To paint the scene of my former life
One must first take a look into a little dusky room filled with shady sunlight,                        
Streaming in through dusty blinds that  never actually shade the eyes.
They produce blinding shafts of light that burn the eyes like blades are hiding within red  fired laser beams.
Imagine a little rocking horse, painted black and gold, with a little red bell dangling off of the red reins attached. Nostrils flaring, ready to be ride out into the sunset, but never actually to be ridden.
Two comfortable twin beds shoved into the corners of the room, leaving indentations upon the slightly greying,
Off white carpet that had once been plush, now smashed into the ground with dirt and grime from children playing.
The comforters on the top of the bed lay strewn and rumpled; covered with dinosaurs and their names,
Allosaurus, Tyrannosaurus Rex, and Brontosaurus.
All with goofy pictures in greens and oranges that a child could laugh at when frightened.
On the right side of that room, from when you walk inside, the walls are painted a malicious purple,
Like a swelling bruise had been inflicted upon the wall by some unseen hand that had forced a fist.
A big ugly bruised wall.
Accompanying that bruise on the left half of the wall is a faded blue,
The color of pearls painted over with a smattering of blue paints,
Enveloping the trim of the room is a metallic silver haze that was just beautiful,
Creating illusions of moonbeams and silver roses within it.
The ceiling was glorious as well. It was covered in millions of stars.
Although they were glow in the dark plastic stickers that could be hung anywhere,
I still saw them as fiery gases burning miles away.
Of course, at the time I was well aware of what stars were, as I had a love for them.
I would gaze upon them late into the night, often in awe and wonder at how it would feel to be one.
Would it feel as if I was enlightened and owned the universe,
Or would it be a darkened, frightening place, filled with loneliness?
I had always wondered.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~­~~~~~
There is much screaming. High pitched, it sounds like the whining buzz of an angry bee .
A scream nonetheless. So very loud, it is, and it rings like church bells in my ears.
Ringing, and ringing, and ringing...
The scream sounds so very close to me,
Perhaps this is because the wailing sounds some from my very own mouth.
The screams, crawling and digging their claws up and out of my throat,
Unburying themselves as they seep out in tormenting waves, leaving my throat a red and raw coated mess.
But still, I scream.
My throat resounds the despairing loneliness that had welled up in those short years of my life,
Finally taking their act of freedom, welling up and pouring out like caged birds,
Fleeing from the cage with freedom in their hearts.
Although this was never true, this was never to become freedom,
The fleeing screams do not pierce the veil that shrouds the deaf ears that were meant to hear it,
Turning away in ignoramus bliss.
“You are the banshee wailing,”  
My Mum says with a growling lilt to her voice as she pushed the door to my room closed with a glare,
Her fingers clenching the door, knuckles turning white with frustration.
Tiredness has already beginning to  line her once youthful face with spiderwebs of indecision of what she truly wanted. As I scratched my bleeding nails across the closing door, frantically searching for a place of escape,
My mind races and thus, I began to horde emotions of resentment for my parents.
I constantly wanted to free myself from the jail that my world had always seemed to be revolved around.  
My nails are bloodied and fingers bruised, I give up in defeat from the fear.  
Although it may only be pounding upon and freezing the insides of my veins,
It is exactly what created this insane version of myself. This wild animal who scratches, bites and roars,
The primitive animal comes from deep within the skin wearing it as a costume in the form of  a little three year old girl.
I was locked away for most of the three years I had spent with my cold and unfeeling parents,
Who wanted nothing to do with me, nor ever share their love.
(Or so I thought as a child, whose hopes of freedom were breaking away even before they were molded).
I have retained this in my memory banks for my entire life,
Even after when those around me told me I was too young to remember it.
But how could I possibly remember this in such crystal clear detail,i
If I had been a thoughtless, and blank minded child at the time?
This experience has obtained and earned one of the darkest places in my mind,
It has forced me to keep it inside my entire life.
I call it the dark forest, the place that remains shadowed, blackened and cold.
Most of my horrible memories are part of that forest, creating the trees that form it.
From this forest leaps the monsters that tormented me in my dreams, howling and baring their teeth,
Their shapes surrounding me like a thick and rank fog that was inescapable, their breath rolling down my neck.
The stench making my eyes roll back, turning the world black.
Then suddenly I would wake up, an invisible scream rising in my throat, sweat soaked and shivering with fright.
Even then, I could still see them.  
Their red eyes glowering at me in the darkness of my room that I shared with my sister Dakota.
Sometimes I imagine that I can still see them, and a paradoxical paranoia rushes down my spine,
Forcing every hair to stand on end, and cold fear to paralyze my body, to the point that I am immobile.
Like frightened prey trying to hide and fold the body in on itself,
From an  un-explainable fear that was reared from my childhood.
I was created at the hands of those who love me now, but at first were disgusted at the sight of me.
I was merely an obligation in which they had to feed and bathe on few occasions.
An abomination, something to be frowned upon.
Their indecision and ignorance was what caused one of my largest complications of the brain.
This experience created the driving need that I still carry with me today to be surrounded with people.
I feel as if I cannot survive without them, because my childhood was so filled with loneliness,
That I need to gain back that attention that was taken away from me.
Considering this, of how insane I had been as a child, like a froth mouthed animal, begging for scraps of food,
Only my food was social activity and freedom, in which I was explicitly not allowed to be given often.
My grandparents, if I have remembered correctly, their faces seeming more youthful than my parents,
Pouring experiences  into me like a mug, gracing me with feelings of wonder instead of blind fury,
Overwhelming me with their kindness and compassion.
They were the ones who changed me, took me in and made me feel like I was really alive and was of relation.
They made it seem as if I were still slightly human, not a craze eyed child who acted like a wild animal,
Who was feared and pitied by those who came to see me.
Although it did take time to recover from my horrific experience,
I have learned to gain control of my emotions through meditation, sometimes to the point  of becoming a blank slate.
I was the girl who acted as if I was not of this planet, as if I was off in another universe taking a soul vacation.
Tracing patterns in the constellations, my eyes star struck and filled with wonders that only I knew of.
Being so used to a constant state of harmony, that the world around began to blur,
Taking little notice of any change within it, even if the images crossed and passed within inches of my unseeing gaze.
Viewing the world as it was meant to be seen; with beauty and stained with emotions.
This is a story of a girl with the once crazed eyes who saw the world as a fearful place with no freedom,
Who behaved not unlike a wounded animal caught in a trap,
Whimpering and pleading with her mournful gaze for freedom.  
Only now this girl had been turned into a starry eyed child with wisdom from a past of tragedies.
~This is who I am and this is my story~

Lonely there is a female, just a small girl in all punctuality
and she sits upon the curb of a lovely looking marble paved road
Only the road is no longer marble, it is dusted with the fragments of ash
from the cigarettes she puffs away at, every day until her lungs constrict
The boa made of exaggerated smoke always is pulling upon her air passages
never wanting to let her esophagus be cooled by crisp and clean air
Her feet are bare, frozen and bleeding, leaving drops of blood behind
trails from where she's once been, and where the girls' feet will travel
Beaten and bruised, thrown and spat out, she was the trash of society and its remains
but in all actuality, society was the men she slept with, and she, only wanting cover of the rain at night
Forced into what they called sensuality, but the young girl closes off her emotions and senses
and wished for a home to call her own, but never feeling the want in her heart enough to stay
This girls clothing is ragged, shredded and torn, wrinkled from the nights she's spent
in a strangers arms, she takes danger by the horn, receives herself a death call instead
A disease has been forming, and it grows in magnitude with each passing strangers call
thus the girl has fallen upon her knees, and the disease still finds a way to pass along its young
The female has tried to quit, with her way of life, but the bills keep a'coming, and she is still in need
the hunger inside her drives her raving mad, it is slightly ludicrous, this lunatic she's become
To feed upon a strangers flesh, to conquer her unrighteous lusting and her want
this is the girl that we see who is foolish in her ways, as she folds her hands to her breast
Hands are paled and over worked, dry and calloused never have a bout of rest
so trustful in their own ways, hardy they work like crusted placid tools
Still upon the paved road she sits, crunching her bones into a ball
her skin is increasingly thin, no wonder she gasps with pain for every movement she makes
This young girl, is young enough to let the tears cascade over her heavily dolled up face
her cosmetic encrusted eyes run, covering her make-up splashed face even more
The grime and dirt smudged upon her face from being splashed by non-helping passer byes
and her mouth is made up of a slashed and jagged pair of lips, from lipstick she put on
Smears her great complexion , with the fiery burn of stained glass that was meant for cheeks
thinning roses of auburn, painted with a closed precision, soaked with raccoon cosmetics
Fearfully she sits, silent as water, her fluid running out as if the air around
whips her inside, and eats her on the outside, it begun by freezing her skeleton over
For she was always their (as in men)collected victim and she begun to wonder why
her fellow human's never had believed her she saw through her crystal tears
That doll faced men and doll faced women, had a secret they kept
they only wanted to play God with the clown she had become

I have often turned within my grave to ponder of the reason why
Upon the date of my birth, you took me to your secret hide

Underneath an aspen tree within the deadest of nights
You took to me like a moth to a ball of flickering light

With the devils own smile plastered upon your face and the slightest of hand
You produced a sanguineous jar of hearts and an ominous jar of black sand

You grasped my hands in your work enured and fairly calloused paws
Looked me in the eyes, and told me to forever leave my pale hands raw

"Never soil your untouched hands, your hands and eyes you shall avert'
"Never bruise, nor ever hurt, nor shall they be ever touched by dirt,

"Never touch a rose, nor touch a bee, as danger is an all you see,
"Close your eyes my little darling, and all of life shall be but a dream."

With the trust of a mothers child, I kept my eyes tightly squeezed
Wished upon the star within the midnight sky, wavering in the breeze

Held my hands up to my chest, hoping the fluttering and staggered slips
Not to be seen by your face within the light of moon as from the sun it dines and sips

Of a heart that had only once been given to me and should have forever stayed mine
But the greed inside all mens' hearts want, and reaches out to grasp a young new 'hind'

With another slight of those calloused hands, you took my life for your own pleasure
And stole what was rightfully derived as mine; a beating heart, you took your leisure

A working mind, once a clock, now fully had come to a skidding stop
You took my bones and my teeth and used them as a fertilizing crop

The very worst thing that you did, you took my pride when you took my skin
Shaved off clean with a diamond edged razor and worn as if you were mockeries twin

Burried underneath that beautiful aspen tree, I've been given the time to remold
But my life had been stolen, the soul forced out before the bells had tolled

In the time it had taken for my pieces to remold, I had realised something then and there;
There were always things that were meant to go untold, but the truth is ringing upon the open air

You wanted more than what was offered and had bitten off all you could chew
But if I'd known back then what I know now, I'd know real good men only come in few

The beauty of youth will forever belong at your side, and therefore it will stay
Even after the hairs upon each of our heads begin to glow like a white halo ray
After it has turned from the fairest of golds to whispy alabaster whites and greys
Never shall youthful beauty whisper farewell to us on any occuring days

Even after long are gone the glorious days in the past and time we have spent
Now filled with the sad longing, with hurting glances, in which is called resentement;
These are from the multitude of wrinkles; of which to gain we never meant
But still; the beauty of youth weeds out those feelings, helping us to repent

The thinning upon our heads? Remind us of the days we were conspicuously snooty
Because those were the fruitful times in which we were often called a "natural beauty"
Noses in the air because we thought being beautiful was our righteous duty
Only now the surface of our faces have been wrinkled and bleached like an old dried abalone

The bounties of our short timed youth, have long been washed away with the waves of time
But that allows us to remember; and rejoice at every steep mountainous climb
Through smiles and laughs; and the misshaps in which we were thoroughly covered in grime
The beauty of youth resonates through every memory even when it tries to be sublime

The richest of light is not from youthful beauty; but forever it will always be lit and cast
The light from the joyful sound of chirping birds; and the tirelessness of laughs,
Of the mindless days we spend vainly dreaming, stepping off our "to be discovered" paths
With the hopes of regaining our once beauty filled and profitable youthful pasts
(Those are the very brightest, of every youthful light)

"My  dahling," ...
That is how she always will begin, with a lilt to her speach
Her words slurring together as if she's been ******* on the bourbon from your private store
For every minute and every second of the three hours that she had been gone away
Doing whatever it is that young damsels, who do whatever they please shall do
Then she will wrap her cold arms around you, reminding you of the wintery landscape outside
Putting her lips close to your ears, she will whisper and she will try to tell you again;
"My  dahhling, my  dearest, dearest  friend,"
She pauses, hesitating a little too much for you to know that it is not something good.
But since when have the two of you been friends?
She was just a women, and you were just a lonely old man who needed someone
To take care of your very sore and achy feet from the arthritis that had evolved over the many decades of your life
So why the hell would she call you her dearest friend? When the hell did this happen?
What did she want from you? More? You had given her everything her little heart could ever desire;
The fur coats, the crystal jewels, even that 1997 baby blue convertable with the velvet seats
That you had proffesonally done, not too mention that as well
****, women always want more. More, more, more. Can never get enough can they?
They whine, they snivel, they grovel, and they chirp like little birds when they recieve what they want
But she, Little Miss Want It All, still seems to be left, and always wanting more.
Turning you face her, you notice the little things that you have never seen before
The way her nose is slightly off center, or that her eyes are an eerie blue tang color
The way her breath feels against your old wrinkly skin when she speaks to you softly
"My  dahling, I  need  to  tell  you  something."
She whispers this as she curls her hair around her fingers from where she is standing
Which is behind your real, and expensive leather couch that she had you get imported from Russia
You roll your eyes, thinking you know what the little **** will say;
That she lost the diamond earings you got her, or she got a scratch on the car you bought
And she wants a replacement. *******. Always. This always happened, practically once a month
Money, **** that women to hell! She seemed to just throw it out the window and forget that she had it
Well enough was enough, you could nolonger take this part of her.
No matter how long her legs were in five inch heels, or how beautiful she looked
She seemed to spend every penny that you had ever earned without noticing
Leaning towards you her hair tickles against your face, the smell of cherries floating out
That was the one good thing about her, she always kept herself in tip top shape
But now as she leans over you, her lips inches away from yours;
This is how she will end, her voice reeking of yes, the bourbon from your private store
"My  dahling, it seems  that  I  have  pawned  off  your­  house.  And  everything  else  you  own­."


Well  ****.

Through the masks and obscured within the lies, lays the truth unsaid in which all despise
Too much had been appraised, and much was fitfully un-right, so vastly dark within folded light
He was King, and she forever his Queen, still they hold each others hands, a thrilling vice in which they teamed
Their faces lit with withering sight, flightless eyes instead of cocky fulfilled and streaming plight
They tangoed to flooded phantom operas and darkly lit scenes, set with bloodset roses and heartfelt keys
Bowing inside the night they longfully romanced, ballerined on fruitless olden toes that would soon become cramped
Whispering together, they flee against the mournless sounds, that crept and prowled outside the bounds'
Deciding a long time ago to dance their lives away, to live within the fleeting joy and feel their heartbeats sway

She sits alone, mostly. Rolling within the rank sweat and smog filled room she calls her "home"

  Black and white, black on black, white on white. Crisp and clean, yet muddied with her emotional tolls

Gangly legs lay crissed and crossed into the apple sauce, folding in and bent at the knees

  Her Raven hair is swept across the floor like a ***** mop left out to dry in the rotten sunshine (or so she calls it)

Portraying the swayed emotions that she feels like a long black river of gnat buzzing irritation

  "Stupid." she whispers in a mocking tone, head cocked to the side with a face filled with blankness

       "Stupid Pretenders," she mutters in a voice as soft as the whispering ghosts, lost within the sounds of the dead

Pretenders. That is what she calls them as they flit too and fro, ignorance and bliss surrounding the obvious facts

  Floating in and out of her mind, she has memorized every single one of their faces, down to the last detail;

Every last acne scarred face that tormented her while she was a "just a child", they billow down into her mind

  The blank and fish glossed eyes never truly seeing, staring blankly ahead of them while they passed by, oblivious

Like running brooks, and rays of light they ebb and intertwine into who she is (or who she thought she once was)

  She enjoys pretending that she knows their stories, has lived their lives, all while she is glaring madly into lost space

Having been swept astray, she descends deeper between lulling calls of the dead, mourning in sweet song for her fruitless life

  They plead with her to sacrifice her existence, escorting peace into her tattered soul, to terminate her withdrawn pain

Lending her the hand of the Black Rider who comes at dusk, singing a haunting lullaby to drag her down into the dawn

There is only solace within the silenced bird who had the wanton thoughts of singing
And clarity within the cold dead hands of the mangled bodies who lay beneath
The soft black soil held inside the pliable folds of the Presidents hands.
As he lobs it into the impoverished child's grits to feed upon
Suckling from the **** of a democratic mans ideology
He heaves it into their frantic phizog, because he has got the green from cultured trees
And all they own within possession are his feces, to be buried within the waste of his decisions.
But no matter
As we have always evolved to strive within the muck of poverty.

Sometimes, but moreso often then not,
I may lay and gaze listlessly at the river.
I can decide to even ask it a question or two.
It has a metamorphosis into a loving companion,
Which has grown upon and is only within my mind,
But then it whispers back to me, whispering secrets it only knows,
This voice, murmuring it speaks lustfully of its' known truth,
T'is the sound of rain, it humbles the wind, and fire's tongue it stays,
But henceforth from here and out, t'is the bringer of pain.
It bends and contorts, riding the rocks, like painted ponies wild,
Blending colors and creating it binds the flora, in a mindless dance,
It storms over many a lands, not unlike the humans craving advances.

Although I may gaze often, silently and curious into the river,
Fleeting in the wind, holding in the breath, to turn naught a single tide.
Shall I dare take a breath, and let blood always turn through these sunken veins?
Am I absolute, and real? Perhaps I am still within my flesh, perhaps still made of bone?
Or has this body decomposed, turning into water and turning into stone?
But after a time, pondering and searching within these calmly churning waters,
I began once, wondering of who I am, and what I was supposed to be.
But what many may perhaps never ever realised, or even begun to know,
Is that the river has begun, it's own turn with the tables, turning its gaze,
And begins to watch me in return.

He's only seen what once had ever happened
but the memories he has decidedly repressed
his eyes have been glued, cemented in with solemness
never again shall they open as they've been sewn shut

The stitches themselves have only ever ached
for the needles were minute and blindingly fast
the holes between each slight and delicate thread
has left aperture trails behind, a kindling to his ****** gloom

Cleaved and lacerated, his lids have splintered
**** filled blood as its only moisturizer
spasmming as it oozes along the crevices of his face
passing marred flesh like vines extending unto forest floor

"Hoc est languor meus
Ego praestolabor in aeternum nam finis"
said he with hand hovering over silver chaliced ****
soon, though he shall weep the golden tear of death upon slab

Let's just,
pretend that we know there is a difference
     between our diamond truths and our slip of the tongue white lies
Our feigned porcelain skin we stitch to perfect ourselves
     begins to grow brittle, contorted by a breath of acid (truth or lie.)
Lies,
they've decide they love you "till death do you part"
     they can lurk within every awkward silence, so they can whittle their deceit
They wait behind doors, keep themselves hidden between cracks
     striking with their nails, they crawl towards light from under streets
Truths,
they will forever burn and scald our perfect and phony milk skins
     they tease our tongues, melt and scorch our falsely laden lips
Trickling onto chins like thickly fraught syrup made of gore
     they try to keep us from sharing, never will they let secrets slip (small or large)
Lies,
with an amiable but devilish grin they nip, splintering pounds of flesh
     they have eyes that visualize the world as a rotten corpse that needs a bite
They catch their nails upon our spines, digging in, pressuring pain until
     they can sneak into our pores, to feed their mirrored deceit into our kind
Truths,
always have their ways of keeping us "honest" to the gut wrenching core
      They fold our eyes inside one another, blinding us from reality and what really is
Crisp, kind ,and clean, they keep us frozen to how others may 'truly' feel
     they are making us diamonds and ice, frosting over the human beating heart (the both are painful)
Itty bitty,
little white lies, will always be living, alive with the holes of truth
     these truths, will still leave a faint trace of acid upon our tongues  
So, shall we continue on our journey, and pretend there's still a difference
     between our truth's and lies?

There no longer is light in once brightly lit blue eyes
The light has faded being overrun by
Rotting alone with the steam of the bath drawn
High in heat and low in self esteem
She sits wrinkling in her own decaying moods
The razored edge pressed against the bite plain palm of her left hand
The nails on her right too bitten and bruised from a nervous tick
That was earned over the formidable years of solitude
In the presence of a man, women or child
She chewed those nails untill only ****** stumps remained
To hold the blade against the skin
As she slits the frightened skin, it splits open against the cool metal
Repeatedly freezing her dead beating heart
Giving jumps to an amnesiac heart that forgot
The drums in which it beat alongside to the tune
Peeling at the edges to reveal a rotten core
Oozing with an unknown slime
The black coloured lumps of already clotted blood
From the twenty times before
She took the razor again in her hands
Again and
Again and over
Again.
Slowly and always she's been cutting off her life line
One slit of the vein at a time
Exposing the eroded mess of a body
And the tangles of a decomposing brain that is
Wishing away her life upon a dream
A dream inside the dream of a life that was not her own
The model who lives in anorexia, who cannot actually breathe
But it is what she wishes.
So her bones jut out like flags against the bathtubs silkiness
Her face is sunken, a hallowed place with no life
Her bones etched and engraved with years of fear
From the "dimples" and layers of fat that stuck to her like glue
The "flab" that was skin that hung loosely from her ribs
An aspiration that caused this illness
And set her on the course of searching for a homedial cure
Yet, she is not thin enough, so she cuts away the flesh upon her body
With salt mixing with soap
From her once bright blue eyes and
The suds within the steaming water
That lap against her skin like a cat tongue
Roughly tormenting her already devoured soul
A harsh reminder of what she could never have
So the resolution she came up was to carve away her insides
To give away her vitals to the poor children in the world
In an attempt to be rendered thin and to disappear from plain sight
But she still can't choose what stays and what fades away

Choking back the austere tears
Holding a paled hand
Feeling a fluttering pulse
Auscultating to the drumming beats
As they languidly diminish in strength
   *Swallowing the lumps in a throat
Supporting a medicated head
Watching the thoughts pass through eyes
That have never seen (that never will)
Imagining in black and white
   Covetous to see what they do
Only allowed stagnant black
Yearning to view the vividry of natural
Always wasted on time spent dreaming
Yet still holding on to them
   Reciting every reason through a brain
You cannot chase away the darkness
When it is one's only companion
Harbors the soul in an animated delusion
Driving towards the light in which it cannot see
   Letting the eyes rupture
Longing,bursts within the velvet folds
The sightless have deteriorated
For nothing gives an interest, nor enthusiation
Only to blame death upon the lonely darkness
   Although the life we lived was not scandalous
While it may seem bleak and dismal
We could have made something glamorous
With not an apprehension we could be marvelous
*Why couldn't we have been beautiful?

Yesterday, I noticed you were fragile
you could barely stand alone
With your chin held high
letting the tears crawl down your face
Leaving trails of slime behind
devouring your face one smile at a time
Leaving them to split your face in two
separating fict. from fact
Until you are turned naturally
turned into the common tragedy

Yesterday, I saw that you were hurt
your delicate bones couldn't hold
Wavering within the wind
as a sad soft smile courses through your veins
Fool, You let hell inside your parted lips
gagging on your tongue as you drown
It has begun to dim the lights
pulling you ever under and making you restless
Until you are pale to your lashes
turned to dust within ashes

Today, now I see that you are gone
your life has come to pass
Only the memories remain
of a life that could not last
You shall soon be replaced
we shan't remember your face
Or the cuts upon your skin
and the blood upon the wall
Only the world stooped to watch
as heaven made its call

The people surounding me; in looks is where they are bloated with pride
Of this of course, I am so very sure, that upon wood I could knock
They have to walk the walk and be able to talk the talk
Not thinking much of, or giving a care on to what is inside
Well as for me, I have begun to learn my face
And I know for sure as well; that it is not a thing of grace (Nor will it ever be)
So I would rather work upon the parts of me
What is inside; That no one seems to really see
Some jesters will happen to say with a voice of stern
"Pray to the Lord she is ugly as sin,
And perhaps another will say in a kindly return;
"But luckily she has beauty deep within."