I am the disappeared
my name spoken no more
by the tongues of zealous lovers.
I will not weep as my eyes look upon my banished heart
nor will I revel in it's decay
I will only mourn that time in it's passing is not as brief as your passion for my smile.

I believed a life of solitude would suit me
and mostly it has suited me a treat
but when my tongue is bitten raw
in the company of others
I feel so ******* lonely
I could weep
.

a collaboration with Calpurnia Mockingbird*

If you have something to say, say it. Don't bite your tongue, swallow those words down, set them free.

Set them free that I may hear them, feel them crashing into my consciousness and lifting up my eyes to yours.

Make a wish as candles gutter, wish for me, for us, for an end to this mess of limbs and longing.

Say your prayers, kneel before all that you've ever wanted and plead for remorse.

Sing your song, others may dance to the melody but the rhythm will always be ours alone.

Write me a letter in indelible ink, that those words will always stain my world and sting my eyes.

Take my hand, my beating heart within your palm, so the world may know that once, we loved.

Funny how a photograph can pump blood
I only have one of you, it isn't mine
it sits here backlit
shared with all that would gladly drown in those mischief eyes.
Your smile, a moment of calm, a second of perfection caught, always brings my own.
There is no beauty like yours, no work of art has ever made me want to overflow with passion the way you do. I could write countless poems, a thousand odes to your dimples, a million sonnets to your curls, a billion lovesongs to your eyes to no avail. So I'll laugh at your jokes, and be a sturdy shoulder, a friend.  I'll wish the best for you always, while your heart keeps my secret safe. Poets shouldn't fall in love with the unloved, there aren't enough words to describe the agony.

I am brittle, not broken.

I am fragile, yet stronger than any part of me that ever begged for mercy from the sweet darkness that inhabits my silent hours.

My diagnosis will not define me. It is but a drop in the oceans of love that swell and ebb behind my vacant stare.

My mind may be tainted, it will often descend into darkness but it ascends to the light with such glorious grace that I am grateful for the duality.

I sometimes hold on too tightly as I quake amongst dreams of letting go.  White knuckles and curled fingers cling to the void that becomes my existence as my dark companion enters without pause or invitation and dances through my day with numbing ease. 

Today I will refuse to follow.

She grew tired
of having to hide
from her need
to look deeper outside

so she struck up a match
and she burned
down all of her prisons
and never returned.

Twilight's melody rises
mournfully dressed in lilac hues 
she grieves for the glory of the primrose sun.

The rise and fall of waltzing starlings
mirror the final breaths of the day
as with glorious mirth they beckon to the silvered chill of the moon.