The gaiety
as you show me
your soul.

I've always loved the rain,
but the inconvenience of it
in this very moment
obscures my window.

It's easy to hide
when you have a shadow.
If you lack a shadow that lurks,
you hide at will,
never to see the light.

I feel lovely,
featherlight,
no worries.

No, that's not
quite right.
That's not at all how
I feel.
I feel like I've hit
rock bottom,
my chest chained
to a wrecking ball.

You said you would never forget me,
but I'll never forget that lie.

The sky was covered by a blanket of violet dusk,
the only illumination coming from the tall, eerie lampposts.
I strolled, slowly, aware of my surroundings.
My feet dragged satisfyingly
on the sidewalk.
It was time that I follow the moon,
she would lead me
to where I need to be.

My perspective on the world,
it has become tainted
over the years.
The colours swapped places,
tricking my mind,
it seems psychosomatic.
I open my eyes,
scared of what I might see;
it's not too bad, I suppose.
My iris' are now
windows of stained glass
as I gaze upon the world.

My heart was shattered
before my very eyes,
each piece tainted
beyond repair.
Thus, I'll use a needle and thread
to sew my heart back together
making a mismatched masterpiece,
like a quilt.

I'm many things,
or so they say.
I love whomever,
they call me gay.
I believe in magick,
but that's not ordinary.
I'm always panicked,
but they say I'm crazy.
I was born a woman,
and so that's me;
On the lower tier
of our hierarchy.
So when you say may name,
do me the courtesy;
I'm not ashamed,
just let me be me.

Sometimes I'd like to float down a stream
and ignore what is causing me pain.

I once knew a man, he was wealthy,
he had taste and class.
He might as well have worked for an auction,
because every time he stole someone's soul
in return for a favour, he exclaimed
"Sold!"

His name, you ask?

Lucifer. I'm sure you've encountered him.

A true poet,
has seen the flame of pain,
or perhaps, they have been burned,
to be capable of writing a poem
so short, yet so wise.

I have acquired messy handwriting
over the years,
so difficult to read,
to comprehend.
Similar to a code,
but definitely not as interesting.
I envy the wispy lines of ink on parchment
that can only belong
to a calligrapher.

You colour your lips
with the essence of blood.
You cover your eyelids
with the ashes of those who have fallen
at your feet.
You cover your skin with powder
that makes you as pale
as the people you've slaughtered.
You, you are so beautiful,
you could steal someone's soul.

I had never felt
the firm grip of a bow,
the wispy shot of an arrow.

One eye closed in a focused wink,
I targeted the blood-red target,
my fingers pulling the arrow
with unknown precision.

It shot the red eye
the first time,
and it was then I knew
that in my past life,
I was an archer.

The ticking of the clock,
rusty and antique,
as though it snaps it's tongue with
every passing second
and torments my everwaiting mind.

A cuss word,
to swear upon a name;
so sharp,
so bad,
so rebellious;
so thrilling
as it leaves
a ****** taste
in my mouth.

Never trust the someone's hug,
that small, erratic embrace.
It hides all their intentions
behind an unseen face.

A cactus sits,
prickly,
in the tattooed
clay ***.

You give my heart
such a pleasant, exaspirating
burn,
sweet, never enough to hurt,
like pineapple on my tongue.

She'll keep me from drowning,
she'll save me from my demise,
she is my guardian, my saviour
in my eyes.

She poured the wine
Into my glass
We played the record
And danced full throttle
She picked up the violin
And played so beautifully
I knew I loved her
My dear Eileen.

you're far too sweet;
it makes me sick.

It's raining,
it's pouring,
no one is mourning.

It's raining,
it's pouring,
you're finally done dying.

The debate of whether or not
our universe holds secrets, other dimensions,
carries on to this day.
But people can be truly oblivious, don't you think?
There's a different dimension in every word, every sonnet,
every story.
All the bookshelves collecting dust
hold thousands upon thousands
of different worlds.

The longest day of the year,
can I handle it?
Will I survive,
decaying in reality,
for so long?

It's raining,
it's pouring,
this waiting is boring.

They're crying,
they're mourning,
And now I am dying.

I am the Gatekeeper
to the threshold accompanied by
the unfortunate souls
that were victims of another humans wrath.

It is a constant duel
to ask,
never demand,
the acceptance of our differences.

years ago,
it was,
that i tipped the hourglass.

and for years now,
i've been reminded of how lonely I am
because of an infinite waterfall
of sand.

I won't forget what we did together,
nothing scandalous,
but always breaking the rules
in good fun.
And even though I may never see you again,
I'll cherish those moments
forever.

You and I,
we are seldom of like mind,
but only together
can we conquer this battle.

Boring!
How dull,
I need something exciting!
Stimulating!
Challenging!
But please,
have mercy,
nothing boring!

I'm not allowed to love you,
but that's alright,
because if I can be your friend,
I may still enjoy your presence.

It lights up an empty room
effortlessly, casually,
yet I still feel the presence
of darkness, lurking.

You came swooping down
like a blue-winged heron
almost as fast as you came.

To be a sinner
or a saint,
it's a picture
they paint.

They scare us
into submission,
it's not much
of our decision.

It doesn't matter though,
we're all the same,
we are all greedy
and seek riches and fame.

take me to rome,
let's watch the sun set.

The sky was tainted with the colours of dawn,
the sun rising slowly, but surely,
to meet with the sky of pink, orange and blue.
A breeze swept the leaves, ever verdant and green,
as the monarch butterfly
pulled the sun into the sky.

I have deduced the words
of every person I have encountered
to find the true meaning.
I have read words upon words
accompanied by the smell of old parchment
and even older words.
I have written letters until a page was crammed full.
It would be an understatement
if I said I was eloquently spoken.

you were too easy to break,
you didn't put up much of a fight,
i intimidated you quickly
and you shattered, like ceramic.

When I am happy,
ready to combust, overfilled with joy,
I am reminded of how the sky is blue,
the grass is green,
and my merriment seems bright.
Yellow, perhaps, like the sun.
A charisma painted yellow,
so pure and so mellow,
I cannot resist, I must indulge.

As a poet, I can confirm,
I can assure you, we know the words.
We can shape water with our minds
and speak of what we were.
We can crystallize our wonders,
we can make them seen.
It needn't still be
no more than a dream.
This is my confession,
my work here is done.
It was once my obsession;
now it is gone.