The taste of your poisoned tongue
Filled me with unadulterated lust
Tried to spit out the bile
But you made me swallow it whole

Suspicious, Suppression
Goes hand in hand
Suspicious, Suppression
Sinful life of lust

Avoid this degradation
Dissolution of simple romance
Just wanted to hold my hand
But you defiled me instead

Suspicious, Admission
Just leave me be
Suspicious, Admission
We could have talked

The day has come to an end
Fairytale ending has passed
No point in prolonging demise
Here, let me help you 'friend'

Suspicious, Liberation
I am on the edge
Suspicious, Liberation
Jumping to my death



© Sofia Villagrana 2018

Up flew the moonlight tide
flying like a stairway to the clouds.
The light blue stars twinkled
showing the impressionistic side
of the art that is supposed to be
the playing of dice by the four forces.
The beauty of it all seems suspicious.
Never mind it all, lets swim to the clouds.

I think it's maddening
to think
that everything
is just fine.
Fine is suspicious.
Fine is everything
and nothing.
Fine is
sometimes
anything but.

the heat melted off our layers
of trust and skin, stripping us
naked and vulnerable,
scared and suspicious.
the summer peeled us apart,
cast us strangers.
*Who are you?

Everyone,
everything
looks suspicious
to me.

Am I among those they write
deep in the threads of contempt?
For no one truly can be
a hero to all.

We all imagine the songs
powerful and triumphant
will someday be our own.

But what is desire?
What is the facade we wear
day in and day out
to power the most illusive masquerade?

What if the turn from my childhood
was never a turn at all?
Is it so strange, is it too far
of a line to draw
that I may be the villain?

Perhaps we're all simply searching
in desire for an adversary.
The call to arise, the call to spur us forth
from the pit too many have found as solace.

Now what if I am
not even a pawn
and barely a sheep
in life's great puzzle,
or is it a mystery
never to be solved?

I long for the moment
I'm desperate for change
I've bit the blind eye
And now I wish my own would remain shut.

So who or what is to say
that I won't snap like the thinning rope
caught in a chokehold?
My dear is the victim
and the fall is too far
to survive.

Where shall I be when
my final spin has spun?
Will I drag to a halt or
careen face-forward?
A gradual decay
or a shot to crack the wall,
either way I may merely be
the villain.