Mark my words
Like you mark calendar,
With a bright red pen,
Because you'll be haunted by them
Like they are the date of your death.

In the end those who you think will save you end up destroying you.

How deadly is the sight of the flying witch,
she's mighty and flawless, her name is Lynn
elegant and graceful in her broom she'll go,
All of her victims had that exact same thought.

She seizes you with kind words
and for your soul offers you gold.
With her, you enjoy flying,
for you trust you won't fall.

Once in her cave, she speaks with friendly words
she fills your belly and fabricates a loving home,
It's hard to see her as from the underworld
It's hard to see what's about to come.

Before you realize she attempts to take control,
eating the brains of whom you call your own.
She's yelling and screaming, how putrid is her soul.
The witch is evil, but no one cares of what you know.

Now down the stairs she complacently goes,
raises an eyebrow, it's diabolical, it's smug
she then smiles to her husband, a mere puppet of hers
Satan is that woman, the witch who yells.

Misty dreams flow shimmering through empty catacombs.
Floating effortlessly, the galaxy I see blows straight through me.
Above and all around, you gotta go up in order to get down.
Twisting visions morph into view.
I cast them aside with the wave of my hand.
Shadows cast upon the wall,
you never know they're there at all.
Spiteful demons invoking chant,
laughing hysterically as you fall.

I can simply pass through the wall.
Dissolving dimensions of your matter, within me.
I can consume your eternity,
Know that I know you like no one else knows you.
Hide your eyes, it's no surprise.
The tangible world filled with your lies.
I pay no head to the convulsive cries.
There is no need, for all things die.

© Crystal Erickson 5/19/08

A willing volunteer
It was out of my hands
Not my choice
No regrets.
Should have seen the signs
Went in blind
Naive to think I could trust you
My style never changed
You lured me in
For your own hidden agenda
Massaged my ego
I kept my options open
You found out
You took it personally
You took it the wrong way
I broke your trust
You sought revenge
I read the signs
You tried to trick me
You turned the tables
Hindered my growth
Made me a scapegoat
Damaged my reputation
Stitched me up
Left me out on a limb
You acted on impulse
You spoke too soon
You showed your cards
I held the aces
I made sacrifices to meet the target
I made mistakes
I left myself exposed
You thought you were clever
I knew your next move
You couldn't predict what was coming next.
You never chose me
I was rejected
Not valued
Not appreciated
Shame on you and your accomplice
Exposed for what you are
A pair of bullies
No turning back
I've had enough
I'm going
Going
Gone!
You grin
I saw through it
I'm no clown
I'm just a fool for exposing my weaknesses to a pair of manipulative *******!
My character traits twisted to bolster your own selfish positions.
Surpression is the lowest form of greed threatened by my presence.
I'm no longer your target but now direct competitor.
Watch your backs
I'm on a mission to crush your egos to mush you pair of ******!
I will Expose you for the clowns you've become.
Blowing smoke up each other's arses does nothing to build up the team.
A dog will always bite if provoked.

we are sometimes lucky enough to know people who illuminate our skies like the northern lights

we appreciate them even when we don't show it
and love them even with our fists slammed into the wall.

we do not have to be broken hearted.
we are so conditioned to believe that it is the people who love us that will hurt us most,
which in turn,
distorts our meaning of love into pain.

they say the only way to reverse this idea is to forgive, but
forgiveness is a tricky thing
and if we don't learn when to use it for others and when to use it for ourselves,
we will end up alone.

but people like me aren't afraid of being alone.

and you should know,
that i don't spare the lives of those who hurt me.
and even if you lay breathing tonight,
by morning,
you'll wish you were dead.

Remember, some line up.
Line up and wait for their own day in hell.
They scream for victory.
The far away deep, lost heart places that  
dry up fast when cowards are left to tend them.

Accelerating, gnarled prizes, metal and tubes,
wires and guts and brains that smoke the sun's color,
losing it in the pitch of the rainbow-slicked sludge.
Up, up, and away, a dark celebration in song, something
shouted gleefully at the sky on the way to the gallows.

Desire, hate, and the teasing, fatted, greasy greed,
they all feed the Black God's Mirth, they'd better.
They'd better know he'll consume them as quick,
when the hard, cold mud-water fist envelops them
embraces them, makes them still again.

Don't waste your deep song throats on a trivial Godsson,
humanity-theif or cracked up narc, discarding dignity
as quickly as you give it up. Don't do it.
Give him breathmints and soap and humility, please.
He needs those.  

Don't take anything that isn't yours or can't be sold
quickly, easily locally. The bedroom path is
strewn with flowers no one loves
You are worth a little revenge now and then, get some.
Talk??? It's cheap ****. No one's buying.