You wore a Rolex watch
which was fake
and didn't even tell the time.

I know that isn't a crime.
Nor is buying complex coffees
but it did perplex me.

I ignore this, naturally.
But before the finale,
before you forsaked me
into the Vally of the Dead
where few did tread.
I saw the cracks.

I saw you slack and caught a glimpse
behind that facade, behind the blinks
to see that you were flawed, just like me

Still, I ignored this.
I didn't take you serious,
blind to your spurious nature.
Nothing more than specious appearance.

It wasns't till the Persecco
that I felt your echo.
And it all came pouring out,
All the more doubt than before.

Adore turns to abhor too soon for my liking.
I can't stop you if you're a quitter.
Just like I can't stop the bitter memories,
flitter by my mind.

My jaw came unhinged
and spoke **** that made them cringe.
Words like flaming oranges, that singed my mouth
as they fell out at all the wrong time.

O, bring me a comforting wine to soothe the pain.
A sip of blood, I loathe the taste
but drink it to the bitter end.

The unchanging cycle of comfort.
Who dares abort this flawed system of coping?
Copying eveyone else at the party and continue to suffer.

A slient prayer for change goes unheard.
I wouldn't hold my breath,
for Change and Hope have met their deaths.

I have stop dreaming of that beau ideal.
Orange peels remind me of my Achilles' heel.
Sealing my fate.
For once you let go of the steering wheel,
it isn't long till the crash.

Il y a trop de pièges dans l'esprit.
Sans trêve, mes rêves tombent souvent
et crient comme ils brisent
comme anges lorsqu'ils tombent

La langue me démange
ce que bruit me dérange.
Mais personne ne me écoute

Must we lust?
Can we stop
this deadly sin within
from showing on our skin?

What are we even lusting after?
Daughters and sons
and the untouchables.

They say lust
is the root of suffering,
devalues love, devalues you
to nothing more than
merely a lust of the blood
and a permission of the will.

They are right, of course.
But O to be lost in delight, even for just one night.

Then - when we've quenched this lust
- then what?
Move on the next thing that takes our fancy?
or move on with our lives?
what's the point?
We're already guaranteed our own special circle.

Must we lust?
these things we lust
do rust and turn to dust
only to blow away
at just the smallest of gust.
Causing more suffering.

Yet, we lust on.
We trust in lust.
We must lust,
even if it kills us.

Please Mel, sing your melody.
Don't die on me.

You are my Great Dark Hope.
Stars shine darkly above you.
Your smile removes all doubt and fright
Oh Mel, might you come out and sing tonight?

I have denounced my father for you.
Blasphemy is just for me because
just an ounce of your *******
is all I need.

So sing Mel, sing to your darkling.
Bring me to where the water meets.
The dark moving water of the night's river surround us.

I think it unwise
until I look into your dark eyes
and it tells me otherwise.

So sing to me Mel,
sing your dark melody with purpose.
Bring me down beneath the surface.
Bring me down and drown me.

I swim among the ashes
Through a sea of broken bones
Past the image of forgotten clashes
Broken bodies made of stone

I drown in memory
Its tepid, lukewarm embrace
A crimson discrepancy
Between now and times I cannot place

I was suprised to see Robin
appear at the onset of dawn.
Looked on at my withdrawn self,
tucked on my shelf,
whereupon I return his look.

With his wings, he made a gesture
pointing out, out and beyond to
fields in a vesture of green.
Never I had I seen such pastal pastures,
nor known them to be so near.

Robin started to sing
of spontaneous adventure,
away from my miscellaneous thoughts.
Extraneous in nature for they did discouraged
this possible venture.

In an act of defiance,
I went to move, and felt a strain
tightening around my brain.
Denying the laws of science,
the frightening shackels restraining me
and my plumed heart from taking flight.

I struggled against the chain, I wiggled until bruised
and blood and sweat covered my skin.
The sticky heat of desperation consumes me,
wishing someone smuggled the key in
and remove these chaotic chains.

"I can't move," I cried to Robin,
expecting him to disapprove.
"I'm not like you. I can't just go and do what I want,
it doesn't work like that."

Even though I wanted to go.
My soul longs for it, to be like  the Robin
where its only goal is to go
faraway like a bird of prey, flying high
complying to no one, just like Maslow wanted.
The reclamation of self-realization.

Robin did not reply.
Robin did not leave.
Nor did he grieve for me.
He simply waited.

This wasn't a rue.
He was glued to me and thus
Proving the legends true; of how
he got the mark of Christ's blood upon himself.

For he waited in hope
'til the day when I can cleave the chains
and he'll supply the rope
and reeve the opening of my escape.

But that day is not today.

Today's untimely end neared
with the threat of an upset sunset,
warning Robin that he must retreat
to avoid being a prisioner of the dark.

Yet, before he left, he nodded,
as if tell me not to fret.
For he will be back at sunrise
His wise eyes conformed
him to be sans falseness.

And I prayed to empty skies that I was right.

From my spot, I watch Robin's flight,
as night fell with gravity, pushing the sun down
and for a split second it turned to a green jewel.
I smiled like fool at Joule's "last glimpse"
feeling the chains, ever so slightly, loosen.