I catch a glimpse of flames
Submerged in the swallowing smoke
Stare as it burns in the distance
Full of radiance and life, yet slowly dying
Light increasing, in its path diminishing
The depth of the valley, the vibrancy of color
Where is the point of ignition?
It spreads across the horizon:
milky clouds of white
earthy transparent brown
deep violet filling the air
The sun setting behind the tragedy,
forming brilliant, engulfing layers:
scarlet transfers into a peachy blush pink
Mountains blue as Washington’s Pacific Ocean
Sky breathing life to my favored colored pencil
Thin clouds lay as one with the atmosphere, each varying-
fluffy white into cotton candy pink
to an Easter bunny yellow
This is no dull view for the eyes
Nature, destructive while creating its signature on this piece of art
Engraving the masterpiece in my sights
Each flame once its own morphed into oneself, dramatically altering its appearance, its mass
A single flame has the ability to become a wildfire within an instant
Could I smolder a fire on my own?

There's a lady in the morning fog
who feeds on porcelain thoughts,
And she haunts the edges March.
There are no five point dancers
With their evening red and gold.
Ready and willing to tumble and fall.
Just her, alone; In the bog
listening to us all.

The beasts only swim, crawl, and fly
By the Sycamore, rotten and petrified.
In Death there is life
And all ears are amplified.

     "Testify."

"Are you the soul that brings fear?
The Specter of my own Heresy?
Get off the wind and answer me.
Will you light the wild and chant the Lord's Prayer?"
    
    "Through all my inequities I'll never
      know sin like you.
      Whip the poor and condemn the youth.
      Blame the ******!!!
      Clergymen tend to always do.

"We are justified!

To do what we do
Is the work of the lord!
Truth will always bend
To the ambassadors' works."

The feast is for the thin, chalked with divine
And those on shore: honest and rectified.
Breath is man's plight,
And all eyes lie.

There's a man waiting at the edge of dawn
Who purges a man of his own thoughts
He owns his defiled marsh.
There are no five point answers
Without their threaded holes
Steadily fulfilling to us all.
Just him, enthroned; on a rock
Judging us as we fall.

Smoking at the mirror, sulking in a brittle rage,
One so strong, that it easily turns the page.
Without even blinking, I spit powerful words,
Cutting at my ethereal flesh like swords,

Hoping however, I will never run out of mettle,
Hoping the cuts will petrify, letting them settle,
As a great red crack in the skin, for me to wonder
If my swords have risen only from a simple blunder.

My consternation renders me catatonic,
Only the clash of fingers on the keyboard makes me tonic…
While her, she brings me to the doors of Heaven,
From where we drown the world under in a sweet Armageddon.

I'm here for all of you people that are feeling just as tired and exhausted from the saddening madness that I am always getting slapped in the face with. **I am here for you.

Craze driven
   Imperfectly placed
Revised words said yet truth speaking through the veins
  Web of lies tangled in a dishearted brain
  Like a maze
Slip up, trip up, you fall down get up
  Scars eat away at you
    Like a feast
And like a freak you scream and hide
But on the outside you're fine so fine
   Everything is okay as you say
Spinning another thread in your web of lies.

An inflating reverie,
An nostalgic memory,
A far reaching boulevard,
lingering to debacle from
my stumbling and unsteady feet.

The days are long,
But the nights could be longer.
The moon hasn't cast a single fortune smile on me,
But it is nothing there but for the grace of the sun, that I take a trip back to the
             Memory lane.

I hope you miss me as much as I do
I hope you don't go to bed with quivering hands or a distraction to keep your bed warm, or that the only onomatopoeia that remains in your house are empty bottles of alcohol clashing against each other harder than you clash your wrist over the scattering pieces of mirror that still remains on your bathroom wall.
The one you out-layed with your bare knuckles because you're tired of watching your soul bleeding in prepetuum at night.

I know the colour of crimson still remains throughout the dimness, and that the sun never sees you bleeding.
Your fragileness wilts quicker at night time than it does at daytime, and I know the moon laughs at your woe and misery.
It's been months, but I still feel obstacles stuck between my teeth and a wire wrapped around my tongue.
I feel my oralability whisking up into the lusterless sky, and the moon exchanges a hint of death and accomplishment.
Droplets of warm venom streams smoothly down my cheeks, because I remember how you haven't been crying warm tears on my shoulder in a very long time,
And it is no wonder I shiver myself to sleep every night I close my eyes.

See, we're from two completely different scenario's,
You and I.
You engage your suffery into more pain than you're likely to feel, and I allow myself to remember.
The warm, summer nights filled with love and stars.
The nights where I got hom with the light to the porch still glowing brighter than your flaunty appearance I'd acquaint myself with once I step over the treshold
When watching your yellow sundress fluttering in the open wind wasn't as bad as whirling droplets of blood spattering against my mirror reminding me of how you're bleeding from the
Outside,
And I'm bleeding from the
Inside
When we were happy,
        do you remember?