
caught within
the beat
of the heart
and the
exhale
of the lung
and the
semi
half
demi
quarter
turn
of the gnarled nail

in that
infinitesimal breath
of denial and deep surrender

the world creaks

and the window shatters
into a rainbow of glittering shards
and you sing
and dance
in the guilty pleasurable rain
your skin rattles
with the hydra's teeth
scaled dry fingers
gripping your own leg

and yet you dance
and stare so longingly

Bright star

of open shine

large lungfuls

of Christmas pine

Bright sun

sandy shore

never forget

remainder's moore

Bright child

with hollowed skull

the only wish

to resist the pull

Bright coin

shiny skin

pretentious gleam

of wealthy sin

Lips do not close themselves,
there is always a maker behind the shelves,
a tall and looming frightful me,
oh if only I could blink and let it be.

Do not let your eyes reflect,
the subtle sadness of intellect,
is all a lie, a gentle hack,
when you open your eyes you can't look back.

Mournful doves on willow's peak,
their braided wails and whittled beak,
do heed their call, a cry so shrill,
for in ending remains only nature's will.

welcome to the
haunted hallowed hawthorn
home
we open our
skeletal facsimile
beams
and let you
in

down
down
follow the
whispered chant
it will
beckon
it will
taste
but never
shall you
deign it
'surrender'

fluttered pieces
flickered flesh
muttered misters
and loneliness

we chastise
the vacuous abyss
of your eyes

blink

i dare you

will you
gaze
your grips
on fettered
sounds
the imprisoned
moans
of innocent
souls
it bites, it cleaves, it runs, it rams

but does it sing, my darl?
does it light up your world?

their treasured yawn
is taste enough
so hear me,
hear me,
for naught but the buttered price
of
princely royalty.

he
didn't like the way she had methodically seduced him

– as if he were simply a puzzle
to mechanically solve and destroy
like clockwork
tick tock tick tock
and now you use your tongue
to become the catalyst of his undoing -

then shoved him,
harshly
(the ice cold feel
of frozen wall
still hung
in phantom touches
against his bridged back)
kissed him,
roved his mouth,
placed her tongue in his lips,
under his tongue,
on his cheek,
under his skin,
under his flesh,
under his bones,
in his bones,
in his heart,
in his brain,
can't get rid of her,
and marked him.

He didn't like the feeling of being prey,
of preyness