Tu m'as sur des cordes
qui tirent à me fendre les poignets.
Ma tête tombe mollement,
mes yeux sommeillent.
Tu bouges les ficelles,
tu fais un spectacle de moi
dans une étreinte manipulative.  
Tu me contrôles
comme une marionnette.

i'm tired,
so tired
all the time.
                                            i'm carrying a wrecking ball
                                            behind my back
                                            like it won't **** my spine.
a mask won't do,
now will it?
                                           you're too smart
                                           to fall for that trick.
a facade won't do
but will you stay
if i show you?

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.

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!

no means no,
not that i'm timid
or hesitant,
it simply means
I entertain no wanton.

your heart turns,
not because of pumping blood,
but because your heart has cogs and springs
that turn with a click
to keep you alive.

Let oxygen flow,
in and out,
as you release tension,
hatred,
discomfort,
and replace it all
with love.

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.

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 gruesome process
of saving the live of a human
on the brink of death
is challenging.

"What a miracle! I have been saved!"
they would say.

Correct,
you have been saved,
quite luckily.

However, it was no miracle
that saved you;
only concern and skill.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?
You look in the mirror
A mere object, reflects
Reflects you, reflects what you see
The mirror cannot tell you, you are fairest
Unless you tell yourself, you are fairest
Fairest in your eyes
Fairest in the mirror
For the mirror, the mere mirror
It reflects
Unless you are seen as the fairest by yourself
The mirror will never see the fairest
Watch the mirror forevermore
And see the fairest
The mirror, the mere mirror
Will see you as fairest

She wanted to speak with me
and spoke about her problems
but little did she know
I had gone through the exact same things.

Hellacious fun,
not malicious, but mischievous
as our tricks bring annoyance,
we get a kick out of it.

I glared, not cocky,
and pulled a card from the deck.
I hoped for a King,
but I pulled a Joker.
He laughed, too,
when I hoped for a Queen
and received only a Jack.
I hold no trump card up my sleeve,
nothing to save me,
not even an Ace.
I grimace, I surrender;
I accept my defeat.

Sure it does,
isn't that what a bill is made of?

I hung lanterns,
I hung lights
to give the monsters
under my bed
quite a fright.

Alas, the lights didn't work,
it was all in vain,
for the monsters
live not under my bed,
but in my brain.

People mourn the souls that have left
to encounter what lay beyond
in the afterlife.
Staring at a stone and soaking soil with tears
leaving their beloved with nothing but a grimace.
Foolish.
People should pity the living
who cope with society.
They should pity those
who live without love.

I do not condone
your pitiful suggestions
for potential partners
that are so dull,
mundane.

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.

My mother told me
to make my own legacy.
"You need not be a lonesome feather
drifting in the wind."
My mother told me
to make my own prophecy.
"You need not be a sheep
for you have the soul something
much more fierce."

i'm kinda over
your love, it's mediocre,
not quite adoration,
maybe just platonic.
that's alright, though,
because i've always been
my own lover.

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.

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

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.

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

"Have you ever screamed into the night,
until your throat was raw and dusk left to hide?"

"Never have I ever."

"Have you ever walked the halls with tears streaming down your face?
Well, they might as well have been a mirror,
because of all the people who stared,
bewildered."

"Never have I ever."

"Have you ever lost someone,
and tried to fill the empty void in your soul,
only to lose that person too?

Haven't we all?

Shouldn't we all?"

"Never have I ever." they said; a blunt lie at that.

I cannot shut my eyes,
I refuse another coat
of obscurity
unless I have a nightlight
to wash away
the darkness,
the unknown.

The harsh bite of the Nordic winds,
how it harmonizes with the moon
to push white waves across the ocean,
it's a true wonder
how the wooden ships drift so raggedly
on sapphire waters.

Can I trust you?

No, nevermind,
what an absurd question,
wasn't it?

Of course not.

We're all human here,
right?

Then I obviously cannot!

Humans are greedy,
and always hide something
whether it's yours
or theirs.

The apparent gentry
written upon their faces
by an ostrich feather quill.
Thus, not smitten,
rather inconsiderate,
they are.
So, turn,
avoid piercing eyes.

I am woman, a reproach to men
and despised;
a humbling demonstration of vulnerability, me?
Not at all, no; I shall show you my strength,
use my knowledge and my language
to educate you on the matter-
I am afraid I am the bringer of bad tidings,
for you will be disappointed to hear
that you are not superior.

I'd rather be run through
by the bayonet of a musket,
my body buried in an unmarked grave
and my death holding no meaning,
than stand by your side
only to turn back.

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

red hair
white dress
she ran, ran as fast as she could
to the willow on the hill
that stood atop of an ocean of daisies.

It would be such a tasteful tale
to be ostentatious in their eyes,
to choose what side of me
they see.

It's so garish,
but so, so conspicuous;
it's absurd, it's futile
to try and hide it.

What a legend it would be,
to be anything but me;
what a fable it would be
to live life perfectly.

Why are my foibles so seen,
where has my integrity been?
This can't be fair, can it?
Why can't I live perfectly?

'O godmother, open your mind to me and tell me of your woe!'

'My dread spouse, he is to joust on the morrow's night; Death cannot accompany him, else I shall be left bereft!'

'O godmother, he is no longer a marauder; he shan't greet Death on the verdant hill where he shall joust,'

'My dread spouse, what will he suffer if he were to fail?'

'O godmother, ye of little faith! Your dread spouse shall joust with a fiery spirit,'

'My dread spouse, what would become of me if he survived, only gaiety!'

'O godmother, worry not, for he shall battle under a gibbous waning moon, a good omen surely!'

'My dread spouse, if he shall be pierced by an arrow whilst on his stallion, I shall weep to the moon!'

'O godmother, if his blood is to stain grass browned by heat, he will lay peacefully knowing his courage.'

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."

In a group of six men,
only one raises his blade to his heart
pledging loyalty, dedication,
one man.
One man, is that all
I can count on?

Cloak of black velvet,
coat of white satin;
Your skin is itchy with burlap, tied with twine.
Silk robes,
Cashmere clothes,
your boots trek through the snow, made of leather.

When you hear the word "*****",
do you think of the whistling melody of an instrument?
Or perhaps the rythm of a beating heart,
and the pattern of breathing lungs.

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.

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

We will do anything together,
commit a crime together,
solve a puzzle together
die together.
If you jump
into the sea, from a cliff,
of course I would do the same
because we do everything together.

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.