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'm a tad too late
for one thing,
and time goes by fast
when you're older,
wiser,
and while I don't have much time,
I'm not too late
for the other.

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

When I met you,
you had plunged your velvet fist
deep enough to reach my heart
that was frozen over, ever so cold.
You squeezed it tight and the sensation
oh you ripping it out
was painful at first,
but you proved to be
the one who could thaw my freezing heart
and bring me joy once again.

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.

The crow stood tall
on the brick wall,
it watched me cry
it watched me fall.
All the corpses,
all the pain,
I'd never see life,
never again.

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.

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.

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

the wind blows grains of sand
hopping from the shore
before the waves swallow them whole
and the sea steals their souls.

I will reincarnate
without dying,
I will cleanse my blood
of your poison,
I will birth
a clean,
wise soul
to replace the one
you tainted.

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

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.

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

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

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.

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

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

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

you may have collected my tears
in a cork bottle
but my emotions,
however,
cannot be contained
in a jar
for I have far too many.

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.

There are phases in your life,
a constant change on the daily,
and by night
the moon shifts with you
in all of its glorious phases.

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

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

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.

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.

I know loss,
and at first it's heartbreaking,
but once your grief has diminished,
you'll realize it was the best thing
for you.

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

A miniscule slit in my wrist,
a sufficient amount for just a
teardrop of blood
to fall on the parchment
as I sign a blood-binding bond
in crimson ink.

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

The sun may be bright,
but I've no use for it
for I am no plant,
I needn't photosynthesis.

I surrendered
my mind,
my body,
my soul
to you
only to have you
break me.