Old words empty page so distant we were.
Myths of logic the clouds loomed heavy I bask in the rejection as my flames have burnt themselves out I fear.

No chapter written, the end yet a scratch .
We spoke in riddles only to forget the reason now I find less ******* in are lies so long I have forgotten are truths.

Dark scenes no light from this shutter so does escape the day burdens of are nights cast stones to a soon to be outgoing tide .
My words the ghost haunted only in shadows sometimes we must bury are dreams only to see nightmares through.

No pain me breath in a faithless  embrace .
I no need for the stories so I will simply close the book.
Tomorrows a promise to the few and a reprise of extinction of my thoughts tonight.
Hate what you will never grasp I simply have grown to ignore it all the same .

A demented thought sometimes beats a million well intended lies.
Place your bets when the smoke clears I'll be there a little less left of the fool you once thought to know.

In the wreckage we stood in the moonlight now shadows we've become chase the rats away from the bones .
To many times I have chosen to exist a shell of the canvas can you still recognize what I no longer see myself?

We can **** in passion and thrive only within lust.
We can exist for today only to yearn for a image of what was never are past.

It will all have to fade sometime my dear .
Maybe we could ignore this but it's just not me to play it safe.


And when you find the edge will you push past or simply turn around?
Lit cigarettes linger as once did I there is always a part that should never be taken away .

In the moment we lingered as children afraid of the unknown .
then it was  s nothing more of you as always there was far less of me . .
**** the past it only serves a crutch to collect dust with bitter thoughts and run down as this half vacant room.

And in the silence we knew the answers to questions we never cared to ask.

The page is dry .

You too were sick,
You too were tired and could not get your rest
You too were lonely, for no one understood
You were hungry and sore
You were ***** and poor
Your bed was uncomfortable and sometimes your food tasted terrible

Were you lonely Lord, besides when God forsook you?

O=-O=-O=-O=-O=-O



O how the clock world turns!
)(
O how to be inspired by
)(
O pulent lace
)(
O f high clouds lit
)(
O ver me.
)(
O lover's lace, I see your
)(
O fferings of crystal clear
)(
O rbs strung
)(
O ut on a thread
)(
O f pure silver
)(
O fferings fit for an
)(
O dalesque


O=-O=-O=-O=-O=-O

before I can write, I have to stop
and consider the new nail growth
that has pushed nail paint further up
as my tiny talons become more worthy of their name.

earlier, I pointed at the individual students
one by one; they hesitantly mustered words
to match my unclear expectations;
hoping to avoid my sarcastic cackle,
or the full blown eyes gleaming
like the deepest darkest black marbles
wedged in my eye sockets,
their words trailed off, along with their interest.

I don't try to find a broom that fits my grip.
mine has always been the right fit,
and I've had the ability to travel through time,
and somehow connect one vague memory to the next,
adding detail and sharpening what was dull and lifeless,
so the imagery is mechanically pointed and precise.

My face paint is strategic war paint,
but brown, never green.
At once I'm judged as foreigner,
of foreign origin; young (you're THAT old?)

they will never know that I fear my own image
and imaginings
worse than they fear what power my pen wields.
to bear the weight of an expanse of thoughts--
strenuous, burdensome, careful responsibility--
with relief only once words materialize on a page,
on a screen,
that they will never read.

for no witch was born witch;
she was made so once her dreams shriveled
and resembled the lifeless frogs in her hands.

My sun
Light of my life

No matter the distance
You still keep me warm

No matter the distance
You light up the world

And no matter
How close I get
I can't catch up

I'd rather burn
Than spend the night alone