January is ice cold, but it never snows.
You're always so angry but you never want to talk about it.
February it starts to get warm, then there's a week of snow days.
Just when I think you're letting me in you shut me out again.
March has cold mornings and hot afternoons; the trees start to turn green.
You call me at 3am crying and you're fine in the morning; you have good days sometimes.
April is hot and cold and wet and dry.
You've never been a very stable person.
May is rain. The humidity makes my clothes damp.
You get so broken sometimes that it breaks me, too.
June is perfect lake weather. The water is cold.
I want to know all of the dark corners of your mind.
July has no rain. The dirt dries out and cracks.
I wonder how many of your smiles are faked.
August is too hot to go outside. The lake is bath water.
As soon as you get close to someone you find an excuse to leave.
September has cool evenings. The mosquitoes are awful.
Sometimes you feel at peace with your demons.
October is more rain; autumn oranges and reds and yellows.
You say you're dying and I try to convince you it will get better soon.
November is a dry cold.
I wish you would let me help you.
December freezes the plants; the leaves are gone from the trees.
*You destroy yourself and wonder why you're so broken.

Look in to the mirror
Only a little light is lost
But that light isn't lost

It's caged, imprisoned
Sandwiched between
The silver and glass
It claws out, etching
Long black scratches
On a mirror walled
Never moved, hanging

In the dark, late at night
A thump, dark noises
Under the bed, the closet
Behind the closed door
It's not all in your mind

It's that bit of light
Turned insane, trapped
So long in the abyss

That, I see as I gaze
That not light staring
Back at me
A pool of not darkness
Ethereal flesh, claws
Of light, scratching
Like a chalkboard
But on glass

That noise in the night
Reaching from the glass
Out, against the wall

It makes sense, of a sort
To reach out, break the glass
But the wall, it stops
Leaving only a scratch
Only, of course,
During the day

Dust of a hundred mirrors
Not reflecting night
Bumps and thumps
Slamming shut
And jumping
You from bed

But the light is trapped
Imprisoned, locked in
To a flesh not its own
Testing, flexing it's taloned hands
Grasping, lingering
On a silvered surface
Screams caught
Etched on the surface
Of our minds

Ringed of stone
Dark rocks from another time
Broken, shattered, replaced
By not by gnarled hands
Hands, uncalloused,
Delicate fingers, dragging
Unholy stones, upturned
Graves of creatures
Not meant to
Draw breath

Concentric rings, reinforced rituals
Blood, dried and fresh, decorate
Form intricate scrolls,
Forgotten languages
Of Masters, dead and still walking
Hailing dark forces, uncontrolled
Like forcing the seas from the beach
Standing at lowest tide
And bringing creatures
From it's depths
Caught now
In pools

Far from the oceans
Inland and unknown to those
Others, they bend and crawl
Broken of sanity and mind
Tentacled things, fanged
With inhuman strength
A disjointed symphony
From throats, forgotten
Words, gurgling
Choking on no language
For the era of man

Chained by the geometrical
Patterns they don't understand
They cringe and prostrate
In lies to which should
They but lunge, lashing out
Powers which slash through
Minds, bringing insanities
Destroying any that they touch

But rituals, forgotten even by them
Elders, Masters worship, Star Gods
Brought, mindless, from the Beyond
Shipwrecked in our oceans of Earth
Slumbering, shambling Others
Slaved to their wills, games
Bringing to bended knee
Captured to barest glimpse
Minds broken, eternal youth
Women as vessels to hybrid life

Birthed children, monstrosities each
Chained, insane, locked to those
Dark rocks, their shards show
Surrounding prisons ages, old
Centuries untold, legends, mythical
Undulating naked bodies, show
Dancing, sexually unbound
Oiled, aflame though unburnt
Soaking, basking in their power
As their scream break, carry the night
Quaking the Earth, shattering clouds
They seek return, the stars, the seas
To feast, again, on salted flesh
To worship their kraken
Father of them all

Ever thought you had friends you'd know until you die?
I did.
I wish with all my heart that a clock could be rewound,
revisit old mistakes, erase them and rewrite.
Life isn't like that.
Life is a ***** in heat scratching away at mental scabs.
"Friends are the family we choose ourselves"
*******.
It's a fridge magnet quote for a reason.
                        ~
Fickle, feckless,
Replaceable
Idiotic individuals
Endlessly
Needing a
Damn hard
Slap.
* Stepford friends*.