"Very difficult," says a little fairy
sitting all alone by herself
near a little singing brooke

and me, i was sitting by a tree
reading my poetry book
she cried to whom, i know not

"alas, finding real true love
is so very difficult"
i heard her say, and i thought
to myself, i must agree

My God, my God, my God.
Thrice said,
As I lie here.
My heart racing,
My muscles aching,
My body buzzing
Like a tongue pressed to a nine-volt battery.

Why am I here, when my mind takes me elsewhere—
To places so fantastic,
So alive,
That to write them into existence would take ten-fold genius
And the ink of ten-thousand pens.

Landscapes spread across my vision.
Innuendos play in my brain.
Though, when I return to the moment,
All I see are my stubby toes
Wiggling from under black sheets,
In a nearly-black room
Coated in drab paint,
Hardly come alive by some utterly generic wall ornaments.

I wash in the same bathroom,
I spray the same perfume,
I dress in the same clothes,
And I thus transform myself—
Again—
Into a copy of the man that lived a day before…
Having created nothing,
Only holding the vastness of a universe
In his dazed, beleaguered mind.

Thrice said, a phrase becomes magical—
At least, that is what I’ve seen...
So, I say three times:
My God,
My God,
My God.

i was once a piece
of beautiful paper,
cut into a heart-shape,
colored with red and
neatly placed at the left
side of my chest.

and then you came
with your heart on fire,
i am enchanted by your warmth
that i let you embrace me.
but i never thought that your fire,
would burn me down.

i was once a piece
of beautiful paper.
but now,
i am no more than
a piece of small gray particles,
ashes,
forgotten ashes
scattered by the wind

never to be found

©IGMS