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Ica OToole Jul 2010
When we gaze at the moon
And acknowledge its brilliance
We often forget the stars,
How their dimming light shines through
Even when the moon is new
For their light surrounds us
On every single side
Never leaving, everlasting
Ica OToole Jul 2010
Unfortunate successor,
With regret I imagine you
Reading the account I put here
Regret partly for myself
For I will surely be dead-
Perhaps worse-
Regret is also for you
My yet-unknown friend
Only one needs
Such vile information
My heir,
I feel sorrow bequeathing
My unbelievable evil
Upon another human being
Ica OToole Jul 2010
A shot or item stolen
By someone, or myself
Maybe both, maybe neither
Crime is crime
Punishment is punishment
Is it innocent until proven guilty
Or guilty until proven innocent?
Either way, someone must pay
For hasn’t everyone done something
Warranting conviction?

Slowly descending into an icy crypt,
Their silence mimics my own
Half are me,
Other aren’t quite as guiltless
Trick is in the knowing
Of which is which

The long-necked key appears
Sliding painfully into its lock
A simple turning, a simple changing
Opens the dark room of misery
Promises of old are fading
They weren’t worth anything anyway.
Now only one oath remains

The silver skeleton proves its trust
And only after five years
Do red bars constrict
Closer with every breath
There’s only a single way out
Ica OToole Jun 2010
Drag** me back, they will
Tear me, until they’ve had their fill
Scar me, the marks last forever
Crush me, ‘tis their endeavor
Whip me, I no longer feel the sting
Blind me, it comforts as nothing else will bring
Deafen me, my own screams do the trick
Beat me, the bruises do not heal from the kick
Break me, my spirit lies on the floor
**** me, for I wish for no more
Ica OToole Jun 2010
During day, she is locked away
Although in night, she returns with spite
From the depths of depth itself, she awakes herself
No longer holding control, there is nothing to console
In fighting-there is no will, everything tried-she finds thrill
Hatred-yet love, devil-yet dove
Ica OToole Jun 2010
With the fall of night
And the vanquishing of light,
The cruel creeping fingers grasp
My throat, I rasp
Everything goes white, everything is pale
Nothing will suffice, nothing will prevail
The cold cruel moonlight shines
On the dark world, oh so divine
Her face alight, not with delight
Instead, austerity-never contrite
Veiled animosity, so despised
Never knowing the timing of true demise
The cruel fingers continue to grasp
Ica OToole Jun 2010
The cold November wind blows
Sweeping things of new away
Bringing back memories of old
Drag me back, they may
My desires of long ago, I behold
Once again, pull me under the wave
I believed that I had been already saved
But such may be my final grave
When these November winds blow

— The End —