Beasts within fight
to emerge above
ranks of blood.

Know your place,
run with grace,
avoid the club.

Tear into necks
filled with flowing
thick crimson juice.

Twin devils bite
under moonlit night
with primal fright.

Endure great strain,
know each pain,
avoid the club.

There are beautiful things around,
If you'd stop to take a look,
Not chirping birds, not pretty flowers,
Not mountains, not flowing brooks

Beautiful things in the mirror,
Beautiful things in your head,
When you smile at yourself to go on,
A choice you choose not to regret

Beautiful things like you,
Beautiful like your eyes,
Beautiful things like your thoughts,
Beauty you can't despise

Beautiful things are a collection of you,
Your nuances filled with light,
Beautiful like your laughter,
Beautifully making things alright

familiarity is
knowing exactly where you are
just by looking at the tops of passing trees

familiarity is also
knowing every line and crack in his lips
even in the dark

With blood cascading constantly,
These narrow glim lines under my pale skin,
I question, maybe I'm alive.

That the raging hammer thumping,
The hollow heart in my chest,
Means I am simply existing.

These soft inhales and exhales,
Thick polluted air,
It must mean something.

Though it could be confusion,
Simply too real to be illusion,
Definitely not delusion.
Maybe I've come to a conclusion.
To end my manic mental drive,
Maybe I'll live not to survive.
I think I am alive.

They can't see the empty eyes behind her soulful laugh
They can't see the strained cheeks pulling at her stunning grin
They can't see the worn out face under her vibrant make up
They can't see the insecurity and doubt in her loud, confident voice
They can't see the blatant cries for help laced in her exaggerated tales
They can't see the broken home behind her loving stories
They can't see the  girl trapped in her head from the lively persona she eludes.

For she is an unwilling actress and her life is the show
And sadly it seems the show  **must to go on

you are refreshing water to a parched throat;
providing a stinging remedy that works in a painfully slow way.
strangely, the ache is what keeps me going.....
the more it hurts, the more pronounced the longing.

maybe you haven't realised,
but you're the water to a desert:
so precious, so wonderful and treasured
running down my throat, so pleasured.

but maybe you're a mirage in a parched desert of all life devoid:
an illusion, so hopefully, deadly beautiful
for believing this is true: oh, what a fool!
oh woe; avoid, I say, avoid!

the imperative words fall on deaf ears,
as I plunge headlong and deep
into a never-ending abyss of quicksand
into the obliteration of infatuation!