One star two star
Little moon
Something dark and something blue
Something here something there
Something underneath the stairs
Trapped under pounding feet
It wakes to falling dust storms
Life of isolation, darkness, pain
It can only hope to be better reborn
For what it says and what it does
In the deep dark depths below
Are not made for human consumption
If you feel the need to know
You have been warned
All is as it appears
There is no light at the end of the tunnel and no hidden layer of love
With power in its presence
Luster in its lack
Stealing the breath from out of dreams
And never giving back
Your attempts to run are futile and his claws embrace you tightly
In space they cannot hear you scream
But this is not space; this is the space under the stairs where your darkest dream lives

Streams of notes
Dancing on their toes
Standing on a string
Sounds like singing
Ahh wait its not
It doesn't have a plot
A form of a code
Or is it a node
With every move they make
It's something they create
A sound A noise
A perfect poise
It gets louder as they continue
What is this tribute
The sound fills the background the room
The sound of pleasure and amuse
Ahh
Its Music
Its Music

you don't know someone
not truly
not even your best friend.
you think you do but you don't.
you think they tell you everything,
because you tell them everything,
but they don't.
you read the words of the poems they spew out at 3 am
and you're left wondering what brought about those words.
you want to hold them
and ask them about those words of
depression
anxiety
sadness
suicide
distrust
but you know they wont tell you.
you want to make sure they know you love them
and they are dear to you
but you don't know how.
today i learned i don't truly know my best friend
after reading her words
but how can i make her trust me enough to open up to me?
how can you know someone?

Fed upon your metaphors
        like a zombie's lust for blood
howl'd at the moon in your
            verbose verbiage's alliteration
piece by piece, like Frankenstein's
              monster you conjur'd me whole
  ****** out the guts and laid me
         flat in ghostly passages twisted cravings
  dwelling 'tween light and darkness
         assimilated in your inky draft
   dancing amuck within your tangled webs
       just the other side of nightmare's exposure
drinking in the sea of your heaving tidal steamers
           punch drunk in phantasmal's obsession
high voltage flipped me over like an abstract
               Dali painting's w*e
  I come away ghastly satiated,
              macabre though it may seem
  thrills and spills in every tempting morsel
            of affecting poetry's sinful appetite

when you're there i pine for you
like a stupid little intellectual
i theorize your face

make up stories about your eyelids
how they close like a hardcover book
sheltering your wisdom from the judge

you let it spill out to me
your ***** brine
tenderizing my leathery exterior
into broken down, cured meat
you freed me with your trust
i was savory, salty with your laughter on my tongue

you've been waiting for me
but i cannot come
if we are to ever be in the same room again, together
i would smother you and oppress you with
love, tainted by imaginary things
like the fable of us
like my contentment

like your hand in mine
                                         clasping surely,
                                                                ­     silently,
                                                                ­                                                    home

When the thought of an absence
tears at the spirit
leaving a vacuum in its place
Perhaps it shall be called love

When a life would freely
be given for another
without thought or hesitation
Perhaps it shall be called love

When the happiness of another
means more than ones own
Perhaps it shall be called love

When walking away is the only option
to allow for that happiness
Perhaps it too, shall be called love

When I was little, I refused to get out of the bathtub until the water cooled down completely and my skin resembled my grandmother's.
Now that I'm older, I take showers that seem to last forever.
I feel like the water is washing away all of the bad, all of what's wrong with me.
I'll go outside in the summer just to stand completely still in the torrents of rain, waiting for something to happen.
After all, I learned in school that water is the strongest force on Earth.
That water can conquer anything.
Water shaped the mountains.
Water shaped my bones.
Water will change my fate.

just go away.
i'm only doing my job and you know that.
these pills that you make me take clean me out of everything that you are convinced is wrong with me
i am not a ******* garbage can.
you can't just rid me of my insides every time you see something you don't like.
if anything, you are the cause of this newly formed rot on my exterior.