The clock strikes midnight, the echoing chime spanning the wooden acres. Once, twice, thrice it takes her heart and carries the rhythm with it. Wandering alone for such a time has taken a hold on her mind.
.
In these enchanted woods she cannot find freedom,
Freedom that she does not know she has lost…
She is not alone, she is not the first,
Yet the others, she will not meet.

Left to wonder
Who am I?
Where am I?
What does it matter?
Why does this seem like home?

The forest is a prison for all who dared to love a man so dark. Time after time he shows the world that

Love is a weakness
That makes us sway
To and from, disregarding logic and why.
It goes as deep, coming from the soul,
Existing so as to ruin us all.

It is due to her weakness that she finds herself incarcerated among the spruce so vast that

Between the trunks
She can see for miles in every direction,
Row after row, acre past acre,
Yet an end in sight, there is not.

From time to time she swears she can see
The figure of another soul ever so lost as she.
Yet like the rainbows that avoid this land,
These shadows cannot be reached.

…

Thinking back to that fateful night, where he held her in his arm’s caress,

His fingers trailing up and down her side,
A touch so light she cannot help but to shudder.
He slides his arm up ever so slowly, over her *******
and onto her neck, gently applying more and more pressure.
Her will to fight is gone, as her legs begin to flail, shaking the bed as they do.
Blackness ensues and does not return until she wakes, perched against the spruce’s bark.

She no longer dreams, no longer sleeps, the woods keep her awake. Forever she wanders looking for the exit, or maybe for the source of the chimes that ring every night. She will never find it, she is destined to spend eternity wandering these woods alone, such is the effect of being trapped by a heart so strong.

A sheltered life I have lived,
Never a time had I strayed nor
Dared to interfere
With the ways I was told it was meant to be.

Although I've seen your cigarette and your beer at fourteen,
These ways you have, were never for me.
Yet here I stand, with these thoughts so dark,
My mind ever plagued by tranquility...

.

Many will proclaim that the darkened life
Is derived from a past of bad choices and abuse.
Perhaps in part I believe this to be true,
Yet it is apparent to me that the life is there from birth.

It is in this way that I stand my ground,
Never to care what they may say.
I will dress my way and do my thing
For I know it to be true that this is my way.

To all like me without a reason or rhyme
Whom desire a life that they can call their own.
To those who wish to live without being judged by how
They look, how they love, or how they speak.

It is to you that I offer my hand to take,
So that you may join me on this journey
And march through the night in our battle
To evade negativity, as this is out right.

A single blackened snowflake hanging in the air,
a choice to stand out so vividly
from the others so pale.
A choice that is not it's own,
nor could be fear of difference.

Slowly descending to rest upon my palm,
It cannot wait as it melts away into nothingness,
Gone as though it never was.

A miracle in nature,
A phenomenon unheard of.
But who will ever know; who will believe?
In difference the flake is soon forgotten.

This flake chose to alight upon myself,
perhaps seeking to find another like itself.
Yet it is just a meminder, a mockery,
knowing that these shadows will ultimately
take away, with myself,
The memories of whoever I was supposed to be

Frosted windows separate me
from the tiny fingers
pressed against the window pane.

Tendrils of smoke descending from above,
shrouding the fingers within
only visible in the glow of the flames.

What can I do but watch him die
as reality sets in, no time to play
with the person I used to be.

One by one they peel away,
leaving sweat marks on the glass,
until my inner child has gone up in flames.

Now I wake.

To find that though a dream, it was
formed from truth and reality,
the years of yesterday have taken it all away.

The young lady sits, mascara running
As she gazes into her cup of tea.
Alone in the woods,
Resting upon an old and forgotten arm chair

She thinks of her place in the world,
Of the horrors that it is plagued with.
Dreaming of a better day
Without the hate and despair

She knows it will never come,
And so do the grey winged butterflies
That flutter by. But they don’t care
So long as they can fly.
---

The barren trees, roots topped with dirt,
Watch over their little girl.
They cannot see, but they feel her presence;
The weight of her black buckled shoe upon the soil.

Unable to think, they do not see the world
In the black and white way of her striped leggings,
They know nothing of the wars and violence,
Only of their precious child.

Here they sway from side to side.
Father and son, hand in hand.
That poor little girl
Who never stood a chance.

For boy, as you know,
Daddy had a thing for those
Of innocence and very few years.

Yet you watched from the shadows,
As your old man went on,
He didn’t know that you were there.
Why didn’t she scream?

You couldn’t believe the scene,
He is not the one you know
Today he had betrayed your soul.

But you would run if you could,
He blocks the door,
Of this old and abandoned shell of a barn.

Close your eyes boy, but the ears won’t relent,
Just look away and pretend you don’t see
Their silhouettes clinging to the walls.
Now you can never be free

You know the century is early, the laws unevolved
They say what you have seen has left your soul unclean.
They know she was your friend, so now they’ll understand.

This wasn’t your fault, you didn’t make it be
You know your father is to blame, he who hath sinned.
Unleashing evil in its purest form.

But that’s not what they’ll say
When they condemn you two to fate.
As from behind the crate you step,
“Father it is time to flee.”

You know his darkness, yet with him you must go
For life on the run alone, you cannot survive.
You strive for your freedom, with your demon at your side.

You travel the miles, yet with him you will never speak,
Because of him, your childhood is gone.
And even worse is the loss of her’s.

Together you last for many a day
But in the end you’ll never get away.
For it is now the third day of the second week.

You know you are caught, yet with him you’ll still not speak
As the cavalry rides up, and they take you away.
Back to the village where it all began.

The trial is short, the girl revealed all,
as before you were ever found, you were both deemed guilty
And tonight you shall hang, along with your old man.

So here they sway from side to side.
Father and son, hand in hand.
That poor little girl
Who never stood a chance.

The merry-go-round is a thing of joy
Where kids can play in endless revolution.
They laugh and yell and don’t realize that their entertainment
Is from one another and not the rusted metal.

I remember when back in the day,
I would sit and spin wishing to feel the thrill.
This welded contraption has no amusing aura,
Not when there is no one to join.

Round and round and round again,
Spinning around with no end.
I lay here alone while the others play tag,
Tag she is it, now it is he, though I go nowhere it is never me.

To this day there is no change,
Wandering these halls I pass them bye,
The same **** kids who take no notice
But today is the day, they will all see.

I’ll make the headlines that I’ll never see,
Front page news across the country.
They will have no choice but to see me now,
My face the last to cross their minds.

The last chance has passed and she has left me lost and alone.
The driver sped through the light that he failed to see
through his high powered beer goggles.

The rest of the world runs on the same,
No one the wiser, no one to feel my pain.
I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.

I’m out of tears, no more grief, the time has passed.
Tonight I am slipping away without my anchor to
Tether me to this world.

It is time to end the suffering, stop the waiting.
I cannot accept that there will ever be another
As I fall to pieces; the lord caves his jigsaw into me.

Returning home from the night’s adventure.
Winding down from the rush of excitement,
We were too tired; too tired.
the corner was there before the steering wheel.
The crash, the sudden quiet.

Moaning is heard as
The blood seeped into the cracked roadway.
Amongst the twisted metal and shards of glass, our light fades.
Crying and waiting until we left our bodies.
Then we were gone, but we watched

as the silence was broken and
the sirens blared

We rose…. Leaving the destruction,
the heat of the flames,
the smell of burning fuel,
the whining of a dying radio.

We are with the others now
encased in the shadows.
Light and airy spirits, sometimes we are heard laughing.
We wait in our clusters,
waiting to greet anyone
who might happen to join us here.

We are finally happy
Within the confines of eternity; in death.

Now the quiet peace,
We are together now,
Perhaps you’ll join us.

Life moves on
and things become too real.
A wife. Kids. Career.
It’s too much, I want to run away.

Everything has changed with
my position in the world.
I’ve never fit in
Always the freak who knows no limits,
the one who sits alone and minds his own.

Never understood, never accepted.
Now a husband, a dad, still the same.
Always covering up myself; hiding
behind wit and cruelty.

A shield to disappear into,
Afraid to be me; to send up alone.
I used to know who I was but
now I’m not so sure.

It seems I have my life sorted out,
but am I really happy?

A question I always find myself asking
but can never answer.
I don’t think anyone knows the meaning of happiness,
or if it really exists.

Tonight I found myself holding her close,
and as I rested my head on her chest,
I quietly try not to cry.

It’s hard sometimes to keep it all in,
to hold strong so as not to lose myself,
it’s why I write as I do.

An outlet through a pen is all I have,
only the page wont judge,
won’t declare me a freak,
won’t know that something is wrong with me.

The thoughts I have,
my inability to empathize with other’s pain and loss.
It makes me wonder if I’m right for this world.

I’ve been to two funerals,
one I barely knew, the other I held dear.
And lost a grandfather who meant everything,
yet I never shed a tear.

I used to think that it was because I am strong,
but now maybe that isn’t so.

Who am I really?
I think I need to know.