You are the light in a room
when the sun is absent
and the moon is hidden
behind drifting clouds.

you don't gotta paint the sun,
but it would be nice.

You told me you were terrified
of what was to come.
Well, if it is any solace to you,
I feel the same.

Please,
assure me,
inform me,
is this really true?

How did
this happen, I ask?
How did I come here
from out of the blue?

How far
did I drift on the sea?
How fair did
I sail?

I cannot believe
that this is reality,
it feels to much
like a fairytale.

i fluff my pillow,
but my anger is untamed,
my grip too strong,
the pillow rips
and out comes a shower
of goose feathers.

Such a beautiful sight,
everything was right;
As it should be
a centerpiece of a white lily;
Blooming peonies,
zealous bumblebees;
All was perfect,
all was well,
I simply love it,
my garden's smell.

The flame that burns
the purest shade of silver
sends a shiver of euphoria
down my spine,
to my brain,
a tingle of excitement
surging through my veins.

The rain shatters as it falls to the cobblestone,
the scent of petrichor strong in the air.
The rain hits a red umbrella, held by a woman
with lips as red as her shield.
The rain lands on the roof of a telephone booth,
dribbling down the red door.
The rain hits a red double decker bus,
a calming melody for the people inside.
The rain hits the blood flowing from a lifeless corpse,
courtesy of an admirer
of Jack the Ripper.
It's a chaotic beauty,
it's crimson London.

You seem to entertain the thought
that I belong to you
more than I belong to myself.

You seem to entertain the thought
that you have a lead on my soul,
nonetheless my mind.

You seem to entertain the thought
that I must please you
before I please myself.

You couldn't be more mistaken.

Welcome to the home of a narcissist,
extravagance not unheard of,
especially
when it comes to the mask
of your host.

Let us drink mead
before the army we lead!

Let us drink port
before we trample a field of lungwort!

Let us drink ale
before we hear the melody of the nightingale!

Let us drink,
soldiers,
to a battle we will win!

a scream as piercing
as a furious bolt of lightning
crashing violently against a peaceful midnight.
to cope with the loss
of someone who filled the empty, sorrowful void
in your soul
is abominable.

With a cigarette in hand
and an unreadable face,
I leave my emotions to rust in the rain.

If I do not show any feelings,
I hoped I wouldn't be hurt,
but even then I was ostracized
because they said I was a machine.

Like a jellyfish,
you needn't attack unless preyed upon.
You are silent, yet dangerous.
A petrifying touch that everyone
seems to crave.

using but only a sword and daggers
in a battle of rifles and muskets
would be naught but suicide.

Do not cry,
child,
for someone
who will not cry rivers,
lakes,
oceans
for you.

The furious wind
screams, it howls
in unison
with the wolf.

The perfect little neighborhood,
homes full of lies,
they hide behind the polished door
and under their smile hides hideous cries.

The perfect little homes
to show to the people's eyes
while on the inside there's centipedes,
not lively butterflies.

A penny or coin
of copper, silver or gold
flipped into a fountain
with the promise of a granted wish,
a claim of the impossible.
And yet,
we sacrifice our currency
to pray for what we do not have
in hope that the fountain
will shower us with our desires.

your love is rough,
like newly bought denim.
denim that fits like a glove
against my body
as it brushes roughly
against sensitive skin.

You're rather agog,
enthralled, really.
Marauding youths,
they are reckless, audacious,
imprudent.
How it interests you so,
how you yearn to live like them,
I cannot comprehend what passes through your mind.
Do tell, why?

My body is ever present,
my voice speaking
a melancholic melody.

Yet, if I am here,
why do I feel a fog of nothingness
lick my feet?

Why is my throat
unable to produce any sound,
my lungs choking on oxygen
as I try to breathe?

How is my body alive,
but my eyes dead,
my soul stuck in an inevitable twilight,
a limbo?

Will I be found,
saved,
or sacrificed?

I don't see why
you would choose me,
I don't know why
you're here.
No, I cannot deny,
I don't see why
so I must be lucid dreaming.

Fear will consume any who remain vulnerable,
Eternal ****** in the presence of death,
An inevitable fate to all who call themselves human,
Reminds us to cherish the little and lots that we have,
Lest we choose greed over graciousness,
Endless envy over gratitude,
Senseless with sadness until one sees the light,
Something we could all discover.

You tried to break me
like shattered glass
but to your misfourtune,
it didn't last.

I was rebuilt like tile
the gaps filled with grout,
I was stronger now,
without a doubt.

- for Brenda

I can't get out of bed,
for the fear of falling
into a fathomless pit as I lift myself tiredly
is a thought I cannot cope with.

My mind led my body
off the edge, into the abyss.
They stared,
desirous.
If you love me,
said my body,
lead me off of the precipice.
If you love me,
said my mind,
follow me into silence.
If you love me,
they said,
let us together,
exist.

The hourglass is filled with the tears of the sun
golden beads that fall quickly, gracefully
but what will happen when the last grain
falls?

Silence is loud,
when listening to a draw of breath,
the rythm of a beating heart,
how unbearably quiet.

I pick up my mandolin,
made of fine mahogany,
and strum the eight strings.

My fingers rehearse a melody,
one that I know
better than myself.

It cures the silence,
how pleasing.

The violin screeches a sorrowful tune,
the fire bellow puffs on the flames as it crackles
while I hold *** in my hand
to think of the past.

The night, silent and obscure.
2:56 ; witching hour was near.
My mind wasn't sure,
and a dragging pierced my ears.
My mother,
my father,
dragged by a stickly, monstrous figure.
It placed them in my room, creating
a masterpiece.
On the wall, he used their blood
to write a message.
As it hid under my bed,
my eyes twitched open
to read the horrific message on the wall.

"I know you're awake."

A plaid scarf
wrapped tightly, suffocating me,
protecting me from the biting wind.
A silver snow whisping its way
down the road, in the trees.
I was awaiting someone.

"Jack Frost, you ought not be here."

"No need to worry, Midd Summer. My turf is yours."

"The fae will not be pleased."

A scoff that chilled,
that sent shivers down my spine
was pressed against the nape of my neck.

"That's fine, as long as you are."

Philophobia (n.) The fear of falling in love.

I've been hurt
by a lover
and perhaps falling in love
isn't all that matters
if that's how it ends.

But I want love,
I want to be held in my obscure moments,
may love isn't all that bad,
maybe philophobia isn't for me.

Perhaps it's
agliophobia
the fear of being hurt.

Agliophobia (n.) The fear of being hurt.

I've never been satisfied,
how hard to I have to work
and dream
to be satisfied?

Maybe I'm just used to
this same old, dull routine
and this may be my normal.

How do I know what's out there,
will it make me satisfied?
I'll go and see then, what life has to offer
and at least I'll know I tried.

Fields of amber grain
clash against the greying sky;
The smell of petrichor coming from the rain
makes you wonder, why?

Is there a reason you're here?
Are you, perhaps, a godsend?
It's something to fear;
When will it end?