It was six in the morning while we drove downtown. There were some freaks, but it was just a human pattern. We drove past them and kept going while we watched the children running, the hospitals dumpster and the virgins graduate. We drove into nowhere, and it was dark with the trees surrounding the car. I had been deceived, and I was shuttering to my knees; but there was a rebelliousness to it. It was a battle of shadows, but you still didn’t have any opinions. I said: Let me start by asking you. But I couldn’t finish, it was the absence of badness–the **** beds and the soaking pillows that filled your empty room. You never felt it again, like a dry wall, empty on the inside. Breathlessly I gasped for some air, and reach out for you.

Provider of doubt
Pre-scarer of many
The ***** in you hides inside of your *****
The ***** in me prefers problematic
Insecurities prove self-Satanic
Blood I bleed is that of a hopeless romantic
Society full of timeless encounters
In my dreams I see visions and fathoms
The air I breathe is a wicked enchantment
What you see I hope is a reminder of me

Steams rose from the red ***
Like angelic dancers
Dressed in gray and white,
Twirling,
And he silently stirred the red ***,
Stirring with that silvery spoon,
Stirring slowly.
Finally she realized he, the devil,
Was stirring her pain,
Stirring her anger,
Just stirring her life
Into a bitter ***.
And she became exhausted
In that heated red ***
That was filled with blazing anger,
Bitter herb, and battered emotions.
He silently stirred her like unseasoned meat
In a steaming ***
Until she lost her flavor.
Then she remembered to pray.
And faith rescued her from the heat,
Imprinting healing in her heart.
Now she is forever flavored with the love of God.

Copyright 2012
Destiny Diadem

A drinker should hold all of the doubt
For a prayer is what one lives without
And with what underlay may cause one to spout
The pain one has felt at the brow
Though escape of the fearful is that which one envisions of
Frightenings and nightmares are relinquished smug
Light projected as a flying white dove
Is thou who may be safe with a gun

This is what seperates us:
Words that twist and turn,
Tiny hurricanes swelling up
Raising inside my throat-
Coughing and wheezing,
I spew them out onto
The eagerly awaiting paper,
Waiting to see what sticks,
While you just sit there
Vacantly waiting for something-
Anything, to sweep you off
Your perfectly positioned feet.

A rush to my head
The toy soldier stands at attention
Hearts pounding
The plastic men file in ranks
Sheep to the slaughterhouse
Eyes widening
The belly of the beast
Opens its void, its mouth
Stomachs dropping
The sunlight fades at noon
Darkness

I recall
the old feel of my skin.
My tiny hand, and fingers
“Five”
Dancing on tops of Dad’s loafers
released from the tyranny
of the meaning
of Who Am I?

I am
“Eleven”
under a sweatshirt
skin itchy in places
face, in the mirror
when I am alone
streaking with unmascaraed tears

I am
“Sixteen”
my hand pushing against
a boys chest
but for no or for yes?
I suppose it is fine,
no mind of mine.

I am
“Eighteen”
Womanly
singular
hiding what is unsure

I am
“Nineteen”
experiences mark me
darken me
writing with tattoos
on my fingers