My friend,
Do you fly away now
To the world
That abhors you and I
All that awaits you
Is a somber morrow
No matter where
The winds may blow
My friend your desire
Is the bringer of life
The gift of the goddess
Even if the morrow
Is barren of promises
Nothing shall forestall
My return

it's hurts, she said,
knowing everyone else
is okay and here I am
falling down that dark
tempting path again.
somber and delicate
as she described it,
you could see her face fall
and paralyze with fear.
she was afraid.
afraid she was getting
bad again.
i feel numb, she said,
i see the pain in my eyes
when i look in the mirror,
the desperation.
but i can't
stop, i close my eyes
and pretend i don't hear
my gasps for help
as i drown.

Guide us into our perdition,
Let your mighty will be wrought,  
Purge our souls of their sedition,
Free us from the bane of thought, and
Quell us with your superstition,
We'll act out your splendid plot, so
Empty us of our volition,
Bury dreams that we forgot,
Fill our hearts to make us brave, and
Give us strength, to persevere,
Help us live as gleeful slaves,
Until we fade and disappear,
Never laughter, ever after,
Wither still, and turn to dust,
The final chapter's violent rapture,
What was iron, now is rust

It's already past midnight, no more light is there,
On black velvet lays the heavy somber night;
On my forehead linger memories of your hair:
"My distant love, when, near me, will you alight?"

You are gone. As if you have died. Where are you? Where?
Separation possesses death's woeful might,
In  heart tingles and passions, in soul doubts and scares:
"I'll die this eve and after my dear take flight."

"Love is not joy!", do you know when you said such things?
"Love, it is a wound, one that so horribly stings,"
"Love hurts, it hurts, as only life of pain can hurt,"

"Woe, woe are they whose love is madd'ingly stalwart."
You're wrong. Love is pain, a flame burning to the bone,
But it only hurts when I'm lonesome – as a stone.

It was a bright day full of gloom

As we gathered about your tomb
Buried deeply beneath the surface
Solemn mourning was our purpose
Dressed in black as should be

Dark smiles for the world to see
Somber souls we came to morn

For deathly dying we were born

Now body lying beneath the earth
Decaying corpse farthest from birth
Dancing the dirge of final death

We dance it until our last breath

I was in a car crash two years ago. Fell asleep behind the wheel.
In the morning, all I could help thinking, was that if dogs go straight to heaven, there must be a reason why cats have nine lives, as if Saving Grace allowed for eight more chances of redemption.

8. It was a frayed wire beneath my feet. An old friend, knocking on my door. As I stepped forward, I felt the hard embrace of cold fury. Blue light coursing through me as my veins spouted fire, the feeling, like the bite of a needle. I watched as my eyes opened like Lazarus, so close I could touch it, this power, the thrum of a muscle car.

7. Seven is never as close as we like, and with Seven days until Sunday, my rest, is not yet at hand. Seven, is not quite Heaven and lasers just aren't as fun when you have seven thousand volts coursing through you. Muscles contract to a shape so obscene.

6. As this count down clock ticks past I find myself desperately searching for a way out, a green wire that I can cut, freeze myself in this moment and retain some dignity. It’s hard not to realise with a giant six stuck on your forehead that your hair, and your appetite are both commodities that are slowly being embezzled away. Lock your doors for time steals everything from you. Hide your face before you lose your smile and each time you look into the mirror, take heed that this might be your last, don’t be surprised when you forget the colour of your eyes. It’s funny, that this titanium armour of numbers can be so easily chipped away, it was nothing but a puddle this time. So much liquor poured down my throat, it only took a little water to close it off.

5. When should I understand that life isn’t guaranteed yet? Am I completely out of my mind to ignore grace and drive blind? My arm, after repetitive failures, reaches out into the night, trying to grasp hold of a lifeline. Supplicating the Sky, pleading it to save itself from me.
The only difference between an addict and the one who is drowning is that the one who is drowning knows it.  I will drink the sea until I become it. Lighthouse beacons glisten on the shore, these streetlights blur past me to yank sleeping eyes from attending the oncoming traffic.

4. I’m beginning to see this dance for what it is. Serene in my confidence I have done this act before, played superman for so long, kryptonite has no affect on me. I breathe in the rush, the adrenaline pumping, fear shooting from my fingertips. How can I not be blessed when I know the euphoric glory of Zeus’ bolts?
Lightning struck the fear of God into my system.

I guess I wasn’t fearful enough.
The next day Death issued a warrant for the vehicle I was driving. An eighteen wheeler driving past me, thank god for anonymous bail outs, blown rubber wrapping around the axle a semi and a snow bank of uncertainty reminding me that I only have two lives left. It’s amazing just how graceful Grace can be crashing, with no safety net. A 4,000 pound pirouette pulled to a stop by a curb. I don’t know how much longer I can play this game of Roulette.

I’m sick of being this dying star hanging in the nightscape. I want to shine again.
To learn what it’s like to love un-encumbered. To look in the mirror and see my own face, to know that we may have nine lives, and one chance.

And now I get it, with headlights approaching, that dogs may go straight to heaven but we cats, must earn our place.

And I pray, that before I reach ten in vain, my guardian angel, might throw away her abacus.

: To the needy willows at the stream... Take the last wisps of life and excitement from me, they are yours, I am but a paper boat, lost in the current; barely afloat. Shy tendril, grasp the manes of dead lions; imaginations' last scions. Tomorrow the light of winter fades slow; left fed to keep dying hearts aglow. It is not the end for those; just indecipherable prose, left for when a mind makes sense.

Hanging on the gallows. Dry as coarse hay.
Hanging on the prison wall. A wall of shame.
Black villainous pit under it, of ill fame,
Place of ******, dark as the foulest play.

I saw that hem somewhere, one rural day,
For my mother's face had that kind of a frame,
And similar eyes I had seen on a dame:
To what a place had I been led astray!

And in her stead I jumped in that fatal hole
And with her bloodied sweat wet as a dark shoal,
As with tears, my insolent cheek I drowned.

For my sweet Croatia they hanged and disgraced,
Like a common thief, as her name is erased,
For the sake of who knows who, by lawmen in bounds!

Everything in my body is weary, my bones don't feel like mine anymore, or real anymore, just simple slugs in my limbs begging me to move slowly and slime upon everything.

I'd rather hide in my sweater than face the world today, and I daren't try to hide my yawns and my sullen, sunken face, bare to the world that I am broken and sad today.

I want to be asleep, where I have a chance of waking up and this being gone. But I cannot do that, not yet, I must fight and live to die another day. How somber.

My hair is a frizzy mess and my makeup must be a disaster, I am sure. The lights dance just out of reach, out of touch, out of my way as i wander along the lonely dark path today has for me.

Tomorrow. I want tomorrow, where I can sleep and dream and beg for a life more than my own, to beg for some magic that will magic away these feelings of sorrow and unworthiness. I just want to be better.

At least my sweater keeps my cold heart warm.

i feel like i am a lost sonnet, born amongst a world designed to only listen to its own prose