...
I've got a few visitors tonight;
they're all associated with the wolf under my eyes
I.
I've left loneliness to starve on a stone table,
while jealousy can bleed me a lake;
fear and I are equals,
on the battlefield of fate.
"Pay no mind to the rebel."
II.
Forked tongues recite wickedness; of all
the shadows gaining power as the sun was slain.
Black flames banish all that is golden,
as darkness bent my silent skeleton;
but it didn't break.
"I'm just some sin you committed...right?"
III.
A basilisk waited for me at my chambers,
it requested a lullaby, and a glass of iron wine.
Who knew poison would be my new best friend?
Who knew my company would be kept by
an oracle of silver'tongue?
Dead languages clutched my
lively secrets.
"Every wolf gets tired of the moon at some point."
IV.
And just like that;
We were splintering at your wolfsong
auburn poems at the feet of trees
waist deep in misery you sat,
head crowned in autumn's diseases.
Witnessing you tilt your head to plant a kiss
on the night's wings;
"Oh, it's ******* agony."
Watching your eyes harvest hurricanes
love sinking in tongues
of ebony sorrow.
they don't belong to me
you don't belong to me.
"I suppose I can't change the world
but I will leave it colder."
V.

And sometimes, love is just the aftermath
of a tragedy.
...

.
  •sharpened to                                  • prowling  this
  a point•made                                     hallowed night
  to sink easily                                      •to satiate my  
    into flesh •                                         hunger   pa-    
     power   to                                            ngs• know    
     maim and                                            my name      
    disjoint•                                            as i take    
       spilling                                             flight  •      
       blood,                        ­                    cower      
          warm                                          as i ba-      
           and                                         re my      
          fre-                                      fan-        
         sh                                   gs        
•                                •

As a kid I would see
a bird and wonder if
I could fly too.
I wanted to fly to
fill my heart with
excitement,
spreading wings
seeing beautiful things
Now I feel change of role
the small plant has grown old
even as I sit inside a plane
it does not feel like flying
outside the window pane.
Now after all these years
a bird flying high means
to run away from my fears
to drop off this heavy drape
and fly just to escape.

i plan to invade you
marching to your very heart
then surrendering