If grass was a girl,
She'd be so beautiful
That words wouldn't justify her.
They would have to be unwoven and recreated
For them to fit her.

She would shine and grow in the light,
But feel all of the pain in the world
When in the darkness.
It would make her wither away into nothingness
And disappear.

But, out of the blue,
She would appear again
To always be there for everyone who needs her.
Those people, however,
Would not appreciate her love
And would trample over her as if
She were nothing.

If grass was a girl,
She would be crushed by the world
And see a fractured image of it
Through a long broken window.
Her happiness would be stolen by the selfish,
Who take for themselves and never give back.


That's the thing
About the girl named "Grass".
She's broken, unable to differentiate
Between those who care about her
And those who do not.
She becomes isolated in a cocoon of sadness
Because no one appreciates her for who she is.

However,
A drop of rain later,
She is happy again
And becomes even more beautiful than she was before.

The forever falling devil reaches for my heart,
his talons digging deep as I am forced to sleep
in his world, for evermore
in the land of pure darkness.

The rotten wings which once resided
on his back; glorious, white, bright;
now shards of glass that cut those
who come too close.

The fire in his heart is put out
by the flood in mine; killed by the
never-ending storm inside me. Flames put out
by water; those who thrived in the soul fire
quietened by the heartless liar
who turned hell into an ocean.

Am I drowning? The void of my soul fills
with water as I dive deeper in order
to escape this calm catastrophe
called "living".

Where do I go next? The city lights I
see through the murky haze, hallucinating
in my final breaths. Seeing the stars of
Atlantis, the long lost beauty.
Seeing the scars of myself, the long lost
calamity.

Was I ever beautiful, or did I
become so skilled in the art of pretending,
my art of hiding, that even the best
critics couldn't find me behind these canvas
walls?

Mermaids bearing blades pierce my canvas heart,
its surface painted by countless sorrows.
Blood swirling around me, closing my eyes
as I die in a painting - the girl who
sank her own city.

Tongue tied, my twisted eyes
Allow me to see the truth,

Yet my vocabulary evaporates
Whenever I see you.

In the midst of my wakening,
what is this quintessence of ash
that haunts my soul?

What is sanity,
which quivers not need before your eyes,
whether you do not exist in reality,
only fiction in my assonance.

What wonder is the reasoning of man,
how simple in splendour. The clarity
of wakefulness which I perceive to be
sanity is only the same clarity with
which I dream or breathe, only the same
clarity which madmen believe to be reality.

If deception and error are my clarity
then nothing is my reality, for all lie
to protect themselves from the nightmare of old,
His power not enough to protect your mind
from the evil inside of your bones, the fire inside
of your soul. Which likens to the hellfire I find
in the dampening nights of relentless cries;
the corruption of your mind is clarity - a
clarity in your twisted reality.

What am I without this
toxic insanity that twists
my every move? Nothing,
that's what I am, what
I would be without me.

Maybe feeling normal would
wash this burning passion
for difference, which I love so
dearly, away. *If that is the case,
I will be abnormal any day.

A lucid world
in which I forget
to continue remembering.

Psychotic is my normality;
pure dust is my reality.

Normality is pure insanity;
the jester in my reality.

An inconceivable fiction that
somehow became a tangible reality.
I am at a loss without *you.

The rumbling of the coming earthquake
echoes beneath my surface,
threatening the very idea of normality.