You drain me of a necessity to live.
You try to enthrall me with manipulation and power.
You lie, you don't love me, you are much too aloof for that.
You are conniving, with a malicious smirk to accessorize your bloodshot eyes.  
You disdain me, you love only those who can offer you gold.
You need not receive my love, for you are too fascinated with yourself.

I collect cassettes,
little boxes of music
as the tape spins about
in a vintage melody.

I used to gaze upon dandelions
as if the were flowers.
"They are only weeds, darling. We must rid of them."
But without them, I felt as though
our garden had too much space.
It wasn't cluttered with yellow,
it was bland.

I listen to the planes soaring through the clouds,
I watch a dragonfly kite pierce the air,
I hum a tune of delight.

What a lovely afternoon, wouldn't you say?

I listen to the birds chirping jauntily,
I watch you stare in amazement,
I smile with glee.

What a lovely afternoon, with you here to keep me company.

What I pity
it would be
if suddenly,
I couldn't see.

I would be saddened
to lose my eyes,
but then again,
I wouldn't cry.

Oh,
so taboo,
wouldn't you say?

An act of love,
but then again,
not cherished
like it was in my day.

Two layers of skin,
cries of pleasure,
an elixir of sweat.

Beautiful, truly.

Please,
but your mug on the coaster,
we wouldn't want the coffee
staining the oak.

you may have suffered
discrimination,
harsh words,
an offense towards your identity,
but remember
to remain
resilient.

Every time I blink
a new world forms
behind my eyelids
like a screen,
like a dream,
so that,
temporarily,
I can escape.

poison needn't come from a chalice,
it can come from words,
full of malice,
a strum of cords.

a reddening whip
on your back with a belt,
provoking hot tears
that could make copper melt.

You can attempt to protect him,
but he simply can't be saved.
You are simply a toy,
a pawn in his game.

I'm out of breath
trying to chase you,
but now you've left
like you were supposed to.

I'll mourn in pain
and sob and grieve,
but maybe again
we may meet.

you smell like a witch's storage,
a pantry of spice;
rosemary, basil,
turmeric, corriander.
the smell,
it's spice.

You bring me petunias
from your ****** garden,
hoping to hear
what you like.

I apologize,
for I may be broken,
but I am certainly not
a liar.

I cannot tell you
what you would like
to hear,
for I have been hurt
beyond repair.

A bridge of wood and rope
above a canyon filled with water
waits to be crossed.

A fathomless pit under you,
a glorious destination across.
Shall you cross,
or shall you stay?

A white fabric,
a curtain, perhaps?
I'm not sure.
It's covered with dust
that floats in the air
of the sunlit room
as I pull it off of my most
prized possesion.
Just the same as I remember;
ivory keys in perfect shape,
ebony keys in between.
A black glaze painted expertly
on fine sprucewood.
The keys are cold
against my fingertips
as they drift mindlessly,
creating song.

After a night that let
snow like chilled cotton
fall from the cloudy, yet sunlit sky,
the enthralling,
calming sounds of
twittering birds
and crunching snow,
that is my winter wonderland.

i used to hold my head high
my stance filled with pride
but now my neck is aching
because I keep looking back.

I'm an amateur poet,
passing along messages of sorrow and wisdom
like a child passing notes in class.

The air,
it smelled odd.
Like whiskey and copper,
cigarettes and petrichor,
but where do these aromas
come from?

Prickling thorns on a white rose;
it has been stained by Adonis' blood-
care for nectar, Highness?
I offer you my condolences and my adoration,
wouldn't you accompany me?

You would like me to brood
while you remain aloof,
how is this fair, I ask?
What would you like me to do?

The flaming, glorious mirth in your iris'
as you place your dirk to the throat of the adversary
as you contemplate whether you should send him to death,
or await submission.
In your sporran,
bullets destined to be loaded and shot from a musket
lie, a dead weight,
reluctantly used.
You let the adversary flee,
with warning,
for a proud warrior you may be,
but willing to accept a change of heart.

I practice magick, not theology, my apologies-
but I can assure that this cherub becomes a daemon at the pearly gates! Bring your silver spear, I am adorned with bronze!
I needn't worry, no deity awaits my presence, only Death; let us be reunited at last!

A huff and a puff,
tobacco smoke from a wooden pipe,
*** on the rocks in my left hand,
rather Victorian,
wouldn't you say?

When you awaken,
wipe the grime from your eyes
and squint to the sun,
start the day like you wanted to
yesterday.

We may try to put water in a mold,
to shape it forever without letting it freeze.

Impossible.

It will drift quickly upon a river,
fall fast when shooting out of a faucet,
sail openly on cold metal
and sink when in contact with fabric.

Water has no form, yet it possesses one of the most
magnificent beauties of our world.

The old floor creaks
as the people dance drunken shimmies
while they laugh mindlessly;
it's a shame, really.

They come to forget,
to drown their sorrows in mead, beer or wine
and seek relief;
Alas,
they forget the pleasure
as they dance into the night,
indulge in a forbidden chaste kiss,
it all perished from one's memory,
but not their reality.

Isn't it?
I mean,
there's not much we can do now,
but that's alright.
We will still
survive,
we'll remain
alive.

Do you hold not
the value
of fidelity,
my love?

What a pity
it would be
if suddenly,
I couldn't speak.

It would be awful
to lose my voice,
for I would no longer
have a choice.

Nowadays,
to be different
is wanted.
But why?
Why now?
Why do you take the name
of the minorities
and claim
to be one of them?
To take their limelight
when you have fought their battles?
Why?

Liar,
Liar,
heart on fire
hanging
from a noose
of wire.

"I will give you a choice, heads or tails?

I wonder why, at my death row, I pick the side of a coin?

"Tails."

The coin flips with the flick of the executioner's thumb and it flies through the air, an inexplicable suspense.

"It has landed on heads. Instead of a flogging with the Cat o'nine Tails, you shall receive a beheading."

I sigh, but this was inevitable. With my wrists burning from rope, I lay my head into the guillotine.

What a pity
it would be
if suddenly,
my smell would flee.

It would be awful
no to smell the breeze
as it carried the scent
of the cherry tree.

Firstly,
do not allow yourself
to be controlled.

Secondly,
indulge, but not too much.

Thirdly,
enjoy every moment
and learn from those moments.

Fourthly,
gratitude is important.
Use it.

And fifthly,
do not tolerate hatred,
rather,
diffuse it and be kind.

If you really think about it
a masquerade ball
is simply people in posh fabrics
hiding behind a bedazzled mask
because they cannot face humanity.

'Swine, O swine!' you cry, but why?

Our doom is inevitable, let us repent?

No, we are late, onwards!

Silent sobs
Cries stuck in my throat
Heavy breathing, hyperventilating.
Even the sound of my tears
falling down my face
far too slowly.
I know not how to create music,
but I assure you,
I have an unbearable capacity
to create a cacophony of melancholy.

Humans nowadays,
they know not to cherish
simplicity,
caring only of more,
more,
more!
But how much
extravagance
can one have
before it's too much?