Love me,
won't you?

you don't have better things to do, anyway.
we should meet on tuesday, and we should ****.

fine, make love.
but we're not making love, are we? we're drowning love.
we're drowning it with moans and curses and touches,
until love is just a faint reminiscence of our fantasies.

you always hated the way I talked.
like I knew everything and anything.
old man, you said. I talked like an old man tired of life.

well, old men aren't tired of life. They're tired of pain.
and that's sexist, **** you. old women can also be tired of life.

I feel old as the wind in my face
I feel it's creaks and groans and whispers
and the way they ask me to fall

it blew me out of you
and I grew tired of pain
and you never listened.

You should have listened.

Let's love,
shall we?
and see what fantasies we can ruin.

The prince of the
underworld
A land whose up is down
Had a hammering heart
A noise that won’t quiet
Down

Shunned and despised by
the rest
He clawed endlessly at
his chest
Until his heart gave its
Last beat
And he slept forever in
defeat

Home...
My favorite place
Filled with love, compassion and peace
When the troubles of the world are too much to bear
Home is where I drop my load of care
When I'm done and the world has no more for me
I find my way back to my fantasy

Home...
My favorite people
Who stand always and forever with me
When I falter and when I stray
By my side, still they stay
When I'm done and the world has no more for me
I find my way back to my family

Why does this darkness exist? The power to bring death and destruction

So quickly it came to rest at his fingertips–am I still human?

It appeared as a vortex of shadows–he thought it a hallucination

It was insane and all too real, he could not resist stepping into the swirling dark

He thought it meant the end, but he was wrong

The unending black, still, and quiet

He found security

What does it mean when the “inner you” is silent?

Black tower, his home, wherever it stands, a spiral stair, sharp spines, sheer design

Black throne, occupied

Black blade, the edge of balance, cutting through eternity

What is in between black and white?

This is the effect of light, across space and time

Sitting at the center of his world, thinking, brooding, asking questions you are afraid to answer

What do you see when you look into your own eyes?

Testing those who call for it, testing you

Making people prove themselves–do you really know what life and love are?

Digging deep, bearing water from the well of notions

What things do you do or say because of your fears?

I will not leave until I crack every porcelain mask

Shoulder to shoulder,
We walk through the halls that have become our own
Kingdom in a world not our home.

It’s funny how that works,
How we’ve become nearer to what we want of the other
But the same distance has not truly been crossed here in this place
Where we were forced to grow up again.

To say that we are closer to our goals,
To the unfinished wants of those places which exist beyond these stars,
May be a lie, but I’d like to think
That maybe there is a sliver of truth in those dreams
Which we have managed to share in our passing.

To say that we’re both far from home
Might be a bit of a stretch,
Since simple roads and passable oceans fail
To describe the true distance between worlds
Ripped apart so that only faded myths
Whisper of how once they were one.

We are not quite
Sitting right across from each other
In libraries where books scream secrets
While we glance up with the silent truth of distrust.
We are far from where we should be,
Yet if either of us want to traverse past the stars
And into the worlds that exist in mathematician numbers
And in the dreams we have at night when the other is no longer watching,
We need to do more than simply wait for that moment
Where our eyes meet once in connection rather than separation.