Death
is
the
Confession of
when the past
comes back
to haunt

its your decision.
whether or not to take me seriously.
to take my words.
and use them.
Tell me, when did you begin to care?
meh.
don't tell me.
What i want to know
is why i'm crazy.
Why i am not normal.
I can be seious.
reallllly dam serious.
But i dont wanna.
No
nope.
Nein.
Whats scary.
is when you take suicide prevention classes
and see yourself in every sign.
but are still living.
breathing.
.........
a-b-c-d-e-f-g
tell me what the **** is wrong with me.
Please?

I am the ****** and damaged warrior
Mighty presence on an arid plain
Waste-land empty and scorch-scarred parched
Looking to the dazzling dawn
Of another baking, aching, dry day
Of another dying, desert year.

They watched bold marching
Fearful tramping
To each pitiful skirmish
And every blood-hungry moment
Of all the days and nights.

They watched corded muscles
Spasm and seize
With each call to stretch and pull
And drag the weary-worn
To fight again.

Let no man call with shrill-shriek of the owl
Across the night-filled silence
Let no-one ever whisper in the dark, dearth
Across the shadowed chasm

I am alone within a purple shade
Night-cloaked in cunning strange
I am the time-deadened, weary watchman
Locked in a forever-circle of despair

Manacled with lead, banded with steel
Tight twisted and knotted by a skein of silk
Woven tightly by the softest hand
Strengthened by certainty and pure calm
There is no escape to unearth

But death
Is skirting the edge of existence
Picking at the loose threads
Teasing and niggling the fraying filaments
Laddering and snagging
And pulling, pulling out beyond time
The winding-sheet, the sack-cloth shroud
The only closing choice.


© M.L.Emmett

Be you a freak
Or a geek
Transgender, gay, or bi
Let your flag fly
We are all ****** anyway
So for the rest of our days
No matter how bizarre
Let's be ****** for who we truly are

The fallen decided to join the ****** and commit sins.
The angel became a devil because someone decided to clip off her wings.

Far, far away
In the land of the ******,
Sat a man on a throne
With a crown in his hand.

He dares not wear it,
He fears for his life.
For he know that his bloodline
Is of violent strife.

But he keeps getting pushed,
And told that he must,
For the people need rules,
And laws covered in dust.

He tells them than 'no,
I am not for this job,
Find another, who's weaker-
His life of him rob.'

But the people persist,
And therefore, in the end,
The man puts the crown on,
To kinghood ascends.

He lived in that land
Ruling over the ******,
But his time's at an end
I have the upper hand.

I come to him at night,
And whisper in his ear,
I tell him of things
That one should never hear.

And so, this new king,
With a crown on his head
Knew he would not survive
Whispers of the dead.

I shall greet him tomorrow
Where his kindred are banned
And together we'll rule
In the land of the ******.