There's no one without flaws,
Like a paw without claws,
Fall seven,stand eight,
You are not your mistake,
Learn from it,
Before it's too late,
It's ok to fall,
To cry and bleed through it all,
It'll all make sense in the end,
Trust the journey,my friend.

Paralyzed with possibility;
These choices stun something within me.
Yearning to grasp what it is I want,
Whilst keeping myself chained. A taunt.

The animal within stirs up a chorus of growls,
The innocence slips past that thought which fouls.

My claws are sharp. My teeth, the same.
I am one who can not be tamed.

Owning a cat relies on give and take.
I give the beans a tiny squeeze and
she takes a chunk of my skin.

His spectral stride was not the worst of him.
His stoic face was a flawless slab of stone.
His rending claws slipped idly within his pockets.

As if extensions of his sheathed talons, on either side of the ghoul was a hound of hell.

The beasts could not look more different, save for their crimson eyes which sang of the gallows.

The worst had indeed arrived.
Each patient step glided after the other.
With no word, with no tempo, with no sign.
The dance of grimaced howls and fangs began.

A monster has crept up on me,
Claws are at my neck.
Part of me wants to fight,
Part of me wants to succumb.
These claws rip and tear at me with a question--
"What more could you have done?"

You're keeping secrets under your pillow,
They slither through the gaps in the duck feathers,
Until they reach the cotton barrier,
Trying to claw out at your head,
Ever wondered why you get those migraines?

You've tricked yourself into wearing a halo,
Crocodile tears with an alligators grin,
As fake as the make-up you wear,
A smile and a twirl,
Is that all you think it takes to fool a crowd?

You're not an angel, you can barely fly,
You may see clouds, but your feet are on the ground,
It's only your head that's where you think you are,
Your wings are sown on, and the stitches are weak,
How many have you tricked in total?

You think you've won but I can see the devil in your eyes.
A lingering dark stare, puffy and blood shot,
Claws at the ready, tearing into flesh that knows you well,
A war raging on your tongue when you've been found out,
You think I'm docile to every thought you have?

You seem to forget.

Guys like broken girls
because they are no pillow princesses.
They are raging animals in cages
waiting for any bite
of raw meat they can put their claws in.

death is a tiny girl in pink —
with yellow hair
                          and stick legs -

coming out at twilight , she
knocks
on your door with her claws in a fist
                                and
smiles wide at you
from the
dark.
          .
            .

a wolf in sheeps hide ,
but
she is only
a
sheep
          (not even)

and
she wants to hold your hand .
.