A darling girl of three
Violet ribbon cradles golden hair
They fuss over her porcelain skin
Blushing cheeks and baby blue eyes
“Eyes you just want to steal,”  say They.
She crayons pictures of castles
And heroic princes.
Her little dolls are played
Then locked in their little dollhouse

A fair girl of fifteen
Mornings she is taunted and condemned
By the mocking mirror.
She stares
And draws a smile on the vacancy.
Head, shoulders, knees and toes-
Strings attached to all.
Puppetted by the fetters of Expectation,
She smiles, and acts,
And dresses in little outfits
To please Them.

A charming girl of seventeen
Immured little fingers cradle the wiled world.
A Crayoned face fronts the masquerade.
Mangled in tangled strings,
She offers her heart and scissors to a little blonde boy
And cries, Kiss it better.
He smiles and smooths her brow
As his honeyed whispers tear her open
And he ties a heartstring.
He stitches her up with the thread of Promises
Leaving ribbon-scars delicate as lace.
Blueblack bruises blossom across
And stain her porcelain skin.
She shatters
While screaming his innocence.

Thieved eyelight
Makes for a jaded girl of eighteen.

A darling girl of three
Plays with toys
As They toy with her.
Just another broken doll to be.

Sick of not knowing.
Sick of waiting.

It hurts to be alone
Knowing what it's like to be with you.

Running with no where to go
searching for the invisible

Like playing hide-n-go seek by yourself
You hide, but no one's looking

Watching sunsets alone
Wanting to share with someone

Then someone different comes along
Holds your hand, sings a song

You think you've found
what you've been looking for

A love pure and strong
Then comes a laugh

A laugh at your eyes
your loving eyes

"Didn't you know it was all pretend
Didn't you know I'm only a friend."

All a joke,
all for fun.

You search his eyes,
you thought you saw something there

but that warmth of love
was only the heat of passion

The lust for pleasure
the longing for satisfaction.

Far from the gentle tenderness
of a sincere heart.

But you will not be fooled again,
you will not be so naive.

You will move on past this hurt.
it will not fester and infect.

Stab and bleed it will
but it will heal

trust will come again
but slower, more cautious.

And then that longing will be fulfilled
not for satisfaction or pleasure,

but for love.
Love will come.

wait you will,
until at last.

you will find yourself  in the arms
of someone who truly cares.

You’re his
And he’s hers
You can complain in song or in verse
It doesn’t change anything
You’ll remain his
And you’ll keep hoping he’s not hers anymore
You want to know why
It’s because he didn’t ask
He didn’t even need to try
He didn’t come to you
You gave yourself
Forgetting selfish feelings
And pride for him
Now you’re repenting
Or you’re pretending to
You cannot be feeling remorse
For what your heart –
Or maybe it’s your brain –
Decides
It’s not your fault,
That’s what you keep thinking
And really you should
There is no reason for you to take the blame
For what?
Falling in infatuation? –
Love is too big a word
And you know it
And she’s still there
A big blotch of jealousy
On your idyllic picture
A stain in your happiness
You have to live with her
Even better, you have to accept
That even when – if – she gets out
Of that picture
You can’t do anything
You don’t want to be that girl, do you?
Pride is slowly creeping back up
“I’m not taking anyone’s sloppy seconds!”
“I’m better than this.”
And maybe somewhere in there
Is a little concern for others
“I can’t do that to her.”
“What will people think?”
Oh, there we have it
You don’t want to be known
As that girl
You know her,
Of course you do
You might’ve laughed at her
You might’ve pitied her
And now you want to avoid becoming her
Following like a dog an inexistent trail
But you know that trail isn’t there, right?
You’re better than that, right?
Is that what you tell yourself
Lying alone in bed at night
In the violent imprisonment
You suffer?
You’re not better that that, dear
What do you see in his looks and his smiles?
What do you hear in his words and in his laugh?
You see it, right?
That invisible thread that ties you together?
Of course you do
He’s perfect for you
you have so much in common
I’d urge you to forget him
But you feel special
You think he actually likes you
He doesn’t
He’s playing
He’s a guy, just like the others
I hear you
“No he’s sensitive”
“No he’s my friend”
Friend?
I don’t think so
You are not friends
You’re that girl he sometimes talks to
Especially when he needs something
You’re kind of weird
But always willing to help
And it’d be sad
If you were only that way with him
But it’s okay, I guess because
You’re always like that
That’s one good thing
About this destructive relationship
I’m happy you’re not changing
I’m happy you’re the same girl
The same person
But I wish you weren’t so smitten
I wish you didn’t care so much

Look at those
downcast cheekbones,
upturned eyes.
Look at the cloak
of hair that curls
around her face
like climbing vines
about a fence.
Look at her
neck like a vase
and a fanciful
silhouette thereof.
See how it all
gives way to flushed
skin and those
eyes light up with
demure appreciation
for everything
you do
and everything
you say, it seems.
How can you
forget her
even for  a night?
Every move
she makes
engenders
a shudder
in you because
you always think
she might just
touch you.  And oh,
look again upon that
countenance--
there is just
something
about a beautiful woman
that begs
to be loved.

For me the apocalypse is today,
as I lay in my pool of blood,
the world is ending,
I hear the sirens, a flashing ray,
I hear the paramedic say,
he won't live to see another day,
then I ask myself ,
why do I have to die this way,
making it my apocalypse,
my judgement day,
for as I die,
the world is ending
the world is dying with me,
everyday there is an apocalypse,
for everyone who dies,
and this one is mine.

I, foolish lover
you, down-low *******
no loving for cowardice

A certain quiet glinting in the corner of my eye
a prickle-necked foreboding in a sullen winter sky
An ultrasonic wavelength tuned to sorrow and to fear
comes manifest, projected through my wish to bring it near
A pressure change, a slamming door, a thought of things undone
comes seeping through the paintwork for a bit of spectral fun

And I can sit complacently and watch the show unfold
My perfect explanations make me curious and bold
I wonder how my brain will paint this misty-coloured scene
What face will fly from memory where no face should have been
I have no need for magic or for spirits of the dead
But seek the secret passages that twine within my head

And here it comes, as if on cue, parading through the wall
(A weaker man than me would think his wisdom rather small)
The wraith is clothed in folklore, stepping past without a glance
And I would laugh it off but for one ghastly circumstance:
For all my knowledge, nothing helps the second that I see
That solid as I feel, this ghost
                                                     does not
                                                                ­       believe
                                                                ­                      in me.