Her identity shall remain anonymous /
coz' it is the only way her demons come out from hiding in order to play /
they dance in the darkness and sing in the silence /

then //
they begin capture her /
slowly and discretely /
they cut her up through her notions and they begin to baptize her thoughts/

then they begin to swim towards her emotions /
she weeps with pain /
blood flows from her wrists and her heart begins to cry / her blood flows as the rivers flow into the oceans \

as each drop falls she begins to loose herself minutely / someone once asked ' why so profound '

she replied why not ?

I was once introduced to a beautiful violence. I craved the way his mouth would leave bruises on my skin, these bruises reminded me of infinities , dark and twisted.

I wanted to engrave my name into his flesh forever.

I liked how he touched me, his hands didn't gently brush over my skin , he embraced my whole body harshly.

I wanted to pierce my nails into his skin forever.

I desired his aggressive approach and how he often called me **** instead of beautiful.

I enjoyed feeling desired.
And I wanted to feel it forever.

And in darkness she was most comfortable, it was where her demon friends came out to play/
it was where her notions and reality combined to create this prepossessing paradise

You let them go*

Indulge in some half hearted belief

That if they're meant too

They'll come back

But what if they don't?*


I guess I'll just have to sell the birdcage to Sia

the previous listener, who did so faintly and in a manner foreign to me, sat reasonably as I do now, or perhaps lain starry and jaded on some soft lawn riddled with the paused movements of those who watched, clouded with distraction, the life of a sweet nothing drown in descent from above as they cheered and screamed for it, for that meaningless treasure tainted by the vanity of their own desire, ignorant of the listener, of her own treasure then forming, as something warm and enduring in the seat of her chest, something to brood, to analyze, to cherish for a length, at great odds with the fleet and trivia that so dominated the struct of their noire.

but the listener had none of this, gulfed from the shaking and pressing, shielded the same from its symbol and write, opting to push for those few golden moments most certainly approaching her as the rest wraithed past, softly and shyly granting the scarcest and most shamefully starved of treelines, roadways and ballparks and wire staff, knowing but keeping that the few she would most deeply and fondly remember would be just these.

and so the listener and her lover stood past, sweeping over the artificial earths with little concern, not pausing or skipping for a moment to witness the wonder in the world around them and to soak up some indefinable fraction of its infinite offerings. from lain block to patch grass they strode, searching for their one moment, for that which so surely stood staunch and unmoving at some near point in their passage, but which always seemed to elude them, to taunt and hang and cackle in the face of their steadily growing contempt.

and then, as the crowd deserted their peaks for the safe and steady and trough, allowing those moments of elation to slip from them with ease, the listener let likewise all that was precious to her from her grasp, and fell into a similar place, one of deserted lows and recollections of the brightness that lay behind, of those very moments that felt their way independently into her heart and her soul, and left her love beside her, forever looking up into the dark.

Prepare to be entranced
by symphonic sounds
acuity and beauty
displays of pique
explosions of profanity
evocative waves
of love and adulation
restrained tones
profound as shadows
crossing a motionless road.