Do you mean to **** me
with your beauty
and your velvet tongue?

Do you mean to **** me
with your letters
and your sentence ropes?

Do you mean to **** me
with your sudden silence
after all your constant talk
of death?

I sit on the edge of disaster
If I should fall
It wouldn’t matter anymore
I no longer cling to my petty existence
As I once used to
The mantra running through my head tells me to keep my chin up
But I can only lift my head so high, to pretend that I’m okay
I can only struggle to stay afloat for so long
Before my arms grow tired and my neck becomes stiff
I could simply stop struggling to survive
I would not take the air out of my own lungs or the monotonous pulse from my chest
I simply wouldn’t work so **** hard to make sure I wake up tomorrow
I long to rest beneath layers of dirt
Where the doubts and insecurities that gnaw at my skin
Become insignificant thoughts that float in the empty air
Without a troubled mind to invade

You've killed us with sword, and you've killed us with bow

Killed us by dropping us down far below

You take our remains and use them for crafting,

Now, Minecrafter, we have questions for asking.

Which of us 'mobs' do you the most fear?

Who makes you shake when our name you do hear?

Answer us, Notch-Child, answer us well

Your innermost fears to us you shall tell.

Is the Creeper, the camouflaged one

That scares you the most (Even in the Sun)?

For whenever he sees you, he flashes in white,

And will, lest vanquished, explode in the night?

Maybe the Zombie, who travels in hordes,

Attacking Testificates, breaking down doors?

When the terrible moan comes forth from his throat,

Do you despair, do you lose all hope?

Perhaps a Skeleton, wielding his bow,

Is he – do you think – the most terrible foe?

The ****** that sees you, wherever you are,

Draws back his weapon and kills from afar?

Could it be a Spider, eyes glowing red,

That climbs up the walls, does he fill you with dread?

Perchance it's his brother, down in the mines,

With poisonous fangs he waits, biding his time?

Perchance the Silverfish, hiding in rock,

That swarm and attack should you break down its block?

Is it them you fear whilst exploring the caves

Faced with them, can you call yourself brave?

Or the Slime, living far underground

That scares you away with its odd shape and sound?

The small ones can't hurt you, that much is true,

But the largest ones bring harm swiftly to you.

You've crafted a portal, and think yourself clever,

But can you withstand our dear friends in the Nether?

They dwell in a land full of lava and fire

Do you fear the ones in the burning mire?

The Zombie Pigman, needing no explanation,

They protect one another, an undead nation.

Are they the ones that you find most frightening?

And appear in Overworld when a pig's struck by lightning?

Is it the Ghast, silver tear in its eye,

That scares you away and makes you cry?

It really is best not to get in one's way

If one shot at you, would you run from the fray?

What of the Blaze, whose body burns bright,

Guardian of fortresses, that sets you alight?

Maybe it's they who send you running to

Your home where you dream of the water deep blue.

We're nearing the End of our little game,

Our question, however, is always the same.

Are you scared of the 'mobs' in the land full of void?

Or maybe, perhaps, you're just vaguely annoyed?

Fear you the Enderman, standing so tall

Him do you fear, the most of all?

Look not to his eyes or he'll teleport near you

And **** unless you swim in water clear and blue.

Or the Dragon, whom to leave the End you must fight,

That heals himself with pillars of light?

He flies through the air, majestic and black,

But face him you must, for there's no turning back.

You've killed us with lava, killed us by drowning,

But now whom the most fearful one are you crowning?

You've killed us, even, with your bare fists.

For now, questions answered, we retreat to the mists.



Which mob do YOU fear?

I.
I want to walk out
into the ocean’s gentle swells,
and feel God’s palm
cupped around me.

II.
I want to step,
over the smooth, fluted stones,
and the whorled shells
of bright abalone,
to sink down
onto sundrenched
sea-ground
and close my eyes
to see my blood-red sun-lit lids
flicker and flash, as
shuddering net-designs
dance, threaded and lacy;
as they curl,
tangling across me.

I want to slide my fingers
through the slithering white sand--
the grains carved into
ivory ripples by the
currents’ deft hands.

III.
oh, I want to lie
and close my eyes
and feel the soft lurch of each wave
jerking overhead, its
strong tug like a kite,
watch the shining fish
scything past above,
and let each dancing point of light
reflected
from their scales
scar my pale face.

IV.
Oh, there is a howling, starving dog
that circles on the shore,
alone.
he’s keened his frantic misery to the
deadpan moon
for so so long
that no one listens anymore--
they gave it up long ago
and just sprawl, licking the dunes;
they lie and swear the grit quenches their
aching thirst
until they choke on their sand-covered tongues
and die.

V.
You see,
I want to see the moon rise,
quivering through
deep-water blackness;
listen to the dolphins’
ghostly shrieks and clacks,
and the whales’ deep, grieved noises.
I want to forget
the sound of human voices.

I long to close my eyes,
sink,
and never rise.

VI.
bright, irregular globes
flutter from my mouth
quick,
coruscating orbs
of prayer,
they shudder and
dart upwards

VII.
saltwater, salt tears,
ask Him if He hears
you gasping.

You are weary, I think

Of endless puzzles and games

And short romantic flames



You have grown disenchanted

With everything

Every stupid girl and foolish fling



You are bored

Of things built upon passing waves

Of all these conformists, these slaves



You have grown spiteful

Against people whining and nagging

And keeping secrets and bragging



And you are exasperated, maybe,

With all your toys breaking

As soon as you take them out of their boxes



It may be you are sick

Of instability and castles of crumbling sand

Of things reeling and getting out of hand



You have grown impatient

With cheaters and capricious ******

Who claim they are forever yours



You are tired, perhaps

Of feeling alone

And things aching through no fault of your own



I may not be

The sturdiest thing you've ever laid eyes on

I am little, and frail

And weak and pale

And I stumble when it's windy out

But I know, without a doubt

That for you I will be strong

That I will never do you wrong

I'll keep you from going off the brink

Because you are weary, I think

April is a month of forgotten dreams,
That began to fade away in February,
And drew their last breath in March.
Missed opportunities wax poetic
As the tumultuous spring wind pushes empty
Ideals into a realm of something not quite there,
But present enough to be felt over the roar of
Cryptic resolutions and half baked goals.

April is a month of resurrected love
That has already grown rotten and putrid,
Decaying under the warm, dirt ground
Built up over the heavy hopes of December.
Memories full of partial truths and "I love you"
Twist and pull at untuned heart strings,
Until a sad, sordid melody sounds out,
Almost completely evaporating before it reaches
Anyone brave enough to write it into reality.

April is a month that sometimes isn't really there
Until the middle of May, when a distinct pang
In the chest gives weight to its existence.