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?

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.

The chagrin overrides
my attempt to no longer hurt;
the burning sensation in my chest
soars through my body
and has salty, burning tears
stream down my face
like waterfalls.

You place your blade
in flames,
letting them like your weapon
send white heat across the core.
Pressing it to your skin,
the steel burns a scar to your arm
as a symbol of victory
in the time of war.

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.

The flame dances,
orange, with a hint of blue.
It's a simple,
green taper candle.
As nightfall approaches,
I blow the flame
and a simple breath
wisps it away
leaving black smoke
in it's wake.

Paint on your canvas,
use my skin
and decorate it with charcoal
and pastels.

Make me beautiful.

Every move you make is erratic,
I keep guessing what you might do next,
but you keep circling my head
like a halo of such tedious decisions.
You entertain a quiet, somber demeanor
and remain smugly volatile.
You are capricious.

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

I am locked in the wine cellar,
supposedly punished,
yet I may easily quench my thirst
and forget my pain
by drinking from the barrels.

I've spent about,
I don't know,
some centries or so
contemplating my death
prepared, not scared.

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

i use chalk
on a blackboard
to bring my imagination
to life.

I'm bored ; such a dull, predictable routine.
I need change, a thrill, excitement!
Let's jump the fence,
let's see if the grass is greener
on the other side
and engage in more adventure
than ever before!

In a game of charades
I am the jack of all trades,
that is, unless,
I were to have my own name.

"Well, my friend, tell me. Am I human?"

"I must offer you my candor and admit that I truly don't know."

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.

The infectious laugh
of a young man
who brings cheer to all
without notice.

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.

We were all children,
after all,
we were so pure,
so very small,
we would walk
and we would crawl,
but now we're older,
so very tall.

When we were younger,
we'd always fear
feeling pain,
to feel a tear,
but nowadays
they're always here,
there is no melody
in the sobs we hear.

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

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

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

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

In all the debris,
the black and white of the world,
I swear I'll do better,
I swear I'll sport colour.

In the midst of peril, I convince the men
to gather, gather around me as I burn;
till y'er almost scorched, I tell them,
till you feel flames lick at your soul!

I once knew
an evil being.
His name
was Comparison.
He was shameless,
an unapologetic thief
of joy.

Compared
to my Fall from Heaven,
well,
that hurt far less
than falling in love
with you.

I could no longer
stay in a place
in which I did not belong.
I hoped you would compromise,
fight with love on your side.
Alas, it was too difficult,
too much of a burden
for you to fight for me,
for you to keep me,
for you to love me.

I'm merely a fraud
in the presence of true art,
a measly charlatan.
Alas, my aspirations
to acquire such pure talent
tells me that I may begin a fraud,
but I may earn fame later on.

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

My bare feet lie in the stream,
heels sinking into wet soil;
I read the stars, watch the messages told in constellations,
the poetic and epic story told within the clouds,
in the sky,
a quest of emotion, of sorrow, of joy
all without moving.

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.

when I die,
tie me to the stake
like the witch I am.
surround me with copper wire
and light me on fire
as you gaze upon the emerald flames
and my soul crosses the threshold.

you frequent the cotton field,
letting calloused, bare feet
feel the softness, like wool
and let the stream
tickle your toes.

the barista asks
"milk? cream? sugar?"
i'd like cream and sugar,
please.
i don't take black,
it's far too strong.
i have a bit of a sweet tooth,
and it's always far more present
in the morning.

Alors que le soleil,
précédemment brillant,
était à peine visible,
le crépuscule était jonché
avec des étoiles, l'obscurité
et des lucioles.

When I have been struck by an arrow of silver, I lay, awaiting death.

"Mother will cry!"

May she grieve quickly.

"Father will cry!"

May he mourn peacefully.

"Brother will cry!"

May he live happily.

"Your lover will cry!"

May he become free.

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.

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 analyze,
and then you criticize
but that, they despise;
hence your demise.

Your words sound evil,
not at all civil;
alas, you meddle
or you are played like a fiddle.

You don't really try,
but you don't mind if they cry;
you're harsh, but you don't lie,
you are not what meets the eye.

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