I don’t think it takes much to fall in love

Sweet whispers of cute nothing’s

dance through your head

because some fool

spoke a new language to you

and every word 
was magic 

and with every word 
you fell

and your heart 
began to love his voice

And the simple smile

that shines in his eyes 

like the stars at night 

and only a few see it

because most are asleep 
when the stars are awake
 and soon the stars twinkle at you

and you fall

The way his hand 
made you feel  
like the dust
 dancing in the sunlight 

light as air
and 
full of simple beauty 

and with his touch
 you fell

And by now it’s too late

because you fell for his

voice

smile

eyes
 and touch

Love

but for you darling 
I hope it doesn’t happen often

because to have it once forever

is much better 
than millions of times 

if you fall too much

you’ll eventually break

Ride forth with your burden of gilt,
in a fit of rage and redemption.
You are death; none can excel.
Your fealty eludes compassion.

That fateful scythe possessed with power.
The souls of your brethren sealed in your chest.
Eternal cries of the ones you ******,
forever wailing on the razor’s edge.

The one you called brother,
slain by your hand,
sold himself to power,
and corruption was born anew.

Unfolding, vitiating
more worlds then one.
The tree of life has fallen,
to this wretched blight.

The Shadow realms succumb.
In waters black they are swallowed.
And the demons fall to its lure,
now slaves to one will.

In the farthest corners of existence,
deep in the heart of the dead-lands,
riding despair, guided by dust,
what terrors await the wicked!

An audience demanded;
The King of the Dead.
A favor paid.
No answers given.

Restitution drives you now.
Concern for justice matters not,
as long as your duty remains unchanged
Salvation is but a weapon in the wrong hands.

Come to lost-light, to Angels.
A journey most twisted and perilous.
From the soaring peaks of the White City,
wait for the light to purge the shadow.

“The scribe is waiting”
words of a traitor.
An angel corrupted.
The light dimmed.

In the guise of honor,
virtue and God,
Suffer the world
the sky is now wrought.

Fire and ash welcomes your arrival,
heavens burn at the sight of you.
Kin-slayer, Executioner, Reaper,
Who is above you?

Often, the worlds starts to dim at the edges and I realize that I forgot to breath.
You were passage to my lungs and allowed oxygen into my blood.

At times, I forget what I look like--assuming I'm a cross between a troll and a haggard witch.
You were my mirror reflecting bright lights so the glare of the glass could blind me to imperfections.

I frequently don't know what to say when a sarcastic teacher howls into my ear.
You were my voice, powerful and sure.

Sometimes, I get light headed and shaky with an empty tummy angered by my neglect.
You were my mother, calling me to supper.

What I never had to think about before, now, seems so difficult.
Someone changed the controls and the instructions are in Korean.
What are these symbols? I can't even google them because the keys to my laptop don't have any of those shapes.
It wouldn't matter anyway because it seems to be melded shut.
Maybe my hands are weak because you were my strength.

Life without you is easy--simple.

But I've forgotten how to live this way.
Like a 49 year old man in his 16 year old daughter's math class. The class he had once taken and passed with flying colors now is nothing but nonsense.

Even after 2 years of being away from you, I long to know you once more.

Unfortunately we're not pieces of the same puzzle anymore.
Or perhaps we never were?

Maybe that's why we clashed over and over. Repeating the process until I was tossed aside.

Your world is full and complete while I lie on a banana peel at the bottom of a ******* bin.

It pains me to see your picture finally completed and to know it was I who stopped production.
Next to you are spaces already filled in. I search for somewhere I can lie snuggly in.

No where. As I lay in the garbage I whisper , "It's not supposed to be like this."

I can’t sleep. Sometimes I write when this happens. It used to be from myself to my own sheets of paper, but that has gone wrong too. My mind can only write about you now, I can’t think about something else than yourself.

The paper has become your legs. The words come right out from your red, perfect lips. Sentences build up right from your hips.

Things are never written down as they should, it’s pretty much alike when I try to say “I love you” with my tongue all over your body.

Your eyes remind me that no matter how much or what I write it’s never going to be enough to describe the kind of feelings, the kind of images you bring. I have to write. I feel like I’m not good at it anymore. You, my notebook, you have overwhelmed my capacity of expression.

Not even this words are coming out as they should, right now while I type nonsensly, I think, I wonder, is he ever going to read this how I want him to?


I feel cold every colon, every period. They indicate it’s been long since I died when you kissed me.