If grass was a girl,
She'd be so beautiful
That words wouldn't justify her.
They would have to be unwoven and recreated
For them to fit her.

She would shine and grow in the light,
But feel all of the pain in the world
When in the darkness.
It would make her wither away into nothingness
And disappear.

But, out of the blue,
She would appear again
To always be there for everyone who needs her.
Those people, however,
Would not appreciate her love
And would trample over her as if
She were nothing.

If grass was a girl,
She would be crushed by the world
And see a fractured image of it
Through a long broken window.
Her happiness would be stolen by the selfish,
Who take for themselves and never give back.


That's the thing
About the girl named "Grass".
She's broken, unable to differentiate
Between those who care about her
And those who do not.
She becomes isolated in a cocoon of sadness
Because no one appreciates her for who she is.

However,
A drop of rain later,
She is happy again
And becomes even more beautiful than she was before.

Bipolar sunshine;
Life's periodic lullabies
Changing me,
Waking me from ash to animal,
Trapped in the cage
Of my past lies,
Present cries,
Future demise.

But underneath this skin,
I'm still a human;
Boats of evergreen
Floating on tideless seas,
Yet I think I'm dying,
Unready for breathing;
Wild waters, blood oceans;
Mind lost, nightmares healing.

The forever falling devil reaches for my heart,
his talons digging deep as I am forced to sleep
in his world, for evermore
in the land of pure darkness.

The rotten wings which once resided
on his back; glorious, white, bright;
now shards of glass that cut those
who come too close.

The fire in his heart is put out
by the flood in mine; killed by the
never-ending storm inside me. Flames put out
by water; those who thrived in the soul fire
quietened by the heartless liar
who turned hell into an ocean.

I will never understand the ease with which
People think of themselves rather than others.
They walk over people with a smile on their face
And do not realise just how much they smother.

A misunderstood mind,
A heartache of mine,
My main frame covered in dust.

A good clean long overdue,
Awakening when I find you,
Helping me to vanish the rust.

All I hoped
was once a dream,
but fortune was in my favour.

I came to life
to live and love
and give all light a flavour.

A cave within
was filled with thoughts
drowned by emotions contained.

First of the friends,
show me the way,
to be, no longer, estranged.

I try so hard to change myself,
Yet it isn’t enough for you.

You force me and push me,
Yet when I bleed, it’s too much for you.

I can’t do what you wish of me,
Yet that’s not satisfaction enough for you.

I want you to stop,
*Is that too much to ask of you?

I am feeling everything,
And I wish I couldn't.
I want to go back to feeling nothing.

I want to go back to the monotonous months
Which had no colour
Or false hope of brighter days.
I don't want false hope,
I just want to shut it all out again.

Maybe it would all be easier if it was that way.
Maybe we would all be happier if it was that way.

The rumbling of the coming earthquake
echoes beneath my surface,
threatening the very idea of normality.

Psychotic is my normality;
pure dust is my reality.

Normality is pure insanity;
the jester in my reality.

They do not see her,
For she is the invisible one,
The one who fixes broken friendships
And is a shoulder for all sobbing hearts
But who nobody notices.
They do not see her,
For she is the invisible one,
The beauty that is found
Within misery itself.

What am I without this
toxic insanity that twists
my every move? Nothing,
that's what I am, what
I would be without me.

Maybe feeling normal would
wash this burning passion
for difference, which I love so
dearly, away. *If that is the case,
I will be abnormal any day.

Like forgotten cables
on the floor,
we intertwine ourselves
and can't seem to be undone.

Bandages to stop the bleeding,
Long sleeves to stop them seeing.
Quiet words to keep from crying,
Believe it, even though you're lying.

Pour the wax where you'd press the knife,
Bathe in pain, it signifies life.
Pull it off and melt it again,
It brings the feeling so call it a friend.

Do not trust, it'll only hurt you,
Candles are your only virtue.
You will not trust, even if it hurts you,
Candles must be your only virtue.

I sit in the shade
On summer days
And wish I could reach the sunlight.

My days are grey,
And I dream of days
Where I wake up in that same light.

On those days,
I will jump out of bed
And be happy to look in the mirror.

I cannot lie,
I am looking forward
To those days where I will feel better.

She was just a caterpillar before,
But now she is a butterfly like you.
And as I wither away into my cocoon,
I hope that, someday, I'll be a butterfly too.

Tongue tied, my twisted eyes
Allow me to see the truth,

Yet my vocabulary evaporates
Whenever I see you.

Shimmering caves deep within
Hold the purpose for our beings;
Shrouded in love and forever belonging to the soul
Of that one we found called, "Home".

Tick. Tock. Two hundred down.
Pulp.
Swindled minds flock
so easily into their cages,
sealed vents pushing gas into their lungs.
Carpenter's masterpiece.
Hooks hanging from walls,
bloodied chains supporting old bones.
Rot.
Mirror image rooms kept secret, filled
with decay and trapped ghosts. The neon
sign flickering. 'Hotel'.
Pulling the moths in with its fire,
ready to burn them.  

Tick. Tock. Twenty seven around.
Confession.
The drugs were inefficient -
they never slept forever.
I had to help them get there. I was born
with the devil in me
and he sings like a poet in the shadow of evil.
Gruesome.
I feel their blood on my hands and I enjoy it.

Tick. Tock. Nine were found.
Possession.
"Satan corrupted me, controlled me."
"Innocent."
"I am imprisoned within myself, I swear."
"He made me."
The lever is flipped, I fall.
My neck does not snap.
Instead, I struggle, the air being forced
from my body. Darkness comes
after the fond memory of a knife in my hand
and blood on the walls of my ****** castle.

You may just be a ray of light,
But you are sunshine to me indeed.
I was locked in the dark before,
But your light has set me free.

The hourglass runs out of sand,
So I flip it and watch the sand fall like liquid again.

Time brings order
To the wretched chaos of our universe.
It coats all things with a thick film
And paints life onto blank canvases.
Such a beautiful little thing, time is.

Dandelion hours float away on the wind,
And the everlasting cycle of time
Brings all things to their inevitable death
With breathtaking, morbid beauty.

I cannot help but wish I was on the
first side, where life blooms in rippling
fantasies and all has colour.

On this side, where they said it was greener,
all is rotten and dead. I sent out my
poison and killed all of the grass, so now
there is nothing at all to shine its green
upon me.

I will never be spectacular,
For I am just a droplet of water
Pretending to be an ocean.

He was kind to me
Got me a special box
Just for me to sleep in

Gave me sweets

I called him Uncle

He cut my mummy up and
Experimented on my baby brother
Growing inside her
But Uncle said she had to die

The other kids were sent away
To the gas chambers
But Uncle liked me
Because I was blonde and pretty
And he was going to teach me
How to be a doctor like him

I'd have my tools and I
Could put other people's brothers
In jars to keep
Like he did with mine

He said I would be the first one
To have twins planted in my belly

Would they sprout like trees
In my stomach?

We had tidy beds there
And it smelled nice

My mummy and daddy are dead
And I loved my uncle
But it smells funny in here
And everyone is coughing

I think I can hear his voice
Calling me
And I want to run
But there are walls surrounding me
And I can't escape

His crazy eyes are following me
Until I collapse on the floor
Dead

They were so wrapped up in themselves all the time
That they wasted away their lives,
But their toppling equilibriums then settled in unison
And they caught each other's eyes.

You enjoyed it,
Do not lie,
You had fun playing with my heart.
You threw me around,
And then smiled and laughed
As I fell apart.

Ruined minds
And stained lives,
All caused by you.
I hope that one day,
Your destruction will cease
So we can all pull through.

How does it feel
To lie to the ones
Who love you for "you"?
I hope you feel guilty,
As it is not only we,
But they who suffer too.

His words are fluid yet languid until
he changes tongues and becomes another
person entirely. His sounds become strong
and incomprehensible as he weaves
his way from language to language, dialect
to dialect. He is the manager
of worlds, the linguist. In his mind, his original
language is not his, for he is only
relaxed when amongst the foreign nature
of other languages. The rasping, uncommon
tongue of home is not comforting to him
anymore, so he will rapidly intake
other places until he finds another
sound that resonates within him.

Am I drowning? The void of my soul fills
with water as I dive deeper in order
to escape this calm catastrophe
called "living".

Where do I go next? The city lights I
see through the murky haze, hallucinating
in my final breaths. Seeing the stars of
Atlantis, the long lost beauty.
Seeing the scars of myself, the long lost
calamity.

Was I ever beautiful, or did I
become so skilled in the art of pretending,
my art of hiding, that even the best
critics couldn't find me behind these canvas
walls?

Mermaids bearing blades pierce my canvas heart,
its surface painted by countless sorrows.
Blood swirling around me, closing my eyes
as I die in a painting - the girl who
sank her own city.

I find myself here again,
sleeting days; fleeting nights.
Where are you? Is it raining, snowing,
wind blowing your hair as you
look to the ground and think of me?

The pull, ever drawn upwards
towards the promise of your eyes
looking into mine once more.
Should I go there, leave this behind
so I can be home again? Reunited
with the lost touch of a broken family.

I can't come to you, nor you to me,
I don't know how I'd find you. Lost in my mind
as I roam the world, filled with empty goodbyes -
forever sorrows in my mind. I need to find my home again,
otherwise I think I might be lost with you.

Sitting is this lonely building,
The quiet emptiness around me echoes
With the lost sounds of playing children.
Its halls bustle with the ghosts
Of long forgotten residents.

The creeping darkness that surrounds me
Shuts everything out.
I sit in the corner of the room with my torch
And read an old book that I found on the shelf,
Worn from years of hands turning pages
And yellow from age.

As I sit here in the blissful nothingness,
I wish for nothing other
Than to be in my quiet solitude
For the rest of time itself.

To the bone I am becoming,
losing track of what I wanted to be,
I'll find myself being pencilled in
with grayscale tones painted over me.

To the bone I am becoming,
break my fingers, my limbs and my soul,
you'll touch me as you wish, burning me thin,
'til I'm fragile - no parts of a whole.

To the bone, I am becoming,
even though I'm desperate to try,
because all I can taste is your hands on my skin
and bitter and dark was the fight.

To the bone, I am becoming,
I'm addicted to losing control.
My bedroom is littered with matchsticks and gin,
To the bone
To the bone
To the bone.

He loves me, they all love me.

If I just stopped singing, then he
would realise the monster I am
and he would run.

But I love him too,
and for the life of me,
I can't stop singing for him.

His burning hands trace
spiralling trails across my body,
echoing my outlines
with fervent magma.
His fingers are magnets
drawn to my rough edges, cracked
hands of glass smoothing me over.
Try as I might,
I blink to the beat of his heart,
cry to the flow of his love.
I am no longer my own.
I was a girl
of the purest black and white,
living a grayscale life.
He is warming and heating me
to a vivid red,
eyes burning blue,
skin dark with desire.
He comes in colours everywhere,
purple joy, green mystery,
the sound of his eyes catching mine.
The reverberation of his music
is enough to stain my life
with colour more vivid
each time his hands meet my face
to pull it towards his.

If the storm would talk in the depths of night,
Hear it crying its tortured lullabies.
May the life one day return to your eyes
When the storm that is screaming returns feeling inside.

If the rain would whisper to the dead of your mind,
Hear the silence recede as you're cradled with sighs.
May your heart one day be returned to the light
When the storm that brought darkness begins to make you alive.

Why can't I love you like I used to?
Now I just want you to go away
So I can breathe and be happy,
But that isn't going to happen.
You have captivated all of the people I care about,
If I were to leave then I would have nobody.

I am all alone,
Even when surrounded
By the ones you have brainwashed.

It's impossible
to sleep for all these wayward
thoughts concerning you.

A lucid world
in which I forget
to continue remembering.

The viper will entice you with her weaving
figure and gleaming eyes, but when she wraps
herself around your body you will see
the fangs and scales likening her to death
itself. Her jaws will retract and she will
sap the colour from your being, discarding
you once she has stolen it all. Once you
become colourless, she will move onto
the next one, never hesitating or
wavering for a moment and turning
everyone into the blue stone that will
become of us all eventually.

I feel unsafe now, even though I'm not
in that place. He really does trump them all,
doesn't he - the bigots and fascists,
homophobes and racists alike. He is
going to lead them and unite his country
in hatred against us. We are becoming
afraid again, the lost and the ostracised,
so we will hide from the people who will
reverse our progression into the light and
lock us in the darkness of a conservative
world. But it will not be enough. They will
find us, they will shame us and they will neglect
us, sending us back to the fear and danger
of being free. They will tear our wings from
our backs and leave us to die, bloodied and
trampled, in the dust that is settling
on our "freedom".

Your arms are wrapped around my neck
containing me, choking me,
holding me in place
so you can **** me faster. You push
yourself against me in the hopes
of me returning the gesture
but instead, you're crushing
the air from me and now I'm deflated.
Heart-throb.
You touch me
but there's no more to you than skin.
You don't want me,
nobody does.
So don't touch me with those hands of yours
and pretend like you do.

I,
for a moment in a vast space of time,
was angry.
Not at myself,
not at the world,
but at you, for you, *because of you.

I'll throw my soul
into your fire
To freeze or to thaw,
It's your heart's desire.

Two corpses we were,
alive we've become -
to lie or to walk,
in a week we'll be home.

You live through me
And I live through you.
By living through each other,
We live through ourselves, too.

Where dawn meets the sea she lies, broken,
her laugh echoing the moon
and pouring with salt
across the morning waves.

In the midst of my wakening,
what is this quintessence of ash
that haunts my soul?

What is sanity,
which quivers not need before your eyes,
whether you do not exist in reality,
only fiction in my assonance.

What wonder is the reasoning of man,
how simple in splendour. The clarity
of wakefulness which I perceive to be
sanity is only the same clarity with
which I dream or breathe, only the same
clarity which madmen believe to be reality.

If deception and error are my clarity
then nothing is my reality, for all lie
to protect themselves from the nightmare of old,
His power not enough to protect your mind
from the evil inside of your bones, the fire inside
of your soul. Which likens to the hellfire I find
in the dampening nights of relentless cries;
the corruption of your mind is clarity - a
clarity in your twisted reality.

I do not understand how they do it,
having so much thought that they invented
an entire universe of elements,
components and small fixtures of greater
workings. Those incredible, beautiful
scientists, with their steam-crimped hair and curious
eyes; the wonderfully inventive mathematicians
who ponder over all knowledge in order
to realise something new - that is what
true beauty is. Chemistry, physics, biology
and maths are their own art forms, and what they
seek to create is more beautiful than my
words and paintbrush can ever dream.

Little Wendy *******, coming up to play.
Walking up the hills, broken,
begging me to stay.
Little Wendy *******, needles to the skin.
Seeping, drip, seduction,
eyes that pull you in.
Little Wendy's soaking, she's drowning in herself.
Sinking, sinking deeper,
addiction beyond help.
Little Wendy's cloaking, she's hiding behind blood.
Dyeing her skin bright red,
swimming, falling up.
Little Wendy's dying, she's tripping in her mind.  
Shooting, lusting, crying,
nectar sweet and kind.
Little Wendy *******, pulse is always on.
She keeps on playing these games
until she's dead and gone.

She is dancing in a cloud of rain with such reckless,
joyful life that she sings a thousand melodies
with her limbs, flying by grasping
at the air around her. She forms paintings from the dark
clouds above her and, screaming
her laugh into the night, is free. The embodiment
of beauty, she is the newness of the green spring and the
sweet smell of cherry blossom which comes so easily to
the tongue; a fond memory. She is the coming
of something new, the feeling of freedom and love
which fills the hearts of the young and naive.
She is beauty embodied
in the face
of a month.

You locked your heart away from the world
and gave me the only key. I kept it on
thread, close to my heart, to hold for eternity.

When I opened my eyes, the key was gone
and you were falling away. I never
found out what you did with the key
for that heart I led astray.

Brooding overhead,
swirling, storming;
other hearts warming by fires
as mine shivers with delight;
beginning to wash over me,
chilling me, relieving me.
Purified.