Walking nightmares along piano keys,
Between the shine of ebullient dyes.
The dying echoes up cavern heights,
The dancing spark, buried in the sands.

Why not reap my verse for dying words,
The ****** dawn of a vimful curse.
Lingual crass from the hill of tunes,
Emeralds flew right into the hourglass.

Wine as ink writ upon yellow scrolls,
Smelt the ersatz core with diamond souls
Glare at the darkness between the lines,
Where is my verve but for those true fears?

Descend the shadows...
My blight! I'll bring wings.

so you think you had it hard?

when you were five years old,
you were given hasbro toys,
when i was five,
I learned how to fold,
and help mom do the laundry,
and tuck my little brother and sister in ,

when you were seven?
you were spoiled beyond your wildest dreams,
when i was seven,
I learned to help make lunches,
and stick up for my little sister at school

when you were ten?
you had the best birthday party,
when i was ten,
I helped mom save up for my sisters birthday present,
that year she wanted a doll house,
and that year she got it, finally

When you were 12,
you went to your first sleepover,
when I was 12,
my daddy lost his job,


When you were 16?
You got your first car,
I bet that was the best part,
when i was 16,
I helped my parents pay the bills,
with my first job,
Are we sitll equals?

the difference between you and me?
some people have to grow up faster than others,
some get to be free, some have a responsibility.

We keep getting hurt,

You and I ,

      I and We,

   We and You,

You and me,

Constant fighting,
These sparks aren't igniting,
Those logs aren't burning,
Neither of the flames yearning.

    So read this note,

From Me to You,

Whose hand is holding the lighter underwater?

       Hold this note,
And don't respond or quote,
Unless you plan to write,
Words that might,

Bring

    *You to Me.

I wish I never had to write
Pain never consumed me
To the point where my fingers
Spill lightning onto paper
Because my heart pounds like thunder
Making my mouth unable to speak these words
That I am only compelled to write on paper
A storm I never wanted to ever feel
Ever.
A storm I promised I’d never have to bow my head to
Or brace myself against the winds
A storm that screams so loud that I cannot
And that I cannot breathe
For fear of bringing more of that storm into my body
To shake my soul like a boat on the tide
Capsize it and sink it
Deep to the bottom
To fall and fall
Where it’s a relief to hit the bottom
So only it could stop
Yet unlike that ship my soul
Has to suffer twice
Swimming back up and still drowning
Eternally searching for that spot of light
That spot of hope
That is still far after when my pen leaves the paper
Only slightly relieved

XXXVII

Pardon, oh, pardon, that my soul should make,
Of all that strong divineness which I know
For thine and thee, an image only so
Formed of the sand, and fit to shift and break.
It is that distant years which did not take
Thy sovranty, recoiling with a blow,
Have forced my swimming brain to undergo
Their doubt and dread, and blindly to forsake
Thy purity of likeness and distort
Thy worthiest love to a worthless counterfeit:
As if a shipwrecked Pagan, safe in port,
His guardian sea-god to commemorate,
Should set a sculptured porpoise, gills a-snort
And vibrant tail, within the temple-gate.

From the depths of my duvet sleep
Your voice commands;
An arrow through the distance between
You and I, it made me
Take up the shutters
Of my insular shell
To welcome the night,
Lit by a mere halogen moon,
No Goddess for me to praise-
Only thick wraiths of choking smoke,
Absorbing what to you is a perfect orb
Of singular clarity

i will end it all soon.
i have not a clue how.
i know it will happen, though,
it's embedded beneath my brow.

nothing messy, or prolonged,
i am sure,
it will be just an instant gift-
it will place itself in my hands,
and through my hands my sparks will sift.

for now i am a captive,
all night i hearken to,
the death watches in the walls,
knowing i will soon be gone,
beckoned by the darkness that now calls.

and to paraphrase ol' Mr. Eliot,
(Thomas Stearns, if you must know)-
this is the way my life shall end,
this is the way my life shall end,
this is the way my life shall end:
not with a bang,

but with a whimper, i will go.

Do not trust in me, my dear.
I can make you fall farther,
     than your deepest fear.

I’ll break your bones,
I’ll break your heart.
Your head is a bullseye,
and my hand holds a dart.

I’ll give you bruises, (accidentally!)
royal purple and a cobalt blue.
Because if I can’t even trust myself…
Why in the world should you?