I learned how to love and hate

To never trust fate,

Simply listening to my needs,

Crave for your body, blade and sins.

Hell is part of me, sir,

As Heaven is six feet under,

Not deep as a Well nor so wide as a church door,

Take me and break me to the core!

Madness of you,

Violence and desire piercing threw,

Tasting the Little Death with the tip of those lips,

Bitter sweet travel down the mist.

But remember, prince of Cats,  

You can’t tame me, sick ****** rat,

But if you want me,

Scream me, cry me, torn me…

I am Mercury,

Unstable and addictive,

Get on your knee,

I will end it by killing thee.

I was alone in the cold room,

Waiting for the bell of my doom,

Looking toward the sky and praying for help,

Who could have guessed mercury would rise so fast?

I am Madness and my heart melts,

Swords in my soul, stabbed to death,

Never believe in what you thought was true,

My words are part of you…

I am what I am, and You are what they want you do be,

Because in the future you will come and realize that today

Was the instant where my life and dreams collide.

I am Madness, I am light.

I am the friend, I am the fright,

I am the power and the anxiety,

Of falling in love maybe…

I die in your arms, and you cry for me,

Am I doomed to death to be truly free?

You learned me how to love and be loved in return…

Yes, today, I watch my world burn.

It’s not a bad goal
to be the kind of girl who
Rumi writes about.

So unknowingly
this bright muse interpreted
to touch and inspire.

But me? Never meant
to be the subject of art—
an object of thirst.

See, I’m the poet,
existing somewhere alone—
a penchant for soul.

Watercolor thoughts,
manipulating the lines
between joy and pain.

It’s not a bad goal
to be the kind of girl
who becomes Rumi

either.

In this, my last hour of rhyme,
with stains uncontainèd by shaking hands
Spreading like red soldiers running wartime
untempered by generals shouting commands
Then laughing like drunkards, drowning in wine
that rich purple spills out from its barrels
Then lying on bartops, eyes shine porcine
and unheard soft voices hiss curses and carols.

O, woe be on me if I speak out of time;
out-tumbling come innards, spewed from a mouth
Which whispered sad prayers in corners of grime:
hints of spring-season on trips to the south;
Watch them out-tumble, watch horri-divine
like the death of the tragic, acted but true
Yet laughing old minstrels declare it quite fine:
and friends ensure royal-men breathe not from the blue.

Hours fly past on wings of the Sun
who turns misted eyes from child-fight below
And lives lives of many, but cares not for none
not least merchant servants, throttled in the snow.
I fade and I fade: a blossom once watered
and love of the stage is clogging my throat
It changes my words: I fight it, I fought it
and hot-wet floods up with drowning and choke.

This minute, these words: I defy death.
And cold, outward slipping: my slow final breath.

Hath thou seen Queen Mab to-day?
in that bitter carriage, with her dreams
         Forwarding to the cursèd fray
with unhallowed thoughts, or so ’twould seem
         And creeping under willow’s bough
’pon rotting leaves and sick’ning scents
         Of fretting unborn babes and now
she peddles with a marred intent
         With foreign faeries in the leaves
who show broken wares and scattered souls
         They hide amongst the dripping reeds
while dying rays reflect on shoals
         And here, on the last hour of light
mab cursed the world into the night.