She is a whirlwind of emotions

Impulsive as a category five

Leaving devastation as she passes by

When you’ll meet her

It’ll dawn on you

Why hurricanes are named after people

A horror movie scene as the heroine escapes.
Everything is still besides her convalescing breath and the distant, chasing wind.
Not a noise is heard except the fall leave's rattle and the birch wood's moaning bark in the moonlight.
Her body slouches into the protection of a lone shed, and shrouds itself in the aroma of cut grass.
A tense brow relieves and tired eyes close, thankful to receive the momentary peace.

A possible misstep turns the wary peace on end with the jagged cut of broken leaves. The once relieved brow now concedes surprise as wild eyes are cast towards an opaque barricade.
Sly pieces of garden equipment leash a weathered jacket in place as she attempts to stand.
A cackle is heard, a shriek undone.
To spite the brittle wood, the formulaic jump-scare-skeleton-hand bursts through the shed's solicitous walls, set to declare the last of a weary soul as his own.
The wind catches up and spearheads any hole it can find.
It begins whistling around the dim room like a tornado elated to havoc behind a castle's walls.
The tree bark howls, the leaves, now delight.
We learn there is no reprieve for a begging champion.
The camera backs out of the splintered hole, and pans over a silhouetted forest to face the waning moon.
The hero succumbs with muted screams to a gore far below and out of frame.

Our only closure, a black screen, with bright white letters, slowly scrolling up.


The end.

whispers chasing you as you run down the hall
don't look back at them, you may trip and fall.

Girls share secrets at lunch in the bathroom,
you hear your name, you leave the room.

running from the whispers cant stop them from starting
harsh words, behind your back they are darting.

don't run from your problems, they'll only get worse,
and then they'll take your soul away in a hearse.

so keep your mouth shut, don't make a sound,
don't let those pesky rumors, come around.

stand up and fight, for what you believe in,
if you do not, you will let the gossip win.

Go ahead deflect
Redirect
When I'm breathing down your neck
I won't stop
I give it all I got
Always until the end
Cause you'll never be my friend

Reliability hurts us as it cradles our childhood vices,
dreams blurred and forgotten while the nightmares crept.
I gaze at all my friends while they begin to count their prices,
bags of dust, unsaturated gazes follow - I haven't slept,

My smiles have no eyes, only crosses and scribbles.

We feel empty inside as we stare at our devices,
an infinite hoop of dazed talks as the night grows and I wept.
It's what we get for making sacrifices,
I had a golden opportunity and I overslept.

My smiles have no eyes, only crosses and scribbles,
weakened wrists, deprived energy while I tighten the ribbon.

Cold as Hell,
as paradoxical as that seems,
I know I might seem humble it’s true,
even though on the down low I’ve got high self esteem,

watching Indiana Jones on the big screen,
got little time for nonsense,
even though we seem to make a big scene,

it seems,
that nothing is as it seems,
feeling like Indian Jones,
is it a *** of gold or a hill of beans,

more Jack than Jill,
more Mulder than Gillian,
and things are getting word like the X-Files,
some of the Lizard People are Chameleons,

or better yet Camillions,
money is their sun they bask in it,
on a rock in an ocean call it a continent,
not content at all with the poetic tragicness,

feeling repelled as 2 negatives,
yet as attracted as a magnet is,
anyways what’s my point,
I don’t know I suppose it depends on what your perspective is,

I just call it like I see it,
no filter unedited,
no hashtags just a hash bag,
actually I don’t even smoke that ****t,

not even a little bit,
that’s not my favorite intoxicant,
anyways I should probably get off my soapbox,
because I seems I am on a rant,

so that’s it I’m done,
heading back to my house in the clouds,
where I can write in silence,
and let me words be as loud as Hell,

cold as Hell,
as paradoxical as that seems,
I know I might seem humble it’s true,
even though on the down low I’ve got high self esteem,

watching Indian Jones on the big screen,
got little time for nonsense,
even though we seem to make a big scene,

it seems,
that nothing is as it seems,
feeling like Indian Jones,
is it a *** of gold or a hill of beans…

∆ LaLux ∆