I have heard
that sand exfoliates
and that water cleanses
I have felt the pain
of scraping rocks against my skin
To rid myself of me
To remove the history
off of my fingertips
Who I am
hates the person I have been
though I liked the thought of myself
In your arms
Some nights I stay up and cry
hoping the tears will make me an ocean
to drown all the memories
and the salt will rub against me
Like a snake
I will shed my skin
and soon forget the
warmth of your touch
In 7 years
I will not find
a speck of you on me

They will fly like a swarm of mosquitos
Wishing to feed on life
Incinerating,
Ash,
Moulded
In a frozen moment until the breath expels and
Cleanses even that in their wake,
Biting upon the flesh over
The earth,
She will not weep with these tears
Of a thousand suns.
"For those moments will never pass"
As those swarms are in a
Hive of tempered reality,
For if even one is to sting upon soil then
"Reality would burn"
"For an eternity of  moments"
"A new sun would ignite"
Time is blinded,
Clouds of ash tears rain down.
But this tempered hive,
Is just that
A place of insanity
That is locked in its shell
"She will never fear the swarm"
"As man is never wanting to see the  suns rise"
Eclipse the life that means so much too he.

Soft, sweet rains

kind, glancing off my arms

and naked knees

skipping in the rain

~

You used to laugh

and twirl in circles

thinking only happy things

when the rains came

~

If I was in your eyes

I mean really there

reflecting off of you

I could walk in any rain

~

Seems we often

fail to realize

the champion of our fears

can be a quiet rain

~

Where else do we find

a certain solace, a cleansing

love, mist that sweeps

then in a spring rain

~

I once knew a certain peace

I could always be with you

I would surely be content

with only you in the rain.

Welcome to Catharosia

Come and succumb to our pitiful wail
An allegory written with paints of girded soul;
There, we drench ourselves in colorful shivers
Here, we cleanse our soul for the joy of the universe;

Another day to create
Roses of the night that result in heavy dreams,
Sorority flies, and dead passions of desperate poets;

In the world where we purge ourselves,
Sanity is not our company—

To the torn pages faded by the light
To the worn out tales dimmed by the dark
Here is our salutations and solitude;

Our words untangled and jumbled tears
Will serve you deeds of crumbling back to a piece;

She oozes blood and agony
He ruptures terrors and improbability
They ***** contemplation and daydreams sewn
We engrave beautiful macabre and adored pain—

Where clowns shall dwell and kings lay to death
Where sins tremble and tragedies rejoice
Jolly remains of the day are what we produce
Masked by anxious sorrows and fear so erudite