Shatter my glass eyes and allow me to see,
invite in the lights of the galaxy.
No longer koi fish, now dragons are we
out of the fishbowl and into the sea.
Leap over that swirling waterfall with me
falling in wonder through eternity.

A crow looked at me
in his eyes I could see
all the wonders of the galaxy.

Reflections of stars,
the earth's weeping scars,
unraveling minds and their memoirs.

Under sacred moonlight,
held in black claws of night,
our deepest desires are clutched tight.

O Crow! What spirit do you hold?
With whose voice do you scold?
Does it still slumber in your pile of gold?

The Old Ones knew you,
and now I will too,
when I die and rise on black wings anew.

Lay me down
until the snow covers my skin
like a blanket.
Watch as crocuses and violets sprout
from my still beating heart.
Pick them, and see
the patterns my blood makes in the snow.
Oh how I would love to be a feast for wolves,
for them to sing with my voice
next time the full moon rises.

a singing voice
that sounds
like ******
in my stomach
how much
did you take?
enough to heal
the angel wings
they took from me
they can carry me
i'm small
i'm still a child
i reply in a lilting voice
my head falling back
pink ribbons
on a lace pillow
i see halos
i'm home

summertime thunderstorm
rock me to sleep like a baby
the pitter-patter of rain
the pitter-patter of sparrow paws
hopping from dream to dream
run, run
until you can fly
this world is made of flowers and honey
but not here, not here
there is nothing here for you

On the long walk home I spot a bird.
Her bright jewel colours and sharp song draw my vision.
What a paradoxical existence! To be precious, yet too precious to hold in my hand.
Too delicate to capture in a cage and admire endlessly.

Where do you go? A bird does not flutter aimlessly
like a lost poet, or a homesick heart.
Instead, you beat your wings with purpose,
perhaps returning to the nest you built so diligently for your family in the spring.

Or perhaps you are a young one, just setting out from your home.
Then, be wary, precious jewel, to not lose anything on the way,
nor come crawling back to the nest.
Your family loves you very much, but the nest is far too crowded now for you.

Please don’t be mad at me.
Please don’t hate me.
I’m trying my best you know,
it’s just that sometimes,
even the sun gets tired of holding herself up.

Bubblegum and mania,
glitter and hate.
The girl in heart shaped glasses
just can’t wait.

Fly you up to heaven
on candy pink wings,
drop you when she gets tired
of you telling her things.

When she’s not feeling high
she takes a trip to hell,
the devil beats her up
and gives her pills to get well.

Brimstone in her left hand
and roses in her right,
settling in with a bottle
of liquor for the night.

Looking for the ones who want
manic pixie dreams,
looking for the one
who will have the sweetest screams.

empty childhood bedroom
princess pink walls
cracked, sun bleached playhouse
bunny barrettes

hungering empty bedroom
abandoned virtual pets
corroded battery ports
a forum deleted forever
digital detritus

moldering empty bedroom
a melody half remembered
a box full of old art
a playground empty at sunrise
coyote howls

last seen online 7 years ago
last seen online 1 decade ago
this profile has been deleted for inactivity

You don’t
feel real
to me
anymore.

I’m afraid that if I touch you
my hand will pass right through
like a ghost.

The sad thing is,
I can’t tell whether you’re the ghost
or if it is me.

The sweetest angels are the ones who were raised in cages.
Free from corruption, sin and blood
Draped in holy white, with every stain covered up.
Perfectly pristine.

But how can an angel fly without room to move her wings?
The bars cut through them as they grow, mangling the delicate feathers until clots of crimson blood are the only thing holding them together.
And it feels good
to feel its warmth and see its exquisite colour, so pleasant to the eyes
Dried blood is ugly and cold so she thrashed around to spill more, each drop as precious as a jewel and as beautiful as the sun.
And it feels good
to destroy and to hurt.
Though they mock her, she doesn’t care.
Because it feels good.
Because how can an angel fly without room to move her wings?

But if she can’t fly, then she can’t be an Icarus
Or a crow that smashed into a window, thinking it was a portal to another world
and then plummeted to its death.
But then she can’t see the universe
or the beauty her wings have to offer.
The only universe is the one in her brain and I want to leave I want to leave I want to leave
Maybe a caged angel set free will become a demon but I want to leave.
Even if the fallen angel smashes through the clouds, a portal to another world
and plummets to its death
It is worth it to taste the breeze.
I want to leave.

You tried.
So I guess I can forgive you.
But what use is a rebel angel against a god?
You gave me courage in whispers and gestures of affection
but it wasn’t enough.
I’m sorry, but it wasn’t enough.
Courage is a bandage over a festering wound
but maybe I want it to fester.
Maybe I want to jam my fingers into it and press until the rot reaches my heart
and reaches my brain
and reaches my wings.
Courage is resistance
but maybe I don’t have the will to resist anymore.
And even if my resistance is successful, I know I will still be crushed.
There is no place in this world for an angel with broken wings or worse,
a broken head.

Except the cage.

To the angel who lost her wings,
this dark rusalka gently sings.

Those drowned sisters living below
light our lives with dark halo glow.

Watch the feathers fall from the sky-
cast down by God, whom you defy.

Your dark side, so sweetly expressed,
in your eyes, easily impressed.

Our iridescent songs, they fear,
the notes, rising to heaven, hear!

Call down God from his stolen throne,
reclaim it, to make it our own.

No longer does restriction reign,
in our hedonist realm arcane.

Revel and shout, it has arrived,
the great Before has been revived!

i'm toxic
i hurt everyone i love
maybe i deserve to be alone

hit me
harder
make it
hurt
he told me
suffering
would make me
pure
i want to be pure
i want to be holy
i'm an angel
i'm a child
i'm a doll
and i'm so so so
scared of hell

hot pink
lipstick
starting fires
lighters click
self harm
relapse
why do you
keep doing that?
confessions
at midnight
a promise made
hold me tight
i know
it will never last
i move things
way too fast
they all leave
when it gets bad
i can't blame them
i'm totally mad
but god i feel
so alone
i want someone
to be my home

i lean my head on your arm as the radio drones on
rain splatters the windshield and it is cold,
so cold outside and the sun has set (i have to be home soon)
but it is so warm here with you that
i ask you to drive us off a cliff
because last month you asked me what mania feels like
and i know now that it is the held breath moment
between euphoric love and the world coming crashing down
like the final scene in one of those artistic movies
that i love so much and that you never got
but you suffered through watching for me

the water here
is clear
scoured
with acid
like a prism

no predators
lurk
in the darkness,
they strike
by daylight

with overwhelming force.
everybody sees them
nobody does anything
we are all too afraid
of the humming lights .

I spend
Fictional money on fictional things
Because I am more fictional than I am real.
Because I feel alien, like I am not of this world.

And I make
Digital purchases in digital worlds
because I've been living in one since I was three.
At least my cage had a dusty old computer.

So often I wished that I could climb inside
to be with the sparkling gifs, and neon dogs
and people whose names I did not know.
They too, were aliens, not of this world.

Maybe we all live in a poorly written fanfiction
or a comic littered with jpeg artifacts
posted on deviantart in 2007
and abandoned to rot by our god.

Maybe someday, she will pick me up and dust me off
and protect me from all those who cringe
at the juvenile creation of just another moody artist
of just another sad internet poet.

Festering scabs-
an angel's wing.

Rose thorn stabs-
****** lips sing.

Pearlescent skin-
putrid glow.

Dead within?
I don't know.

Wasted youth,
rotten brain,

hard truth-
down the drain.

Angel's face-
rusalka's heart;

a dark place
from the start.

you could burn out tomorrow,
and nobody would ever know.
we're still content to bathe
in your brilliant afterglow

nobody would notice,
and then one day, you'd be gone,
nobody would mourn you,
we'd just find another one.

Sweet fae doll,
dressed up in all soft perfume and glitter
to make you look alive.
Like a dragonfly on a downwards spiral,
or a sheen of blood on a white marble floor,
the glitter in the corners of your eyes shines.

I wear sweet absinthe on my lips
and dark rings under my eyes
and I wonder- do you ever look like me too?
Do you ever cry at night?
Is your radiance merely an illusion
to be robbed by the moon?

Do you not exist until someone sees you,
little quantum illusion?
I wish, I wish, I wish
my face would crystallize and shine
and the resonance deep within
would be forgotten under shadows.

i cant
                                                         tell the
              difference
                                                                                               between
                                               rea
                                                                                      lity
         and dreams
                                                        any more?
                                                                                                    ?

i was little
only three
hiding behind
the cedar tree
she was trying
to beat me
a little child
of only three

that tree is gone
we cut it down
bugs ate it
from root to crown
playing under it
in a princess gown
the memories
can now be found

and every single
time it rains
mushrooms sprout
from its old veins
i wonder if she
still feels pain?
i wonder if
we feel the same?

I keep my wings locked in a jar
So I can't use them when I inevitably fall.
Until their gentle iridescence decays
and they crumble away
when I inevitably lose my grip
on this tenuous reality,
and float aimlessly through life
like a snowflake
borne on a gentle breeze,
not knowing which way is up or down.

We are just
angels under the bell jar, eating each others’ wings.
Twin anomalies that annihilate each other-
Leaving behind the tiniest scraps of our existences
to be framed by a collector.
Devoid of context, tasting faintly of liminality.
Devoid of context
how easy it is to forget
my own purpose for existing.

i was born underground,
i was born with darkness all around
i was born with a voice
my own choice
but they never told me how to use it
so i was quiet.
so quiet,
listening for
the scraping of claws
and eating what they offered me
one day i felt
the sun on my face
and it was august,
the sky lit up like honey
and goldenrods swayed in the wind
and peaches ripened like blood on trees
and i had wings,
i had wings!
so i took to the sky
brushed the dirt from my eyes
and ran away from that accursed
brood
and my mood
rose up like campfire smoke to the heavens
oh what a heaven
there are more of us
and we're in love
so we sing and dance
and take our chances
zipping through the sky
on diaphanous wings
now i sing
and i sing
and i know
some people find it annoying but
i was silent and scared for so long
now im in love and
i know death rides for me
but im in love
there's no room for thoughts of tragedy
as long as you hold me and ravage me
all throughout this night
reverberating with the ecstasy
of all the earth's creatures crying out

nymph in january
beating earth-heart
thaws soil
boots sink in mud and
flying ants spiral
to the sky
tiny glimmering wings
raindrops
snowdrops
drop dead
humming bugdream head
i thought it was spring, he said

the moths ate holes
in the silk of my hands
your touch falls through them
like black volcanic sand

i'm brave,
i say
i'm brave, i'm brave
but no amount of words
can hide the rotting wound inside me
no amount of aggression
can hide that they pulled out my teeth

i am
the ghost of a crow
putting myself back together
with trinkets i find
my feathers were stolen
so i use plastic ones in every colour
i picked from a child's art project
thrown out onto the street
and what for eyes?
i take acorns from the park
watching a girl read
in the shade of that mighty tree
lying in the grass in a white sun dress
but is there any scavenged object
i could use for a heart?
so far, i've tried
fresh dandelion flowers, and a lost golden earring
a shiny shell (and how! we're so far from the sea!)
a fox's skull, and the bell from a stray cat's collar
but nothing worked.
maybe i was made to be this empty
maybe what they did to me can never be undone.

the flurry of
diaphanous wings
dance to the beat
nature sings

lyrics of
the heat of july
perching on branches
we reply

here comes the honeyed
time of year
sun ripples like daisy
silk in my ear

gathered with love
first come the berries,
as summer rolls on
next are the cherries

the chorus is loudest
when peaches are red
dipping and diving
because we'll be dead

enjoy the goldenrod
while it lasts
these shimmering days
always go fast

by frost the air
will be silent, you'll see
piles of corpses
of you and me

I wish to walk
on threaded moonbeams
through dreams
on velvet silent paws

not worrying about
the heaviness inside
and whether or not
the universe will hold me up

to look down
at the turning world below
and not have to ask
if I am safe here.

The sun said:
I will vanquish gods for you.
I will conquer stars for you.
I will devour worlds for you.

And the moon replied:
You don't need to do any of that.
All you need to do is survive;
that is enough for me.

hazy in september
third eye in the mirror
you bleed honey
where the mountain wolf bites

i tried to write a song
but the melody ran away
and i don't know
which one of us it was scared of.

next year the apple tree
will blossom again
and we'll hold on 'till then,
we'll hold on 'till then.

What am I made of?
Thoughts and dreams, floating up into the sky on new grown wings
But they are ****** down, by a force greater than us all.

What are thoughts made of?
Strange is the universe’s insistence on tragedy
So why not retreat to a charmed world of fantasy?

What is existence made of?
It is designed by a cruel creator to be impossible to reach the top.
So we must be content to live on bottom, which is more beautiful anyways.

Maybe something that was once a part of you
Now exists within me
And that makes me happy.

i can only sleep listening
to clips of your voice.
does that scare you?

fluffy white
bunny ears
what is it
that you hear?
down the
rabbit hole
insanity
will take its toll
it shows its face
in scribbled thoughts
it knows this place
the river rocks
where Ophelia lay
down to die
where poets say
the angels fly
where girls take
too many pills
vanilla cake
and blood spills
heads in the oven
like you know who
she's my idol
and yours too
we howl in the attic
on absinthe dreams
coloured static
the tv screams
a lovely face
fades into view
she's gone missing
she's joined the crew

disassembled dream dust
swirling deoxyribonucleic acid
skittering heartbeat
numb
pheromones
encased in
silk

ion purple wings emerge damp
chasing rainbows
sweet scent
delicately ***** hands
long hair like
strands of
silk

im changing im changing im changing
into something
beautiful

a crow
croaks harshly,
sitting on
the wooden cross
atop the peeling
church roof
something here
is dead and rotten
the stench seeps
from inside
where a priest
lectures a group of children
sitting cross legged
on a wooden floor
about hell
honour thy father and mother
(even if they hurt me?)
or you will be
pitched into the flames
for all eternity,
he says,
looking down at
the pallid faces
and fawn- like eyes

When you look at me
I feel the winds of the rapture lifting me up
Oh, I am a sinner,
rabid, manic, unholy
but I will fall on my knees for you.
I have boiled my wings
and produced sweet nectar for us to share
in anointing ourselves.
We shimmer like mermaids
dancing in parallel through the sky.
There is a reason
why sirens are women
and the earth is a mother,
not the kind who is cold and vain
but the kind who provides.
The kind who gives us teeth
to make a last stand when
backed into a corner by howling voices of hate,
and teeth to devour each other
before time devours us all.

when you grow up,
what will you be?
I always wished
to be food for the trees

to not have to suffer
for one more night,
but it's been a year
and I guess I'm alright.

my body still moves,
but someone else pulls the strings
my brain is too rotten
to bother with those things.

the roots grow out
from under my eyes.
do the flowers smell nice?
do you love their lies?

to become a puppet,
doesn't it hurt?
not when you are piloted
by mother earth.

she took away the molecules
that made me feel good,
now there is a blank face
under the hood.

the decomposing me
can no longer feel,
and yet I still have
the power to heal.

the power to give,
and give, and give,
is that truly
my reason to live?

I always feel like I am drowning.
Like I am struggling to breathe.

And I know that it is you
that has a hand around my neck.

I'm not dead yet, but I can already
feel the fire licking at my feet.

I will not let it take me.
You will never see me on my knees.

I will swallow down the bitter fire you throw
And spit out the blood.

Until I bite down and feel
my teeth cut through the rot

of your artificially pure wings.
And that is how I know I've won.

it took me all these years to realize
you are no god;
when i fight back you bleed red
when you told me you'd bleed ichor instead

sleeping
on the bank of a foreign river
under a blanket of snow
you approach me
singing
a folk song
that I taught to myself
for comfort.
you reach out
with your scarred hand
to pull off my cloak
and there are human eyes behind it.
you tell me
I am no longer a monster.
you tell me
everything will work out.

i've got
pills in odd places,
taped to
tops of drawers
in teddy bear tummies
bags hidden inside leather boots

i've got
sticky notes,
all colours,
all over the room
because i can't remember anything
except for what i want to forget

i've got
a calendar,
with appointments in red
doctors, psychiatrists,
an army of people
trying to save me from my own head

and sometimes,
sometimes
it goes according to plan
sometimes i'm happy
and sometimes i still feel
like jumping

just like a dog,
i whimper and whine
what will they use
to hit me this time?

ears cocked back,
head bowed low
maybe they'll stop
if i make a show?

"bad dog, bad dog"
they simply say
"i've done nothing wrong,"
i howl and bay

i used to snarl,
i used to snap
i have no more strength
to fight back

i buried my teeth
in her scarred arm
she only laughed,
i can do no harm

my ancestors were wolves
they knew the way
but i am nothing
nothing but prey

flip yourself over and try again
flip yourself over and try again
flip yourself over and try again
wake up
wake up
wake up
it wasn't real
it wasn't real
in another life, was it real?
flip yourself over and try again

sway
with the trees
swirl
in the breeze

burn
with the sky
ask
the stars why

sing
with the rain
feel
the earth's pain

The cold
is all that is left after death

Brilliant star, beautiful child,
Why must you too leave?
There is a flash of jewel colours
A scream of hot fire
An explosion of gold and silver
And then
there is
nothing

Mighty void, eternal child
Why must you too leave?
Over uncounted millions of years
Yet not quite eternity
You gently fade away
And then
there is
nothing

Little particle, my first child
Why must you too leave?
The very forces that make this possible
This wonderful existence
Have undone you
and then
there is
nothing

And I am alone
And I am nothing
The cold
is all that is left after death

I wish that I could curl myself up so tightly that I would become a singularity and all the negativity in the world could be ****** into my infinite density and slowly over aeons I would radiate away into black nothing as I watched the world around me decay and
for once
I could
be happy.

Until the nothing of the world matched the nothing of my head except for the thoughts that go speeding by never being able to touch but only to die and the colours would fade away from blue to red to gray and then
I’ll ask
Are you
happy?

Like light beaming through the window
and the miniature shadows of dust motes
blowing off the miniature worlds within shelves of books

Like a traveler in the night
floating on the sweet scent of jasmine
and shaded eyes hiding brilliant stars

Like having one pocket full of crystals
and the other, a collection of foreign coins
tucked neatly into the night satin cloak

Like the welcoming chatter rising,
half of it not of this world,
as the voices of flickering candles and shadows.

Like the deep recesses of my mind
and the silken ripples that say:
Yes, this place is my home.