Her hands are clasped
red polish chipped
nails bitten
cuticles teared

Her body covered
in cashmere wool
wrapped oversized
hands covered

Her legs are crossed
legs tugged under
tight safe
balled love

Her heart beating
glances lifting upwards
her thoughts
are lost

Her face softly smiles
at the beauty
she gazes
knowingly in love...

She knows she's in love
It's written all over her
Others reflect it back
There's no turning back
She's let herself fall
And fall she will continue
Cause this is real, more real
Than she could ever have known.

© Sia Jane

True, I am a wreck,
Blood-soaked burgundy robes,
My claim to the royal throne
Of fame and fortune,
A car crash of
glowing metals & effervescent fumes
Or shipwreck where
rotting wood conceals treasured gold.
My art speaks because that little voice does,
Compelling me to risk a
Crash & burn
If I'm lucky,
and if we're not.

I have no choice but
Total breakdown
To build an empire from the shrapnel,
For energy is neither created
Not destroyed
But transferred
From our love to my expression.
True love is as fluid
As the metal magma
resolidifying
on the side of Highway 10
Or the swelling ocean
that holds her majesty
in a watery grave.

I'm sorry for your loss, but
I take solace in destruction;
it provides the raw materials
to forge my vision.

Winter is coming
Fast and strong
Bring the snow
Leave the darkness
Bring the love
Leave the cold

Winter is going
Let the cold pass by
Let the snow melt
Let the dark go bright
But please
Let the love stay.

To me it feels like a worm
Wiggling its way
Through my bloodstream,
Making it icy and cold
And my heart turn
To frigid emotion.

It makes its way into my
Mind,
Slowing the thoughts
In some parts,
But giving the other parts,
The nervous parts,
The parts that hyperventilate
And have panic attacks,
Caffiene.

Breathing gets hard
Because
I'm underwater,
Or underground.
Buried alive,
Or sinking slowly.

I.
Can't.
Breathe.

The worm,
The worst part about the worm?
It feeds on my life.

Why is it that we never truly appreciate
The value of someone until it is too late?
A hundred flowers on a wintry grave site
A torrent of tears cried at midnight
Groanings of morning dawn prayers' sighs
Added together cannot ever realize
A past that has passed

Alas, that weighing debt
Of unreconciled regret, becomes a treasure
From which we measure
The relationships of today, tomorrow
Maturing into overflowing blessings
From that was empty sorrow