I had locked away the world for now.
I had no reason to entertain there lies for I saw there truths for what they were .

Madness has a way of allowing us to detach .
The mind a maze that is a prison to some and a endless abyss of darnkeness to me .

I was slipping as a man becoming something far more destructive I understood the words now.

There was no music like that of silence and insanity clawing upon hollow walls .
Blissful in its desires no man may fathom the truths we blind are thoughts to .

To simply exist is far from my need.

I waited for sunset and summoned them that would not exist in light.

The door was locked but to blind eyes there was something far more beautiful in its destruction headed my way.

The canvas is all that matters your health and sanity are merely pawns in this game of chess.

Never bury your thoughts no matter there sin.

We know the ritual only those without fear cast there souls to the wind .

I can here the ordinary screaming on the inside yearning only to know that which cannot be undone .

I locked the door not to keep the world away.
I locked the door simply to keep myself from letting something far worse than I out .

And so it has begun and as so it will be .

I'm a record
repeating all the same lines
hoping that you'll continue to sing along.
I'm a door unhinged
waiting for you to walk my way again.

You're a Gothic masterpiece;
a renaissance of imperfection
spilling over a lifeless canvass.
I sit with a pen
still in my hand.

I can't expect you to hear my every call,
I can't expect that you'll fix the threads that come undone.

If these words are my voice,
then this page is God's ear.
A prayer for what is broken
to be mended once more.

There is a beauty
The colours change and leaves fall
Beautiful autumn

Trees and plant of green
The leaves turn orange and brown
And wilting flowers

There is a beauty
Only seen in autumn wind
And beauty in death

A woman stands strong and sensuous and proud
Her mind a fractured mirror cloaked in fog
Shard by shard
The bayonet finds her way, following the sweet scent of the ****** rose
Wielding her Scarborough Fair
The sass of Parsley
The wisdoms of Sage
The touch of Rosemary
The passage of Thyme

The woman
Born of the dark side of the moon
With powers untold
Able to twist and bend the spindles of shadows and time
Fair-skinned
Lips full and glazed with cardinal sin
Slick locks of ebony
A perfumed 500 year blur
With the night's lunar charm that twinkles in her eye
And butterflies that swoon for their Madama
She
The blood child born of the union of the sun and moon
The black sheep of the dark arts
Is one with the most beloved of Umbran treasures
Is the sweetest cherry with a long-forgotten radiant smile,
A harsh destiny
Who looks to the left side of the moon for the upcoming chaos.

No color,
no warmth from the cold weather,
no charisma,
no freshness,
no love just loneliness,
no cover from the rain,
no drain for the tub,
no food in the cupboards,
no water to drink,
no end to the war,
no cooler for the heat,
no ice to make water colder,
no rivers flowing,
no flowers growing.

All is bleak,
all is dark and crawling.

Bleak that's all.

**© By Amanda D Shelton