There’s a burning in her eyes,
High reaching lace like a poison choker,
Hands around a swan’s throat,
She’s the type who would ****** the world,
Then break its neck,
But even then, she still spits poetry every time she speaks,
Everyone has their curses,
She hides hers in the darkness.

He asked me to remember him better than he could have ever been,
He asked me to forgive the things that I had seen,
The people he had broken,
The things he had made,
The blood on his face,
The shaking of his hands with the gun to his head,
He asked me to please remember him dead,
At peace, at rest,
Unable to hurt,
Unable to destroy the things I had worked hard for,
Like the breath in my lungs,
And the beating of my heart,
He told me that we would be better apart,
I didn’t believe him, his hands were as God,
Had wanted them to be,
He saw what God wanted him to see,
He was everything that held and looked after me,
Please, please look up after me,
See the tears in my eyes,
See the fear and the pain and the fact I hate goodbyes,
And I don’t mind the smell of chemicals on your clothes,
Or the fact when you come in you’re too tired to talk,
Too tired to walk,
It grows on me, the electrical shocks,
The bangs, the loud noises, you still hide from the knocks,
Of heavy footfalls on stairs,I can tell that you’re scared,
But I can make things all better if you give me a chance,
This isn’t some textbook, fairy story romance,
He yells and he grimaces, his fingers are tight,
And I wish I could hold him with all of my might,
He bats my hands away and I know that he’s crying,
It would be better for both of us,
He says, I’m just tired,
Of the sunrise, of the sunset, the work I have to do,
Are you tired of me? I ask,
How could I be tired of you?
I would forfeit my safety, you keep your hands clean,
Under the fingernails,
A ******, white and pristine,
Yet so tainted with blood, with a pressure of darkness, of death,
It surrounds you, no escape, there’s already dirt on your breath
Last words, last rites, a madness shaped scar,
Please try to remember, he said, we are better than we are.

The black, white and the Grey
Sounds like a Gothic cliche
Automatically people want to run away
When they see those colors being worn by a individual
They're definitely the opposite of subliminal
To judge them is stereotypical
If you ask me, we can arrange a miscible
To embrace morbid unity
To make a deal with the past
Where lives were ended by a speedy gun blast
The good, bad and the ugly
Was the old school Black,white and grey

Isn't it sad
If I want to hear I love you
It has to be in my head
Isn't it sad
If I want to read something nice from you
It has to be a few weeks back
You said I was you're everything
You promised me you'd stay
But I guess when it comes to it
You just didn't want me anyway
Isn't it sad how your words were just words
How I still love you even after all you've done?
I keep getting pushed away
But I always run back one day
Did I even matter?
How could you just leave it all behind?
Act like I don't exist
It's making me lose my ******* mind
Isn't it sad
I know now
The only thing that'll make you happy
Is if I'm down

A large, bony hand comes out of the darkness
And ruffled my hair
I looked up and saw a tall man
He seemed to lack a face
He said, "Do not fear, child. I only want to play."
He took me to his manor and said
"Now, you are here to stay."

She is the Raven
of my nocturnal ravening
When the silence and the darkness
of the night become too maddening
She is there,
At my door
Echoing her "Nevermore"
Through Her Eyes,
My Soul Explored
As Phantoms of Old Wars
Roam the tides of the raging storm
On the Night's Plutonian Shore

Woeful, she implores
Me to forget my sweet Lenore
The Ghost I loved before
My Raven sang her "Nevermore"

The Songs and Scents of Seraphim
Linger in my Chamber
Is it that,
Or the Ichor of Madness
Which enforce my strange behavior?

My Raven's claws are resting
On a pallid bust of Pallas
Her black majesty infesting
My infernal, somber palace

And my eyes with fire, gleaming
from the Whispers that are Screaming
At the Shadows of the Demons
Who are Dreaming
Plotting, Scheming
Spirit Fiendish
She can see it
My Flesh keeps Hell beneath it
My Ghastly, Grim and Ancient Raven
Feels my heart get ripped to pieces

And yet  - I still may not believe
This Bird of Prey
Could bring me peace
She flutters with
Unearthly ease
As the wind outside mangles the trees
I see her there, in my despair
Divine darkness chokes the air
Her ever spirit-piercing stare
I feel upon me everywhere

And as I kneel upon the floor
I watch her nest above my door
And I find myself longing for
My stately Raven
From the Saintly Days of Yore
To Haunt me now,
and Forevermore.

A carpet of grass deft underfoot,
like a huge grey blanket swathing the landscape,
cold and bleak, enticing a quickened pace,
Whistling wind wraps around me like a skeletons arms,
teasing and beguiling me onwards toward a destination unknown,
on its breath ride the whispers of forgotten lost souls.
The moon peers down through a silken scarf of blackened clouds,
Its knowing face smiling sinuously, as if luring ships to the rocks on a tempestuous sea,
from its mouth fall beams of light that illuminate the hills and troughs ahead, like a procession of flickering lanterns on a majestic parade,
Blackened gnarled trees seem to bow in respect as the coldness of the night permeates my core,
their dark shapes appearing on the horizon, like tomb stones in some ancient graveyard.
So among this swathing scene unfolding and with coat collar raised, I merge with the shapes and disappear into the folds of night.

ever wondered if dreams are reality.
and reality is a dream.
if we are living in someone else’s mind.
that we aren’t real.
that we are a product of someone’s imagination.
that you are nothing.
you are the invisible friend.