And when my darkness
Takes over a little more
Of the space then it usually does.
And the days become hard
To even get up and out of bed.
You light the way to the exit.
So that when I am ready
And able,
I can find my way back home,
Back to you.
The light keeper,
Of my storms.

He is as hopeless as flying a kite made of clouds.
Now, some may say that that was impossible, improbable.
Some may even call it magical.
He did not see it that way.

In his eyes, he was as useful as a fraying rope.
Always on the edge of breaking,
Unstable.

His chest felt empty,
As if the dust left from his shattered heart had finally blown away.
The only thing there was his ribcage,
Trapping lungs that barely worked.

He believed he was hopeless.

To her, that was not the case.

She took his soul and painted grey and blue skies,
And used her own soul to glue him back together.

She flew her cloud kite proudly through the sky,
Doing tricks and running with it,
Smiling the whole time.

He is as hopeless as flying a kite made of clouds.

He is not hopeless.

i am in love with the ocean,
and while he is beautiful and strong,
he is turning my heart into a cliff.
eroding me away,
bit by bit.

— i'm afraid soon there will be nothing left
​

A sudden burst of sound jolts me from sleep,
I am now awake and listening closely,
my room is dark and the streetlights outside are all burnt out,
car doors close and someone swears outside my door.

The home alarm beeps and I know mother is home,
and through muffled voices I hear her and my stepfather,
I poke my head out my door and can see her defensive stance,
she is ready to explain her late arrival,
dressed in nice clothes and her hair still groomed,
a stark contrast again her grimey boyfriend with stains down his front.

It is the same as usual,
an argument about the workload divide in this house,
mother is crying and her lover is screaming,
and neither consider the children watching.

A turn towards the stairs and I close my door,
I climb back into my bed and his words burn into my skull,
and mother’s crying as permanent as always,
my room is dark and the streetlights outside are all burnt out.

Always defensive and never offensive,
mother will never have control of her life.

She told her
about the way her words
make her actions way more reasonable.

About the feeling
she gets when leaving the room
but taking the words with her.

About the thoughts
spinning and spinning
but never stopping.

She wanted to tell her
about the importance
of her words.

About the meaning
her actions have
and will always have.

About the cold
that gets a bit warmer
every time she looks at her.

About the courage
and faith
that she restores in her.

Shall one dare to raise the question,
"What is the legitimacy of His Majesty's ruling?"
One would surely be relieved of their head.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~­~~~

'Tis alright, however, since there is still freedom.

"What such freedom exists, when one cannot question another?"

Much freedom still exists in other aspects, so fear not, ignorant one.

Anyways, you should have no reason to question His rule,
For you have served this kingdom well, my feigning innocence.
You, sir, have done wondrously in raising your sword to the enemy.

"But, Father, if I may interject, how come I do not feel free?"

You swore your blood and marrow to the wealth of His Majesty,
And now one such as you dares to raise that prickling question?
You shall have your freedom in due time, my withered husk.

"Father, who is the Majesty?"

You do not ask of the King's personal affairs.

"But, respectfully, I do want to know who it is I am fighting for."

You are fighting on the behalf of our country, for the greater good.

"Father, that does not answer my question. Who is he?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~­~~

Fine, my woeful son--do you wish to know who the King is?
He is standing right in front of you,

And he orders your execution.

Do you know about the color blue?
It is in the sky and in me too.
Disguising itself as the color of calm,
in the river held back by a dam,
always in the background, in neglect,
blue hits me when I least expect.

The color of calm has a hidden side,
waiting for me to get tongue tied.
Silence is blue's favorite pastime,
tried to fight him with music and a rhyme,
blue is good in color only,
he haunts me whenever I am lonely.

A bit of advice from me to you,
advice about the demon blue.
Don't listen to the voices in your head,
don't let the color tie you to your bed,
I know it's tough to fight the blue,
I want you to know I believe in you,
don't let this story be about blue,
take it back, it's time you flew,
don't let this blue color define you,
look in the mirror and say f*ck you blue.