People live 50%
      in the past
     30%  in the present
     20%   in the future-
     is this an accurate measure?

What I want
impoverishes me
what I don't
makes me rich-- truly!

The Necromancer first noticed her magic
at seven, when her cousin passed.
Thunder descended upon her planet
to whisper a soft, solemn song of despair
and she knew, before anyone told her,
she knew death.

At thirteen, Pops followed into darkness,
but the Necromancer saw him again.
He walked her otherworldly dreams
in some distant galaxy, he held her
crying frame, he pleaded between sobs:
Take care of the living.

Still, the Necromancer never ceased to go
into other realms, flirting with the abyss,
colouring neverlands with her imagination.

It all changed when her youngest sibling
Fell.

Now, only sometimes,
when a full moon looms over silver clouds,
only then she peers behind the veil
and visits her brother in another existence.
They talk, they laugh, they cry,
but she always returns home,
because he is the one soul
with the magic to convince her
to live.

you place polaroids on your fridge with care
safekeeping those days like a sacred tome,
freshly baked cinnamon rolls fill the air—
in this cold city, yours is a warm home.

not scents, not flavours—'tis our laughs that bind,
my best friend—always gentle—through the years
our anthem softly echoes in my mind
and times, easy or hard, will have me near.

a cat now purrs beside your lover's chair,
old love stays like a quiet snowy day
you called me with the news you longed to share—
screams! diamond ring! you danced the night away.

but remember a country song that plays
our cinnamon start, our friendship's first page
"it was the end of a decade," it'd say,
"but the start of an age"—our age, our age.

Calico snakes crawl the
garden of our love.
You, in your gingham
dress and hair in braids,
bent over the radishes.

I, unshaven in my *****
Johnny Cash t-shirt.
Earth all over my
face.
I fell into your
firey ring, that's for
**** sure.

As soon as my guard comes
down, you and that drunken
pirate moon, and that mad
smiling snake burn
me every time.

I'm leaving the garden and
heading back to those
wild midnight alleys where I
know what's coming.
Nursery rhymes are just
metered horror stories.
And spring is the biggest
liar of them all.