"Who am I, mother?
Who am I and what do I do?"

–Norman to his mother Norma, "Bates Motel"

And so it goes, a split self - the protagonist defending the darkness as
Bizarre murders satisfy obsessions of a mothers love, taking a
Chefs knife, stabbing victims to death.

Dualistic wars within, a helpless man whose mother taught him of the
"Evils of women," instilling her own moralities of their wickedness.

Fostering the antagonistic personality of his mother
Giving to his incomplete soul a sense of wholeness.

Hidden behind the boy next door innocence, a terrified man
Incarcerated; locked & bolted
Juddering with fear - promising to adhere - set free said to be "cured."

Kleptomania returns; unearthing bodies from their graves, stealing skulls; a comforting souvenir, as
Loving anyone meant destroying them also.

Multiple personalities dominate him
Norman Bates becomes Norma; his mothers persona, crawling into her skin
Originating from their very kiss, kick starting a timeless love affair

Paraphernalia of skins tanned, butchered conquests -keepsakes turned to art & now protecting an un
Quiet mind
Reasons pertaining to mental insanity
Sectioned to institutions

Taxidermy as a young boy fascinated his mind
Urges to **** & fill, feeding euphoric highs, & even
Vertigo.
Women thrilled him; their smell lingered on each garment he kept.

Xenos to himself; who, am I mother?
Youth denied, cried away
Zenith ended; his final resting place behind the bars of Mendona Mental Health Institution, 1984.

© Sia Jane

Little Red Riding Hood walked through the woods
Singing and swinging her bag of baked goods
When out of the brush leapt a wolf with a smile
And some florist’s advice for the innocent child.
So off went the girl, picking bunches of daisies
While Wolf raced ahead with a step none too lazy.

Then at Grandmother’s door he knocked and said
“Let me in dear Grandmother, it’s your little Red."
So with grandmother’s blessing he let himself in
And ate up the oldest of little Red’s kin.  
Then Little Red Riding Hood came through the door
With nary a clue of what was in store.
After noting her “grandmother’s” ears, nose, and teeth
Into Wolf’s gullet she went with a shriek.

As the transvestite wolf began snoring like thunder,
Along came a huntsman, who cut his belly asunder.
Out came Red Riding Hood, Grandmother too
While Wolf, so oblivious, kept sleeping right through.
With a few heavy stones, a needle and thread
Wolf, far too full, finally woke then dropped dead.  

After a party of baked goods and wine,
The huntsman gave Red a great wolf pelt so fine.  
“Thank you, dear huntsman,” said our little Red,  
“But I’d rather skin wolves on my lonesome instead.  
I know things now, of these beasts and their wiles
I’ll give them a lesson, with blood and with style.
Teach me to stalk, to chase and to shoot
The best huntress I’ll be - and the cutest, to boot."

The huntsman, he roared with his big booming laughter.
In a voice that rose straight up to the rafters:
“Why little girl, have you a taste for the hunt?
You’re better off sewing, though I hate to be blunt.”
But little Red pouted, and threatened to cry
So the huntsman gave in, with a shrug and a sigh.

The huntsman- he was a formidable teacher.
Now Red lives in fear of no living creature.
Today, when Red Riding Hood walks through the woods
She carries bags of new, furry goods.  
And when out of the brush leaps a wolf with a smile,
She smiles right back: “You’ve picked the wrong child."

Too many times
I've been pushed aside
     On the back burner
My whole **** life
         But I wanna be the fire
   That lights your soul
I want a raging, blazing
         Inferno
      Sparking flames
Making changes
        In the chemistry
   A little oxygen
       So I can breathe
A lot of hydrogen
     So you can believe
We're floating on air
        Particles you can't see
      Like love
It's a mystery
            A theory
   Of who's meant to be
And who's left suffering
         That's destiny
     I'm creating
Breaking
     Changing the flames
   Into ashes
And graves
      With no names
Just broken hearts
          On tombstones
     And no chance
*To restart

For the wolf
the Moon is a curse
a foul transformation of pain and shame
forced upon him by nature herself.

For the Sea
the Moon is a cruel lover
forever sending her away pushing her aside
only to draw her back in again endlessly.

For the Poet
the Moon is a torturer
forcing upon her emotions of all sorts
we feel happiness, and love, life and death under it's light.

The Wolf picks himself up once more, survives another night.
The Sea cries salty tears of scorn, but yet she returns once again.
So also must the poet pick herself back up, and carry on another sleepless night.

I remember the time when I would silently ascend your staircase and try too hard not to trip so of course I did. I would cautiously place my feet one in front of the other approaching your room only to find you asleep, hidden away in dreamland.
I remember the piano sang softly out from the speakers in your phone- lost somewhere with in your covers as well.
I remember I would stand there for a moment and see your peaceful face and even though you had told me to wake you, I always hesitated because I could hardly force you into the cruel reality of this world. I wish you could stay in the land that was blissful and bright, but not too bright. Your face was relaxed and your body curled up and wrapped within blankets and that is the picture I always see when I think of love in its simplest form. Not the love between a man and a woman, but between humans.
The warmth a heart has and the capacity it holds.
The comfort you may find in another warm soul, so inviting.
The love between two humans that is eternal and means nothing other than loyalty and sincerity.
That is love in its purest form.

A long day of shadows--
Never glisten the meadows---
We have chosen the wrong--
Day by day,
We have almost forgotten
that divine song,
Losing the spiritual light of the god---
Moving ourselves in a darkness broad----

I see the sky has grown red crucified--
The spiritual light is being satisfied---
The Satan is being terrified--  
Mother Mary becomes merriment---
That her holy son again removes the darken---
We are wondering again to be unified-
The earth is growing with magnified---

Flowers aroma blowing amour of love
The children singing the reception's song,
Merry Christmas!
Merry Christmas!!

Angels play divine melody--
Truths coming too merrily--
We are waiting for the light of the prophet (Jesus)
in the darkness of the horizon---