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Jan 2017 · 663
Remembering Oats
Remembering oats at bedtime,
a little light pops on.
The mind races,
frantic about the decision.
Act.
10 minutes, Hell in 2
a downward spiral
assaults my mood.
Should have remembered
should have done this sooner for rest.
Distracted. Lazy
Insufficient.
STOP!
Hands  working swiftly,
be mindful.
The rabbit runs a maze,
give it way to light.
Get lost in the goodness that you do.
for you.
Let your fingers move with love.
The sustenance you create.
Store it away.
As I lay my head to rest
it sets,
a smile fires through my brain.
Chemicals brew a joy that fills my limbs
fulfillment in my day.
This is manic high.
The intoxication of my last act,
the will to steal a moment
and prepare the coming dawn.
Pride.
Should those demons start to speak
raining blood and black on my resolve,
I remembered oats
and shan't be weak.
I recently began therapy to attempt to make sense of the emotional chaos that had been my life up to this point. In addition to anxiety, hypoglycemia can rule my moods so learning to build structure for myself goes a very long way in preventing & managing both sugar & mood drops.
After lazily binging Spawn for most of the night once my boyfriend came home, I realized I hadn't done the prep work to get my work week started right & was starting to beat myself up & get stressed because I needed to get to bed but what the **** do I do? So I took the 15 minutes & did it. I shut up the negative self talk by falling in love with the vibrant colors of the fruit & thinking gratitude for having taken the time for myself, that ultimately would make the next day easier. If I dropped, if I didn't get a lunch break to come home, whatever came up, my breakfast & lunch were taken care of & this would strengthen & armor me for the coming day. I went to bed so proud & elated that for a moment I was at a high, simply buzzing with the having the fortitude to push through that anxiety in my head. My boyfriend, that most helpful dominant push at times, initially was the one to tell me to cook the oats. It was that permission almost, to ease my mind & support the notion. Dealing with my inside voice & energy was the challenge & it was gratifying to have overcome it. I'm learning & trying & working hard to be my best. The words were coming to me & felt fun & free & its relieving to share them.
Nov 2016 · 905
Fit
Fit
Patterns spiral on
like the hands of a clock.
My mind dissects the mechanism
to learn where I fit in.
I fear if I should find myself,
then I shall be forgot.
Where will I fit in?
Sometimes I scour the walls of my room
desperately searching for where I fit in,
If I lost count of all my lovers
& my very dearest friends.
I'd always be waiting for the bottom to drop
& wondering where I fit in.
Twelve moons have passed
with you
& I do not know where I fit in.
Like twelve years ago
in school,
I did not know where I fit in.
The twelfth I shall pack to travel North,
a brief moment of time to fit everyone in
to a world where people love me
precisely because I stand out.
Nov 2016 · 1.1k
Slowly, reality shifts
Tossing & turning on this twin size bed,
I wake up furiously ***** & hungry.
Unable to truly satiate either.
How do I turn this black light off?
Through poetry & delusion,
I remembered to brush my hair.
A small sign that madness isn’t winning.
I long for late night Waffle House, sweet ***, the ecstasy that is your laugh & deep sleep.
To doze safely in your arms as the sun rises
& be comfortable believing
That your love isn’t a dream.

My Name is Kayla  
It is 3:20am
Im in Killeen, TX
Sep 2016 · 771
Lancelot
A thought provoking rage
boils beneath my bones.
The fury that spawns words
still choking behind fear.
I cradle my guilt.
I want to lash out,
exert my deviance & manipulate,
pull the strings of the puppets I create.
The strength in me is cruel.
I claw & pick my flesh
to distract myself from madness.
The kind queen feels dead inside
trampled by mistrust & abuse.
All of my fight withdraws to protect her
& leaves me frozen.
My kingdom at the mercy of men.
Will divided.
The desire to thrive
& the yearning to submit.
Aug 2016 · 182
Untitled
Quarter & Stone
Metal & Bone
all of my bodies decay.
Jul 2016 · 3.9k
Taken
The handcuff bites my wrist
as teeth sink, searing flesh.
A breath, a scent too familiar to forget.
Blind.
Massive palms, razor point
carving canyons down my spine,
blood is the wine.
The burn of beard
feigning consent.
Fistfuls of hair conquering words.
A corpse to rob me of life,
the press of perversity against satin.
Fighting, writhing
satisfaction.
Pain swells in every limb
the wet swell reveal my sin.
Slaps stinging awake
every fiber of clothing still keeping me safe.
The drive of possession
splitting secrets wide,
fingers around throat clenching tight.
Sweat running red,
the rising growls growls resonate in my head.
The raw force bruising
like claiming a slave,
body & mind consuming.
Ferocity leads to frenzy,
my senses rage against me,
The thickness rips,
devours,
conquers my body for paradise.
And I scream in the ecstasy taken.
A clenching incites eruptions,
the pulsing beast flooding.
My purpose awakened.
Feb 2016 · 218
Words
My words.
Stolen.
Clawed from my tongue.
Seized in the great gray.
Who took my words?
Replaced them with flowing tears instead
Of my words.
Deep grasping breath,
pulling at my hair,
tongue to teeth.
Where are my words?
Don't leave.
The child is begging
for my words.
Only the sounds of heartbreak
in which to dip your quill.
Choking on nothing,
unfed by empty thrill.
Where are my words?
My words.
Jun 2015 · 3.7k
Student of Aquarius
I find myself looking for words.
Combinations of feeling
I did not know existed.
I cannot breathe.
I struggle for them
& make myself a fool.
The world was so big before I met you
& now I'm grasping for it,
unable to recall it's delusion
as I am pulled into your orbit.
Out of drifting dreams.
My mind goes blank
& all I can see
is the dark galaxy that is you.
Alien, beautiful & natural.
You haunt me.
I nearly never believed so big,
& you infiltrated this complex defense
to show me what's been missing.
Half crazed by the loneliness of space
I cannot articulate.
Another form of art I hesitate to express.
I do not trust myself
that it will not be perfect,
fluid,
each stroke of the tongue
like the brush fear failure.
I want to show you all I see
beneath the stars.
Let the brilliance of the moon shine through.
But she is stuck.
In the cloud of curious awareness,
my eloquence cripples me.
How many things can I say
before I lose my grace?
& I dread
the company of simple minds
who cannot love stories.
So eager,
your patience holds the hand of the clock.
I want to watch your eyes glow
lit up by the music from my lips,
& I want to be carried off
by all you reminisce.
I can't believe in chance
when a soul like yours comes to court.
Thrice even.
I am challenged by the core of you.
Inquiry.
Things I cannot see
& stopped looking for.
If I take no notice,
I will not be seen.
Drawn into someone else's dreams,
Abandoning me.
I forgot how to identify
with my kind
so that I did not lose me.
Then I rusted over.
The great machine locked away
while the shows went on
in Technicolor.
Introspective
losing passion & luster inside this shell.
How you found me,
only body in forum.
You took me out to play.
Engaged, stalled, oiled & sparked
Life.
I am reminded of a better me.
An affirmation,
of my Dominant heart.
His voice,
the coaxing in my womb to Be.
Away with closed up, dying to shine.
You wanted to show me off,
pretty girl.
I remember being a Goddess
& shattering the abyss around me
with heart & raw warmth.
The fire of honesty.
Unsatiated wander bred in me
& I held nothing back.
Now the world is clay
& my garden to build upon.
Train me to grow.
I am inspired to be stardust.
Permeate every corner of this heavenly body.  
I find myself the eager student of Aquarius.
Feb 2015 · 836
Ragnarok Rising
This used to be home.
This sweet darkness swallowing you up.
What fearlessness became this strength you claim?
You, who poetry evades.
We danced to the tune of your sorrow,
now sickly tunes of order pollute your mind.
Oh! The dread you did incite!
What choirs did cry!
You.
My rising little sin.
Did you not shudder when I pierced you?
When I drew upon you
tales that memory cannot forsake.
With blood so flowed your words,
creation in it's purest form.
What is your deepest fear?
That I have left you,
or that you are broken?
You are reaching into darkness,
clawing depths to the gears that grind the beauty,
to ignite the chaos you desire.
An unfamiliar beast lies in wait.
You do not know it's name.
The machinery has evolved,
advanced.
Your demons have left Hell
& you.
Abandoned.
You cannot see the God
growing behind your tongue
so build no coffins yet.
Light has macerated misery
but it has spoiled no talent.
You are not dead.
Horror still shapes
the Ragnarok engine of your hands.
A new Devil awaits
to prepare your throne.
If only you will
Rise.
Dec 2014 · 504
Rerum Novarum
I avoid utilizing any real skill.
The person,
the human,
that I am is wasting away.
We can find ourselves inspired in the midst of tragedy.
We take the pain of others,
their mistakes,  
graft them into our own lives to relate.
Am I still whole?
Am I still mine?
In my heart,
at the core of my animal
*** is vital.
I want to write about it,
how it makes me feel.
but it is the me that sits alone in her floor that needs to empassioned.
I sit with all the tools at my fingertips.
Volumes of empty books to fill.
I'm not who I want to be.
Simpler obsessions fill the void that they used to exploit.
Fits of writing about how I cannot write.
Dig
Disect
Nothing replies.
Stare into the void.
Load my pipe again & again.
I don't feel myself.
The one who could pour her heart & mind into pages.
I am just like everyone else.
Boring & monotonous.
I am in a cycle of comfortable survival.
I do not create.
I do not expand.
I do not contribute.
I only consume.
I dug myself out of a hole only to become planted there.
Foreign to this reality.
I don't want to waste away.
Constantly entertained.
I want to find madness.
Lost in the worlds inside my head made real on paper.
The pleasure in staring at the emotions painted on a canvas.
Breed the life force of every morsel I intake.
Burn for the next physical limit to be broken.
Speak languages that make me weak.
God beneath the tree tops.
In love with all the life that came before me,
full of the things I love so dearly.
Where is Satan
while fighting this war of doubt & inaction.
This stagnant misery should be ammunition enough
to break down Heaven's gate
& turn the tide against the luxury I've entombed myself in.
But I must claw,
enraged,
& labor to bring life into this wraith.
Great demons be my muse.
Ancient disease doth stir & demand nourishment
from control & fear.
Abandon my world of weakness to become
of new things.
Sep 2014 · 2.2k
A Comedy for the Devil
I will wrap you up
in duct tape & glass.
Cheap wood your caged throne.
Black grease paint,
a halo for the false God.
A Revolver glorifies you
but the rapier kisses your lips.
Allegiance only to dark aesthetics
tainted
torn face
worn leather.
I mount your eternal beauty
a heretics altar.
Naked before you,
I touch faith
& give you my little death.
Feb 2014 · 1.6k
Playground
The excitement of holiday has waned
& suddenly
I am on the playground again.
I am thankful for my gifts,
but they are not enough.
I stand at the corner
watching all of my friends.
Everyone has seen my toys.
They are not impressed,
no matter how much I love them.
No matter how much I love them.
Laughter & affection,
like Ring Around the Rosie.
Another game I am not really a part of.
I observe.
I see desire on the lips of every child.
The way their fingers itch
to play with my friends.
They glance back
from time to time,
and a smile I’ve learned to force
from the pit and pain of my stomach
leaves them satisfied.
They carry on playing their games
that I don’t really understand the rules of.
I’m fine.
I am angry.
Someone speaks to me.
I’ve learned to lie.
Even my stories are pathetic.
Tales that claw at the base of my brain
like the tears kept caged in my throat.
No one wants to see me sad.
No one wants to see me.
I impress no one with my hand-me-down genes.
Even I grow tired of them.
My blessings are robust
but that is not enough
for friends.
I am not picked.
They all wear rings and play house,
and in my head I entertain
dead things.
I better not tell them that.
It’s not that we don’t like the same things,
they just don’t like me.
Can I hear them snickering?
They won’t say no
but they won’t sleep over.
I am the joke
when I have no games to play.
If I could disappear,
maybe then I’d have friends.
Don’t they love to watch me go?
On this playground full of girls & boys,
lingers the stench of envy & top shelf rivalry.
My artifacts & ancient dolls,
the historic volumes I collect,
treasures only precious to me.
Let me hide away with these
while they show off their shiny things.
Perhaps in class
I’ll find a friend.
Someone with whom to share & offend.
To play games no one else understands.
Finally.
So I wait for that sweet release,
A ground on which they can’t compete.
A friend to which
I am their toy,
whom they proudly show
to every girl & boy.
It is a playground
still, it seems.
They don’t even know
they’re being mean.
I just want someone to like me.
I’m still waiting for that bell to ring.

"Playground"



2/13/04
Jan 2014 · 1.1k
Anchors & Sails
What crippling weight is this?
You bear upon my chest.
You, a rusted anchor beneath my breast.
Too many years at sea,
I think,
the depths we've gone
failing to sink.
We set course to find pleasure
never knowing just how deeply
we'd come to treasure
a fool's dream.
Reality breaks,
a howling wind,
the treachery of consequence
& my soul grows weary.
We put our hopes into the mast
sailed far away from any past.
But old habits did not stay ashore
& a storm is raging in the North.
Now this ship is breaking down.
I feel you dragging in the deep.
I see the plank beneath my feet.
I am breathless.
I can't concieve the darkness it would be
to dive in & cut you free.
Sep 2013 · 1.5k
The Plight of Persephone
A subtle change of airs,
The fall to Earth.
A sweet chill to linger on fingertips.
Fresh roasting scents
Permeate the silence
To replace each passing conversation.
Finally.
The thousand dollar smiles
& whirl of diamond indifference
Fade to music from worlds
Whose language I cannot speak.
Blessed introversion.
It was never a business to be be forgotten.
As the sunsets draw short
So sheds cynicism
& the sickly copper taste of commodity.
Let me vanish into cashmere
& the beauty of written words,
Be carried away on the flicker of candlesticks.
Relax
Into the elegance of stoicism.
I am that I am.
A season unto myself,
Craving the solstice.
A peak of serenity in crisp autumn colors.
Reclaiming the safety of the night,
Mythology dances across the sky
& as the flames from the hearth
Warm my machine cold soul,
Passion burns through the tired facade.
Let me be drunk on these fallen leaves
& drift, thankfully
Into peace.
Jun 2013 · 1.5k
Almost, Not Quite.
Wrong
Wrung
Ring
Ring my doorbell,
Wring my neck,
Rid me of this mortal wretch.
*****
Wrench
Can you fix it?
Get your toolbox
You're ill-equipped
I don't qualify
Quality
Quantity
I am not enough
For this.
Too tough
To kiss.
Rough life I've lived.
Live
Life
Lie
Lay back.
Just take it.
Let it happen.
Swallow
Swallow me up.
Swallow me whole.
Throw me down into a hole.
Wholly
Holy
Even God forgot me.
Oh his drones did try.
Saxophone & sweat
Promised hell when I die.
Choir girls & Inquisition
Tore my words, tried to burn me alive.
Then the good chaplain,
Samaritan?
Charlatan.
Daddy out of the way,
Me on the streets,
Mommy where he wants her
Worship at his feet.
Fret
Bet.
I am not afraid.
My debt is paid.
In blood, in tears.
Lost dreams, lost years.
Country roads, cold beers.
Bare
Bear
Burdens
I am brave.
Strength
Truth
Power
You'll have to cut them from my flesh.
Fresh
Blood
Brooding o'er my funeral,
Don't worry about my death.
I still feel pain,
I still draw breath.
My hearts not cold,
My soul is still old.
I haven't set a thing in stone.
******
Skipping rocks.
Flying planes,
Sail away from the docks.
Shoot me into outer space,
If this is Hell,
Heaven can wait.
I'm dancing with the Devil
& God is always fashionably late.
Create.
Tell
Tales
Tails
I'm not done yet.
Evolving
Incomplete
Completely me.
Pecan pie & sweet tea.
Nature
Treks
Blessed Be.
Naked
Exposed
Second for the money,
First for the show.
This is a test,
No time to be gauche.
Gross
Shocking grace.
There's still sand in my grave.
This cannibal inside
Still has a taste.
Human body beneath my tongue,
It's essence still fills my lungs.
Chest
Heart
Beats against this cage.
I'm too young to feel this age,
So don't you dare save the date.
Once the wolf works with the mirror
It's finally free.
Then I promise,
You'll be seeing me.
Mar 2013 · 902
Goodbye, Old Friend.
Goodbye, Old Friend.
I wish you well.
I am your Heaven,
You are my Hell.
Ill-fated we are, to have Life on Earth between us.
Yet the Stars & Moon rise to reunite us.
I traded you for mountain tops, but finally the ocean was our downfall.
To avoid repeating the past, there can be no Civil War.
Goodbye, Old Friend.
It's only forever.
A very special thanks to my mentor, Beloved Sister Icarus.
Dec 2012 · 2.1k
Obsession/Compulsion
I'm up late again.
Can't stop my mind from racing.
Going. Going. Going.
Obsessing.
Ironically, late at night is when your brain is at it's most creative.
Is it any wonder the best artists are insomniacs?
I've been fighting that.
"I need to sleep at a decent hour so I can wake early & be productive."
"I NEED this particular item to write this particular thing."
"I cant sit down & write/draw/create in a filthy house."
"Someone might call or need me, I can't get ****** in to that now."
"I need to clear my head before I can sit down & do this."
"I have my routine, all my daily tasks that must be accomplished, before I have time for myself."

I NEED TO STOP BULLSHITTING MYSELF.
I NEED TO STOP LETTING THIS BE AN EXCUSE.

See, I want to write.
I want to paint.
Draw.
Shoot.
Design.
Cut.
Glue.
Hammer.
Sew.
Create.

I used to do these things to a point of obsession. To a point where they kept me from completing every day tasks.
I remember as a kid, I'd get in trouble for using my school notebooks as a drawing pad.
Or the teachers couldn't keep my on task because I was off in my head scribbling away at some story.
God himself could not pry me from what I NEEDED to let out of me.
Then I grew up.
I think thats what happened.
Suddenly I had so many more things to worry about.
I had to put away childish things.
Life became so much more than the fairy tales I made for myself.
I forgot how to be what I was.
I only knew I had to do things.
Stupid, every day, grown up, necessary things.
That became my new obsession.

I traded one for the other.

Now I stand on a battlefield.
I have chosen the darker evil.
Doesn't make sense?

Remember Peter Pan? His life was full of adventure & freedom & joy.
The grown ups, the ones who forgot how to have those things, became bitter shadows of themselves.
They lost everything for all the wrong reasons.
I don't think I ever felt more closely identified with a fairy tale character (or characters because I find that the many different aspects of my psyche very closely identifies with most every character Peter Pan.)

Anyways.

For several years now, I find that I have been trying to reclaim this lost part of my soul. I don't think anyone, save perhaps 2 or 3 people realize just how important this is to me. These are people that would have known me in my early high school years, before the dreaded piracy of true adulthood took me away.

Why not just pick up the pen & write something? you may ask.
Well, it's not that easy.
Not for an obsessive compulsive thinker.
I'm not using that term lighty either.
I hear brats toss it around like a fashion statement.
Like having OCD is the new trend.
Just because you're a neat person doesn't mean you have a disorder, *******.
I know how many steps it takes to get from each corner & point in every home I am familiar with.
There are patterns in my day that, if broken, send me into emotional Hell.
There are many aspects to this disease.
This illness.
Whatever one may choose to identify it as.
I haven't found something I'm comfortable with yet.
I'm only just beginning to be comfortable with facing this truth in myself.

I let the only reality & peace I knew be burried away & my brain formed this militant prison of order around it.

The good thing is, my heart knows better.

When I'm able to bust those walls down for even a few brief moments in which I can slip past the compulsions & allow complete chaos take my hand & create, I am free.
When I become inspired by something & am able to mentally break away long enough to pursue it, it's like capturing a god ****** unicorn.

Unfortunately, more often than not, I find inspiration fade away. The many excuses I wrote before, just the tip of the iceberg, take hold & beat me back into my weakened submissive routine. I literally have stood still, as though at a play, & watched my head battle in itself to convince me NOT to follow the idea.
I may be *****, but I am no one's slave.
Least of all to myself.
Which begs my fear: control.
Why do I control myself?

Art is not controlled.
Creation is not controlled.
Beauty is not controlled.

These things cannot be tethered to definition or reason or logic or mathematics or laws or routine.
So the war inside me rages.
The problem in my head with its finger in my face is rationalizing ignoring the passion in my heart.
That disorder is sorely mistaken if it believes passion is in any way rational.

So this is what stands:
I am fighting an illness, something I aim to fight & beat & never succumb to again.

Creation is the air I breathe & no matter what worldy or sensory things bring me pleasure, nothing fullfills me like raw thought pouring forth from me.

I cannot stand by envious of the lives & accomplishments of my peers because I was too weak to take hold of the only true thing I hold dear. I am sick of hearing myself say "if only I could" or "maybe some day" or "I used to". I am done crying myself to exhaustion because I physically cannot pick up a pencil.

I don't know where to start.
I guess choking through this & fighting off anxiety attacks as I type is as good a start as any.

My most beloved author, inspiration, & life long hero, Anne Rice said,

"Keep the faith. Writers need faith...Just keep writing & believing in yourself...Just write until the juices start. Don't put up with Writer's Block...eventually you just have to write & write & write."

Write I shall.
Until it gives me anuerysms from fighting these tiny ticks & compulsions.
Until the tears are of success rather than submssion.
One step at a time I will conquer more than I ever thought possible.
I will take back my heart.
This isn't so much a poem as an outlet of stress. For years I have suffered a severe writers block & it is paining me so to try & take back what once was my heart & soul. Last night I made a break through & forced myself to write about this. I fought back violent urges to *****, severe headaches & anxiety attacks. All to break my "routine" & "rationalizations" that would keep me from writing.
Today, I sought the council of a psychologist.
He will be beginning sessions with me soon to accurately diagnose & work through this block, that is more than just a block, with me. If anyone has similar compulsions, or stories, I do invite you to share with me. Please. Your victories, your failures. I need support because trying to fight this on my own has been a losing battle for far too long.
Dec 2012 · 684
The Sparrow & the Wolf
I am a sparrow flying back here.
Nothing really changes, even after all these years
There's still the old dirt roads & memories,
Front porch drinking & pipe dreams.
We'd talk of traveling until we grew old,
But I'm the only one that hit the road.
"Some day I'll ask you a question,
But today is not that day."
Our curiosities drove us mad
Wondering what the other would say.
Our secrets brought us closer,
You reminded me for whom to suffer.
The blood you spilled to keep me safe,
The nights I drove when you couldnt stay awake.
When we were kids, it was the laughs
But now it's arms that bring me back.
The winter chill rolls around,
You know it's not long before I'm in town.
We're old souls together,
Animals of the same pack,
Birds of a feather.
Now you tell me I stole your heart,
How much you miss me when we're apart.
You come to me as a wolf in my dreams,
Reminding me of everything we could be.
But it's the promises we can't keep.
You hold me like you mean it,
The look in your eyes make me believe it.
But you're still you
& I'm still me.
Both runners trying to be free.
Oct 2012 · 2.1k
Logic in Chaos & Creation
I got this voice, you see?
No.
You don't.
You don't see the way I do.
You don't hear the way I do.
You don't feel the things I do.
The world just isn't the same to you.
You don't understand how important this is to me. To the very fiber of my being.
It's just pen & paper.
It just words.
No.
It's not.
It's having an entire life revealed to you by watching someone smoke a cigarette.
Sounds of the greatest song you've ever heard, but haven't written yet.
The nagging poem about a heartbreak you can't forget.
It's not that I see.
It's that I'm shown.
The world telling me all the things it wants to be known.
Still I tend to fear that all the best stories have already been told.
I have an order.
To you it's a joke.
I just want attention.
I'm making excuses.
It's sounds totally crazy.
Maybe I am.
I'm ok with that.
Are you?
When I speak in lyrics & it sounds dumb in your head,
When I allow myself to be giddy over something I'd just read,
If my shoes belonged to someone 50 years dead.
Does that bother you?
I find wonder in all the trivial corners of the world.
I don't reject any little joy.
Infinite possibility.
How often do you refuse to be pleasured?
All grown up, no fun little boy.
All this chaos is my beauty.
It pecks away at the disease trying to contain it.
Thanks Doc, keep your pill.
This is my test of will.
Obsession.
Compulsion.
Dis-order.
******* irony.
My madness lies in my heart,
Given the whole world to make my art,
& my brain, at least some part,
Tries to control it, Kayla you need a chart.
THERE ARE NO RULES!
You can't see what I'm fighting.
You can't see my own mind being held captive of its own accord.
Key to freedom.
Just break that glass.
Then what if I shatter too?
You control what you allow in,
I cannot.
I'm controlling what I let out.
Afraid of the things I write down.
It's begging not to be forgot.
Tiny, tiny steps.
I'm afraid to crush the flowers
Trying to grow in shadowy ruin.
Creation is finding it's way through the cracks of what was.
Foundation.
Deterioration.
Inspiration.
If you wage war with yourself,
Do you ever really lose?
Until you can dance in your darkness,
You never really find your muse.
What you can't understand is the way I love my demons.
Most people run from theirs.
I dine on blood with mine.
footsteps are echoing
down a corridor long since empty.
as they resonate,
a ghost stirs from it's slumber within me.
each passing sunset
a key turns the lock,
to reveal the Creature of the Night,
the sweet Darkness I'd forgot.
like the pages of a book
browned & tattered, lying unread
your scent awakens
a soul I was certain was dead.
how refreshing you are,
blood upon my white dress.
a release from gripping fear,
I crave your death on my breath.
let us massacre the stars
& chance Hell on the Kid's gaskets.
Heretics by nature,
we can spite the Gods
& waste life on their caskets.
you feed me the poison of my father,
& your name rings a painful past,
you've destroyed the world as I know it
& filled my nightmares with your laugh.
devouring words of evil
& Satan himself on film,
I think, my dearest Devil,
I have fallen under your spell.
still a single thought, it haunts me.
a doubt, deep in my mind.
when I smile, do you see my submission to you,
would you pleasure me with your bite?
I haven't fed in so long,
can I bind you to my dungeon wall?
each sunrise we part,
I pray to the moon
for my blood in your heart.
these tombs in me,
breathe life once again.
be my Dark Prince
& I, your Babylonian.
we can spread our scabbed wings
across the eternity of Zion,
put our faith in the flesh we see
& forsake the terrible dawn.
our eyes betray our sign,
& our hearts beat in the South.
but the torture we could bring each other is divine,
let our cries erase the doubt.
we cherish the scars of our skin,
yet we are not brave.
getting closer to God, becomes a Requiem
& the bedroom can be our grave.
Sep 2012 · 2.0k
A Playhouse Affair
Reality is the stage upon which I play the fool & lover.
Delusion is the Act, not knowing one from the other.
The Past, a script,
Memorized to poison the mind.
Hope, a costume,
Worn to keep the heart blind.
Falling into bed,
the curtain raises from the ground.
Quiet whispers in my ear,
house music thrashes loud!
I Perform with passion,
putting faith in my troupe.
Convincing the audience
My story is true.
Scene to scene,
They see no flaw.
Each song & dance
Inspires awe.
In the end my cheeks, they shine,
like all the roses that will fall.
My eyes stay glamoured
with the curtain call.
The lights come up,
The morning sun,
They cheer, they kiss.
But the show is done,
they have had their fun.
It was pleasure, it was bliss.
Take a bow.
I played the Lover for a night.
I am the Fool now.
Exit stage right.

— The End —