Rabbit, Rabbit, worn and weary at my parlor door
Come inside, sit by the fire, we’ll let tea spirits pour
They listen as we sip, they’ve never heard a rabbit howl.
But you’ve loved a wolf, and the wolf loved you
A rabbit who was on the prowl

Your lover wore the beast they made, of comets, dirt and fur
You drove fast cars
You fell through stars
You think it would all become a blur

Oh the places you two ran, the places you two crashed
A rabbit who danced through constellations
You two birthed solar systems when you clashed
You tell me of what you saw, the gods and their creations
The secrets that you made together, the heights you did ascend
And how this journey came and went to find its timely end

Because you lived an urban fantasy, in a world like a dream
Fantastic creatures in it teemed
Fantastic deeds and fantastic feats
Fantastic, eerie, dark lit streets.
For all its wonder, much like your lover,
It had as many teeth

And this is where a rabbit learned to growl
Grew sharp claws to disembowel
And on each other you left your marks
Be it lovely or be it ******
Both felt trepidation at the threat of sparks

So Howl, rabbit, who offered up your beating heart
Howl rabbit, who loved the prowling bard!
Tell your stories, weep into your cup
Nostalgia rocks you in her arms
Howl at those old once blazed skies
Howl about all of those pretty lies
Howl, divine heart break of harsh goodbyes

A thousand suns set on that day
The dream is done, or so you say
The things you crave, the things you made
These things you’ve done will never fade
The fauns of man have made their war
In the ballad of a love that is no more...

But you’re not a rabbit, and they weren’t a wolf
This was not a dream
I was there, and it was despair,
The story wasn’t as pretty as you made it seem
I’m glad it’s done, that you’re both free
I hope you did enjoy the tea
But make no mistake, I know your habit
They weren’t a wolf, and you’re not a rabbit

My outer layers are ephemeral,
Shifting from day to day
At one time, all I want is some rest
The next, to go out and play.

There’s an Annie that loves to be seen by others
Full of charm, glamour and style
This person is rare, and once coming out
Likes to stay in and hide for a while.

The scientist in me loves reason and rhyme
It gives her a means to an end.
She’s the most relaxing to stay in for a time
But fails to amuse her friends.

Emotionasia loves deep conversations
The kinds hipsters will have in college
She’s impatient, tempestuous, selfish at times
And has deep empathetic knowledge.

When I chance to change, which happens quite often
I don’t understand why I’m here.
It’s scary to see the world different each day
Both wonderful, and filled with fear.

I’m not just a disordered amalgam of traits.
I have purpose, a worldview, a home.
But when each of these traits in my change every day,
It’s hard to think much is my own.

When its emerald eye glimmers in the shadow of the dusty shelf above
I pause,
I sense a presense.

It is not unlike me to attribute human characteristics to inanimate objects.
Give them names and nicknames and quirky character traits based on how their forms bend.

In the flickering lights of a broke wicken sanctuary though, I do not do it out of habit.

I feel it and stare it back down and see my own reflection in the cracked gems that once were a soul.

A gaudy skull.

The kind you see in home video Indiana Jones tributes,
with hats stolen from someone’s parents,
and jackets stolen from someone else’s elder siblings,
and ketchup for blood.

The kind your quirky local manic pixie dream girl uses to hold incense.

The kind I’m about to waste my money on because I’m an adult now and I can use my millennial minimum wage however I want.

I do not become aware of the possessed nature of my new buddy until I take it back home and hear it snicker in the middle of the night.

I know it is the skull, for my roommate is not one to snicker.

(He chuckles when he’s hiding an opinion and has a villainous laugh when it’s coming from a place of sincerity, but that’s beside the point)

I know it’s laughing at me.
I know this for a fact.

It takes me three more nights to call it out on it because I’ve never been confronted with the issue of standing up to a haunted antique I took home from a secondhand shop, possibly owned by satan’s offspring.
But I’m twenty-one years old and still experiencing some firsts, I suppose.

The gaudy skull is exceptionally snarky.
In a way none of my named plants ever were.
Not even Gerard.

He comes for me for the garbage on the floor and the dust on the windowsill on which he’s propped up, and then later for my poor taste in chore-doing music.

I never ask for its name because I know for a fact he’ll make a game out of it
and I am not in the mood for entertaining ghosts.

I come to realise it all on my own a couple of weeks later.
Once the snark starts to wear off,
and domesticity settles in,
and shared quiet becomes comforting,
despite the circumstances.

It is Judas.

I know this for a fact.

You do not understand the extent to which I am certain that it is Judas.
I have never been so aware of someone’s origins in my entire life.
I bought this creepy item and it is now in my room and I’m developing a weird attachment to it and maybe occasionally use it as a paper-weight and it is Judas.

I feel it in my heart and know it inside of my skull that might be standing on someone else’s touchscreen windowsill
two thousand years in the future,
jade stones for eyes even though I specifically requested amber,
but you get ****** over by bureaucracy even after death.

How do I know it is Judas?

Because I feel him stare at me like he wants to kiss me late at night and sense him plotting my betrayal early morning.

I know it is that, for a fact, because I’ve felt this exact sensation before.

My **** edgy room decor is Judas.

I try to get him to admit it himself by talking of past lovers and reading aloud the surprising number of Jesus metaphor poems I have in my room.
I hate Jesus metaphors, but I do it for that sweet sensation of seeing someone trying to dodge the inevitable once it’s coming at them like a mule through Rome piloted by the son of god.

I know he’ll cave eventually and tell me
and I know it’ll be the same caliber of glorious news as Jesus coming out of his own cave of burial,
resurrected and preaching winning.
I know I’ll win.

And I think to myself that maybe I am in the mood to entertain and just haven’t found the right outlet yet.
Maybe history’s most infamous apostle is It.
The original sinner and the original rebel.

(I’m aware it’s technically Cain, the jealousy-ridden son of Adam and Eve, but I only ever count the gays)

Judas and I have bonded.

And I can tell he’s on the verge of telling me his dark and twisted backstory. Again, I have felt this sensation before.

And when it happens, we can talk
about what it’s like being demonised by the one you love
and being the odd one out in your devotee friend group, even though you eat bread and drink wine and worship metaphor just like them.
And how patriarchal institutions distort history to pedal the same tired spiel of everything having a place and everything being there for a reason.

But we both know that isn’t true
because neither of us feel like part of god’s plan or created in anyone’s image.

And we can listen to sad music about wanting to kiss the wrong people together.

And that’s all I ever wanted from a friendship.

A choose your own adventure book
Mimics life so well.
If only I could have a look
At other stories life could tell.
I would peak into the different plots
Where reality would diverge.
I’d probably begin to notice lots
Of new problems which emerge.
Though curious, I’ll remain content
With this narrative I am in.
May the future me not want it
To be contrary to how it has been!

I’ve been gone a long time
Wasting the sunlight
As it glowed on me
I’ve been losing track
Of the path
That the moon herself delivered to me
I’ve been slack in seeing the way
Not everything can turn around
I forgot to love
At the speed of sound

Now I love the way you’re there for me
The way you’ll always remember me
The way you touch my dreams every night
You lead me out
And I win the fight
Now I know it’s not just you
It is you
To you
My home
I return to you

I will return
Please don’t wait around
Just listen for that sweet sound
Just play me that sweet come home music
That makes my heart and soul
Step in time
There’s nothing keeping me from coming
Home now
Just to see your face is all I need
To survive

You’re all I need
You’re all I need
You’re all I need to survive

On this pathway you’re the light
That shines in every daily plight
Remember that I’m only a traveler
When you call I crave to hear you
I can see you
Though the lights dim
I won’t forget where I’ve been
Or how I’ve been
All I need is this sweet return home music
Found inside of you

I just want to live that love song
Play it loud as I press through this throng
I’ve heard it all my life all along
It lights my way
Shows me right and wrong
And I see you
All of you
Inside
Waiting to welcome me home

Sweet, sweet come home music
Makes my soul
Feel strong and whole
Singing and dancing
Long past the woe
In this house
There is room for one more
I love you all