In ran the boy with his regular case
of cheery disposition which he displayed.
The house screamed of anarchy for instead
of his loving family, he gazed upon dread.
The tall man - so dark, with hands so cold -
stared with black eyes, that showed no soul,
at the boy; so pure, almost perfect did he appear.
So, the man rested his hands to avoid causing him fear.
"Good-day," said Mr Evil, "What be your name?"
The boy stated his title with his bravery in vain.
"Where is my brother? My parents too?
Surely I do not know you."
Mr Evil's smile took on a sinister shape
until he resembled that of a snake.
"Why, my boy, me I do believe you know.
I am under your bed when you're at home.
I am in the eyes of the murderer; the glint of his knife.
I am in the fist of the man as he beats his wife.
I am in the face of the liars, cheaters, those who hate -
actually, I am all over the place!"
The boy, yet too young to understand,
stared in bewilderment at the man;
trying to decipher if it be a lie
or truly the man's alibi.
"As for your family," Mr Evil did proceed,
"I'm afraid they had to leave.
They went to a place of wonder and sun
where they are in contact with no-one.
Oh! How the birds sings and the trees are tall.
And the grass catches the dew that falls!"
The boy now searched for a place in his mind
that would match the heavenly realm described.
"Are they in the woods?" he cried in carefree -
his naive smile causing his gleam.
"Now that you mention it, they are indeed.
All three.
Hanging from a tree."

Forgive me, Day,
for harassing your flowers
with my ever so hungry eyes.
They flaunt their beauty
only in your presence,
so, I was caught quite by surprise.

Must you keep them to yourself?
Must they only be yours?
Or would it give you a fright,
to let them flirt and sway all day
and then allow them to dance at night?

Oh, if only they could.
They smile so sweetly at the grass.

Dreamily, they lift their eyes to the sky.
Forgive me for harassing your flowers, Day;
but at dusk, I make them mine.

I don't love you.
I tried to. I wanted to.
You were my book - I treasured and studied you.
You rapt me, yet to myself I wasn't true.

If I loved you -
why my fickle heart?
If I loved you -
where was my soul?

I deserve your fire.
I deserve your being ire.
I deserve your indignation;
but, my dear, not your accusations.

You don't want to believe when I say
I don't play with hearts. It wasn't a game.
I guess it's okay.
I know my reasons not to stay.

For I too was caught in the ocean.
Yours still. Mine sporadic motions.
The nights I suffered. I felt meek.
In the cold, my tears turned to ice on my cheeks.

If "thought-love" was an emotion
you would have received a mass of this devotion.
Now, my lover part has been exchanged for a demon.
My dear, are you aware, I am human?

I woke up to a sunrise this morning -
a beautiful pink sky
with gentle clouds of yearning.
My drowsy eyes arduously stared;
(still in a dream) they were not prepared
for what would first meet them - this sight -
when they had closed for the night.

Slowly, my smile starts growing
as, slowly, the sleep leaves me.
The blushing sky whispers.
The blushing sky sings
songs of life, of beauty and wondrous things.

Incredulous, I am rapt.

I can't help feeling undeserving.
After revealing it's kingship
it slowly sings me back to my restless sleep.

I woke up to a sunrise this morning -
a beautiful pink sky.
In the dawn, the only person alive.

I'm starting to wonder if these old ways I detest
are part of my flesh.
The cuts on my wrists, instead of healing,
become a playground for my demons.
Rid me of this!
Rid me of this please!
For I'm reaching a point of barely being able to breath.
Melancholic joy.
Irate surrender to the voices in my head
that wish me dead.
In desperate escape, I reach a barred door.
The pain would not be this intense if I had not tasted freedom before.
While I scream, they sing.
While I drown, they swim.
Never again.
I dream of never again.