You'll know me by the trail behind
Of the hearts I never meant to break
The poor souls I tried to nurture
Fell heavy in my wake
I thought I could keep them warm
While tearing pieces of myself apart
Yet again I was wrong and torn
For putting those pieces into other's hearts
I am so truly sorry for those who ever loved me
It's my fault, but I'm no ****
I was too kind, too beautiful, too much
For making myself everyone's crutch

More often than sometimes I'd like to know
how it would feel to see the world from up high.
A hot-air balloon stuck in the sky,
but not because it's broken or the wind isn't right,
but because in the sky
it is limitless; about the red skies and black lies of the realm below.
Is it a blessing or a curse,
a truth or a lie?
The sky in its deception,
the balloon flies high.

He holds it comfortably in his mouth
Like a boiled sweet or a segment of orange
And when he says it , the sound is natural.
As if worn leather or turned wood could speak,
It sounds homely like a crackling log fire
But is also jarring like a metal nail
being dragged across a piece of slate.

Her bone structure screams touch her, touch her!

It's been awhile
since we talked,
and even then
no words were spoken.
nothing needed to be said
because your presence
bore it all.
Like the way
cigarette smoke
clings to your clothes
and no matter
how many times
you wash them,
the smell fades very little,
your mark has been
left untouched.
Addiction is a curse
and yet you wear it like
the fancy suit
you rented
for your sisters wedding.
no worries flicker
Across your eyes
because you know
all to well
that in the end
nothing will matter.
You've been here
before in a dream.
You witnessed
the suit being destroyed
by cigarette smokes
and the unspoken truth
and still you allow
life to pass you by.
no effort to go forth
and make change.

Sinister ministers deliver scriptures per
Illicit missions to present religious works for intrinsic worth
Men amended an "Amen" to end to the verse
Then apprehended the script they knew Kemet had written first

I’m in the blemish my kin is a part of the sin it hurts
Given my hair and skin were both considered dirt since the birth
It’s printed in their gospel I’ve been getting worse since the curse
It’s vivid plagiarism for the villain to get the perks

Dreaming a dream so dreary
Upon a bed of fire lilies
Where fear flocks and sorrows sleep
To a grove abandoned where she weeps

Dreaming a dream so dreary
Upon callous thoughts so weary
Clasped in a white veil
Seeing maroon on a visage pale

Dreaming a dream so dreary
Upon a cries in a clearing
Silent shrieks that haunt me I find
A walking corpse in pearl delight

Dreaming a dream so dreary
Upon a nightmare without meaning
To and fro wolves do roam on the rim
A hunt in this abyss for my kin

Dreaming a dream so dreary
I smell familiar blood and feel weary
A mangled corpse lies in slumber
What a nightmare, what a curse

Dreaming a dream so dreary
A solitary hunt so eerie
Hunger sated and thirst quelled
Will I ever wake or is this my hell?

After all the carnage I did imparte
The gypsies thought I had mastered the dark art
When I left that  wretched gypsy caravan
Anyone that had wronged me, their  blood spilled on the sand

With their tongues like parchment
They told darkened stories, and I was their target
And as I slowly roamed the land
To seek out about my mother first hand
The villagers seen my burnt skin
And knew I was the one the gypsies said carried great sin
Every human treated me badly, to scared to get close they threw their stones
So I sought out a place where no human ever goes

I found a forest but to sunny for my mood
It had to be darker, it had to be crude
So I started out simple and enchanted the vines
I made them all twist entangle and entwine
next was the trees I made them grow branches to cover the sky
so even from the keen eye of the hawk I could hide
But not done with them yet the bark I made bare
Thorns that would reach out and scratch and tear
The sand I made quiken to entrap in and ensnare
So anyone caught in my wicked trap could no longer breathe the air
My wonderland was soon renamed the Black Forest
all that dared entered claimed they heard the demon's chorus

And so my legend was born
The gypsies through their stories warn
Of a dark hearted witch that the fires couldn't burn
Even though their fires burnd white hot and the coals they churned
That I the black hearted witch had escaped and layed waste
In despite their fear they had given chase


So now alone I roam my beautiful dark place
With the gypsies warning story no one will give chase
But in my roaming before the forest I had heard a great tale
Of a witch who had put her baby under a spell
That upon it was put a curse
That would work in reverse

All were silent as corpses as they laid
next to the campfire, listening to every
ill spoken word. Now silence has graced
this dimness of syllables that fed the fire.

There was a wishing well, others sent
for ill fortune had granted there lives.

"Wishing well please hear my plea,
"I was told you could solve issues for me,

Moments past and not a motion or spoken
word did seep from its depths.

"I thought this was a stupid idea, *******
belief that a well could solve problems for me

Then as footsteps echoed away, and repetition
was vaguely heard till sound birthed forth.

Feed me that which I desire, for metal has no
value where wishes are conceived and birthed.

"Tell me what you need, And whispers were
held upon there thoughts, and no other was
to no as a wishing well collects on everyone.

"So our story is like a circle but one not get finished
but nearly complete in worth,

Around the fire not a word was uttered, breath
was silent from one to another nothing expelled.
all were listening to his expiration of this stories
telling now eagerly undoing with each word.

Seeds were sewn for a wishes worth to come true,
Stories have endings of dreams and truth. but this
isn't one of those endings this is a certainty.
A story much have a start, pause and an ending unfold.

"Now all you have heard my tale, you were good
listeners as the dead speak no words. I take a token
from each of you,

"The eye is a token of the soul, and it needed ten
tokens of worth,

So as the fire lost is worth and syllables were replaced
by ten bodies now in rigor motis. All wept tears of
deaths embrace, as ocular openings feed upon the well.

"I give gifts, keys to ten souls, each of colour fresh not cold,
"Hear my plea of a wish I want in truth,

"Your contribution has been upheld, let a spoken word
unfold, be it riches or youth,
"One wish is yours now speak but heed my words, once
uttered the deal is sealed souls sealed in word,

"I want you to crumble to seal others ill fate,

"Those that were killed had suffered before
due to your needing of donations of souls
needed effect,

Crumbling fortunes to a gate of souls that
lingered at the bottom of a well. For all who
had perished had done so as retribution
for others lost to this curse. All who's eyes had
been taken and found no eternal rest.

He sat around the campfire and all was muted as
no words were spoken. Ten pennies in the well,
now it choked on its serving and all was silent.

Wishes are for fools, as a price is always asked
and unthinkable acts do not meet its worth.