The walls speak to her.
They are so ugly and bare. And thats how she feels, ugly and bare.
She have no wounds to show, only wounds to tell.
And they become more and more of tales to tell,
surrounded by undistorted walls.
How does she not know these are not hers and they belong to someone else's?
How does she not know she was created and injected memories?
That sick little girl is no longer her,
and she is not and never was that sick little girl.

Morning forms, freshly rinsed and clean,
Virescent willow wood perfume, wild and despair,
New earth soil sent liquid sage and spruce,
Smoking clouds cover and caress upon rosy face,
My skeleton rest frozen on ivory keys,
While gloomy, glimmering raindrops fall on concrete prison,
Falling to their beautiful suicide
Another drop of life,
while another dies,
Colors splash on musical hammer resonance,
Angry shrieking sky, electrical impulses,
Terra trembles and aches,
Memories leaving now, transforming to atmosphere,
Float away and put to dreams,
Dreams for cryful children to fright about,
Terra gives,
We give back,
To our natural blossom bed to slumber sweetly,
To wake while silver sky melts over sable earth,
And put bad to demise dream forever,
Reach through soil, vines of fingers, eyes open

Pleasant shades of pink and purple flowing through my conscious mind today.
I love my puppy and the snow and my heart and my brain.
I love sharing Oxytocin, the green on the ground and burnt sienna in the eyes...
I miss mercury and his lavender 9.
I miss my candy and my flowers, tea tree and the excessive amount of Epinephrine that used to sway in my stomach.

Her skin is old and soft
Her face creased with salicin
She stands isolated on her bed, peering to the world
Her lone soul mates: the stars, whom watch her,
The millions of butterflies that kiss every strand of her hair.
And the casual visits of cries.
She sighs quietly to the soft, cold breeze
If only they knew how much of the world
She holds in her gentle, tender adoring arms
And her every root that touches our footprints
They rumor, “she’s just a tree”
And her spirit whimpers.
And her core sobs.
She’s the mother of our earth
Who guards our aches and yearns
Who catches our rivers of tears with her fragile vines
She weeps for our dreams that are neglected
She weeps for our love that has now vanished
She weeps for the change of compassion
She weeps for the nature and the world
And She weeps, Oh, She weeps.

An army of darkness dripping of blood, hunting for us, with throbbing hunger and aching eyes. reaching for our brains. The dead is walking pretending to be alive, blackening the world with our ashes. So refuge from the death that surrounds us all and live while you still can, otherwise join them.

My heart is protected by 24 throned rose stems that can be mistaken as bones that clasp together like 2 hands.
My heart rarely hides in the cage though, she likes to be free.
Only when people get too close is when she closes the gate

I woke with dreams and yesterdays still tangled in my hair, painting them back into demons and nightmares.