I suppose you could say I was a silly girl who liked to believe in romantic notions like the concept of a forever
And perhaps that is the way things should be - having faith in impossible things - but every forever could differ
I've known forevers that only lasted when I was looking into your eyes for only a second
and forevers that carried my heart next to yours for so many lifetimes over
I've seen forevers that lasted between the time he fell in love with her and she walked out of love with him
Maybe it's the child-like tendency to believe more in so much less
Perhaps it's the hope that one day forever will be more than just a word that meant our time together
Or I could just be a silly girl who believed in precarious notions of romance in an unromantic world.

Flesh so soothing, a depression so strong,
A life so short, a misery so long.
A heart that's pure, with a touch of decay,
Words of slaughter, bitter blasphemies to say.
A God of the throne, a God in the dirt,
The evil of humanity, the supremacy of hurt.
A whisper of agony, a stench of audacious,
A corpse to taste in all your forged graces.

It is what it can't be, its not what you've said,
I take no blame for the nine inch nails in the dead.
The rope to devour, I refuse his blood,
To catch in the mouth, and swallow the mud.
Worship the gruesome sight with fear,
Wait for your judgment as it treads itself near.

Scream of the Hollow, shutter of harrow,
Lets worship a creature without a better tomorrow.

Decrepit creature, in the cellar you dwell,
to be at the side of the "angel" that fell.
The door was cast open, my words - yours to slur,
the glimpse of your face, forever a blur.

Consumed in smoke, to linger at demand,
you were given to me, you're mine to command.
A desolate figure, with the number of six,
you are all combinations insanity could mix.

As a nothingness to live, to be as a whole,
to exist like a human, but to feed from a soul.
You are every hate but love I can acquire,
the sadistics of fantasy, the perversions of desire.

The purity of innocence, all knowledge to contain,
The hatred to breed, the ****** to refrain.
The being to devour, the being to let be,
to know, to dare, to will, to remain silent is to see.

Fear not he is there, fear so that he is,
to feed from the source you've convinced him is his.
He knows not what you are, but he knows it too well,
to exist in your life, he knows not where you dwell.

You know who you are, but he feels of himself not,
you are all that he craves, he is all that you sought.
He is the sanity to forever keep you mundane,
he is the power to forever keep you insane.

He is the understanding, the logic to be told,
the agony to breathe, the death you hold.
He is yours for the taking, but so are you,
The connection to what you can't have,
but the connection to what you do.

Sometimes when I am in bed,
Laying in the dark,
I listen to the cars roar by
From silence back into silence.

The silence is so loud, I think I may go deaf,
And the darkness suffocates me.
As I lay,
I feel the dark closing around me.
The silence is consuming,
And my thoughts permeate the total blackness.

The world suddenly seems so big,
And I so infinitesimally small.

Up North, by the Russian border,
It gets so cold your breath
Freezes and floats to your
Feet in a fountain of
Sparkling microsmithereens.

Sibirians call it
Whispering Stars.
I swear on my name it's a
Sight beyond description, with

Northern Lights coiling like
Mating snakes
On a sky so full of moon and
Stars it's almost alien

Above you.
Easiest peace.
The sound of Gods
Meditating.

Silence itself opens its
Quiet eyes and looks into yours
Like a living abyss you look down,  
Looking back.

The purest of Existence's
Everythings.
The now cry in
Snow Crystals.

Zen in

Frozen.

She crawls towards me on sheets
Straight from cloath line
|Carrying a hint of the outside
In.|
Her eyes- two little storms of
Pure woman, self-respect and a firm knowing
That she is as beatiful as
Anything else mortal.
Warm with summer, slightly chilled from the breeze through
Dancing curtains-
Drowzy from sleep and wanting to wake with a
Thank You all over her being,

It's not what it looks like.
|It's not love, it's a very intense embrace|
That reaches through us both

And on into the Infinite Forevers.
Names whispered and toes curled in Utmost Ritual,

As an origo of heaven and ground.
This is how we say Grace.

This is how we thank.

The Doctors point and whisper
With crude and handmade tools.
Pinch and cut and decompress
like blood soaked sweating ghouls.
A slash, a snap, a sting
make a finger move.
The swollen eye, it twitches
and the mouth begins to drool.

Still no heartbeat, still no life
in the body, three days dead,
yet there is the softest sentence
uttered by the head;
Slipping slug-like out
from desperate lips in dread.
With unfocused twitching eyes
this is what it said:

"Let this one thing still be sacred;
The shroud between the dead and living.
Let the sleeping dogs now lie,
The Dead we're never meant to sing.
"Don't bring Death to Living lands
Don't take back the hourglass sand.
Leave the idols where they stand.
Leave the blood on bloodstained hands."

The doctor ***** his head:
"Is there movement in the brain?"
Another doctor shakes his own:
"None that can sustain"
Sowing shut his lips they say:
"Disturb us not again".
But a wordless sorrow is intact
in the soul that still remains.

Once again they dig in deeper
to find the glitch that kills.
With their knives and scissors
and noises crude and shrill.
The dead head slowly drops
with eyes wet, wide and still,
that meet the eye of a mocking bird
upon the window sill.