To look truth
right in her
devil blue eyes
would be all
too deadly,
yet too lovely;
a daring
oxymoron that
only few know.
When truth is
revealed the
ugly starts to
show as the
pretty lies unravel
into the twisted
phenomena that has
become our world.

A room full
of boredom
and slight
hints of desperation
to escape from
the confines
of these poorly
painted walls.

Breaking apart
chain by chain
slowly falling
at a steady rate,
but the last chain
splits in half
and gravity
carries away the
rest of me.

My history is
written in
blood. Every
word carved
deeply into my
skin. Carefully, I
trace out my
story in delicate
letters, being
sure to be perfect
because the ink
is permanent.

I wrote my life
differently than
you will write
yours. You do not
understand and I
hope you never will.
No one deserves
a ****** past,
present, or future,
but the rain still
continues to fall
hardest on those
who deserve the
Sun. The world
works in mysterious
ways and some
were simply not
meant to last.

Hell was quite lovely;
I wish I could return,
but I promised to
never go back,
no matter how much
my heart yearns for
that glorious place.
Oh, how I loves it so,
surrounded by heat
and acceptance with
others who called
it their home.

The devil was quite
a lovely man. His
smile always crooked.
He told me all his
secrets, yet I never
told mine. His heart
was full of compassion
and sympathy for
all, much unlike that
evil man who lives
in the clouds above,
protected from us all.

Hell was my only
home. I never wanted
to leave, but there
comes a time when
the bad brainwashes
the innocent and the
good times must cease.

dark, mysterious waves
roll in the night
as the full moon
casts down a glorious light.
all is still,
not a single sound
until you reach
the smooth, sandy ground.
down there no sand is stirred;
a lonesome seashell sits un-turned.
the purple-pink shell catches
a glimpse of the moon
and from them on dreams
of landing on the lagoon.
but she is too deep into the blue
not a single creature can help her move.
so she sits and waits
for the rest of time
muttering soft calls,
"that moon will be mine..."