He is thick night,
Earth-dark.
He crawls, whimpers, scratch,
He bites at my throat,
In frightening dreams and out,
A thrill to hear me scream,
Heart beats faster, pushes him over.
He is the cold that creeps up my toes;
The broken, ****** fingers feeling me;
The cracked lips scraping against my neck,
As his silver fangs scratches my vein.
He was the straight jacket,
Reassuring my insanity.
Can I please him?
Can I scream that high,
Scream till I give him goosebumps?
Scream till he begs me to stop.
I'll make him writhe,
Make his toes curl,
Make him buck and grind.
Can he scream my name?
Can he please me and my dark desire?
I'll run my burnt nails along his thigh,
I command him,
The King Disaster.
For he is mine,
My fear,
My fear that makes my heart race to ecstasy.
I'll make him feel all night,
Before the cold,
Before he returns to your world and the...
Fright, screams, the cold and dark dreams.
I fear he must go,
And I must await its return,
He is it, not a he,
Fear is a thing, a wild thing.
He is fear,
And I,
I am fear's master.
                                -MoonFirefly

It shatters,
Into tiny green shards.
Peaceful garden turned rubble.
He is like dirt, he likes the ruin.
When he felt the pain of seeing,
He knew,
He saw it all happen.
Lithe form merging with rough hands,
He sighs now, remembering,
All that happened before,
All he had seen,
It didn't happen twice, thrice, nor six times,
Times are more, his mind has grown more,
His heart pumps rage more.
Rue, crumble, contort, free!
All he felt before,
And all that came now, he let them be.
The rage, blue-flames, wrath,
His unbecoming and rebirth,
Then ashes and flames,
Now sin and woe,
Next tears and rubble,
And finally silence,
Terrible silince, terribly wrong.
He is effluence
Effluence is wrath.
                                    -MoonFirefly

She perches on the chair,
clink of ice croons in her ear;
a slippery gloss of memory froths her lips.

Here on dark waters
float glimmers of chance
while hope,
that slow gasping fish of dreams
slides near.

She raises her glass,
a spirited salute--
when the lights come on he swims clear.

Washed up, she spits,
and tugs her drink,
swallows scorn in one long gulp:

that bitter brine,
end of the line,
a barb,
stuck in her throat.

Anything doesn't Come
Today all known roads are blank
All have gone away
Have devoured into
An expanding vast spaces

Beside the Southern window
Sun doesn't laugh anymore
Even you haven't sung no more
As the lonely pied crested Cuckoo

Yet, what makes hope of the birds
When they flying away in the sky,
What prompts this metaphor
Don't understand the pen
Don't know the mind
Not hear the time

When getting out of the lost in the dark
As if there is no space
Between known and unknown
Coal is the same as diamonds
But how beautiful thee songs are!
Spreading light in the darkness

Fascinating with its Form
Wondering to touch
To Catch in the dark
Unclogging the thousands wings of imagination
Bringing a bed of roses
Have laid on the grass
Passing the time to gossip
With the hidden Stars
Under the open Sky

At the end of a thousand
Miles away
Whose face popped
Don't Speak
Don't Laugh
How pensive the faded Classic face!

@Musfiq us shaleheen