you
you dared tell a lie at
the very end
of each and every verse
that snapped out
of that flaming mouth
of yours.

I felt the guilt
of not quenching
your eternal thirst.

spinner of magmatic threads,
supine in your cocoon of lies.
weaver,
deceiver,
you told yourself the same lies
that entangle me in the susurrations
of your feminine death rattle.

I felt the weight
of not quenching
your ever burning thirst.

weaver,
deceiver.
remembered silken fingers
crisscrossing the empty
spaces between my heavy
heartbeats.

I felt the vibration
of failing to spot
that beautiful web you've spun.

believer,
deceiver,
weaver of all the lies
I needed to hear.

tell me,
are you content with being
all alone in your widow's web?

I don't want to be here, all alone in the darkness of what it means to be human.

I don't want to be here, all alone in the darkness of what it means to be.

I don't want to be here, all alone in the darkness of what is.

I don't want to be here, all alone in the darkness.

I don't want to be here, all alone.

I don't want to be here.

I don't want to be.

I don't want.

I don't.

I.

I must have been born some day,
some time ago,
somehow,
against my will.

I must have been born because I have this body coiled around me.

I must have been given shape some day,
some time ago;
molded into something
my soul doesn't recognize.

I must have been given shape because I have this body coiled around me.

I must have been held in motherly arms some day,
some long while ago,
because I remember her saying
that she can take away this life as easily as she's given it.

I must have been held because I remember how many times I cried and asked to be held.

I must have been crawling some day,
many scraped knees ago,
through the broken glass of
always feeling so small.

I must have been crawling because my knees hurt so very much.

I must have been walking around some day,
some time ago,
somehow,
against the frigid wind.

I must have been walking because I remember that unforgiving blizzard.

I must have been swimming some day,
some time long past,
somehow,
holding on to dear life.

I must have been swimming because I have saltwater deep in my lungs.

I must have been running some of those days,
awhile ago,
from something
I keep trying to forget.

I must have been running because I feel so very out of breath.

I must have been given a body some day,
some time ago,
somehow,
against my will.

I must have been given a body because it is suffocating me.

Because I don't feel welcome in it.

Because I don't feel safe in it.

Because my very soul wants to destroy it.

Because I don't want the memories it shelters in its bones.

I must have been given a body because it is forever coiled around me.

I must have been given life one day because I want to give it all back.

you shimmer under both the moon and the sun
as I stare deeply into you,
lost in those roasted chestnuts
that stare back at me.

a night so dark
that there is no starlight
to gaze longingly at,
but for those constellations
that embroider your fae visage.

starlight
from deep within
your heart's fire.

I can see myself
find a future
here,
beneath this most heavenly vault.

empyrean strands whisper
above those windows to
your effervescent soul,
beckoning me to
burn away all that pain
and sorrow
that I carry upon
my mortal shoulders.

in a second you light up
my entire azure sphere
and chase away
the spiders and the vipers
that hide in the ever-dark corners of
my remembrance.

goddess,
I beseech thee
shine your firelight upon
my yearning flesh.

you ran away with me
from the monotony of growing up
and into the deep cobalt yonder.

we chased the sun
and battled the moon,
yet she always won
and gently
tucked us away
under soft midnight.

we skipped through crag
and mire.
we waded the river
and touched the emerald blades
of summer grass.

we were free.
we were children.

you were older,
almost a woman.

but I kept you young
and wild
and free.

that is why you liked sharing little wonders with me.

you share with me such hurtful words
that are a balm to
my kindred soul.

they hurt as they leave your summer wine lips
and drip like molten wax
upon my chest,
and heart,
and mind,
and touch my soul...

verse after verse.

you entwine my eroded coil
within your moonlight glow,
and tell me all the things
I so hungrily needed to know.

you wrap my broken hands
within your silken ones.

I crave to part your lips,
and share in such a melody.
that starlight hum.
that midnight medley.
that dark and ever-glowing sonnet
that brought you to my desolation.

I yearn to kiss them with my ones,
those lips as warm as starlight flame,
as perfect as the heart of night,
as young as time itself.

but mine are blistered
by frigid winds,
and bloodied from some fist
I've recently had to stomach...

A muse will amuse herself with little interaction that spark the fires of artistic endeavor.

A muse will amuse herself with the poking and proding of the weather beaten beast that boasts of great skills in the caging of thoughts and feelings.

A muse will wither away in a place where there is nothing to amuse herself with...

Therefore she will search for that one hunter that can track down the wildest of ideas, the one that can take down the most dangerous experiences and tame them for the masses.

She will land on the shoulders of that one predator that can drag prey into the dwelling of the many and feed them all with the morsels of this glorious hunt.

So hunt on, dear hunter.
Hunt on and be the plaything of thine muse.