I saw a raindrop fall,
Right on my windowpane.
I gave him a name,
Called him Fred,
Pretended he was my little friend.
But his life was short-lived;
Soon he fell-
Never to live again.
It made me think, though,
My little Fred.
How short is time-
How singular;
Just one short thread.
One short line,
Crossing other raindrops,
Picking up speed,
Racing through life,
Never taking heed of those before.
How silly is this?
Such clipped life-
Crisp.
Hmm-
Silly Misanthropist.

I met a girl with fire on her head and in her heart.
Her arms were lined with scars, curved perfectly with the Reaper's Scythe.
She was beautiful, but she didn't know it.

And isn't that the story?
A sad, beautiful little thing saved by a shining knight,
because no one cares unless you're beautiful or dying.
I am neither. So where do I belong?
A young woman- no longer a girl- never graced by lips in adoration or sympathy.
Never known love,
what is love, really?

Can't anyone tell me? Because I'm sitting inside this bricked up wall,
invisible to certainty and all the passerby.
They pass on by, pass me by, can't they see me cry?
This wall is too **** high.  
Just like the last guy.

And I was dead before I was born.
What a cold heart, I'm never warm.
I found the world, but it was broken.
I found love but it was wasted,
Like the last man I tasted.

I had a dream
It started with chapped lips and a chilling fog, that cut the skin like paper on a bad day.
Trees were huddled around me, like they were drawn to my fire.
I crackled words from my broken lips, whispering slightly
The wind caught my breath, and sent my words to the air.
I was lying on a stone altar, with a lake within my minds eye
Long dark pre-raphaelite hair lay languidly draped to my waist
I was covered in a white shroud that blessed me like armour run steel
Not one sound covered the ground
Not one person held my hand
Not one person could see through my eyes.
Without knowing, or conscious, I moved from the plinth to the ground
The hard cold familiar feeling of earth under my feet.
Grounded. Both feet on the ground.
Connected.
There were streams of sunlight filtering in the areas most men have not travelled.
It looked like a safe place to tread a wandering path.
No-one heard me travel across the path
No-one came to see me.
Trees swayed towards me, my protection from the sky, who was trying to capture my words.
I ran.
I ran, and I ran and I ran.
I looked for arms to hold me, and save me from the darkness.
I ran.
I felt my feet lift from the ground, each step a jump, hop and skip into freedom.
Freedom, through the sunlit passages of the forest.
Headed to the lake, I hid behind bark and branch.
I lifted my face to the sun.
It showed me the way through the trees.
I knelt at the shore and placed my fingers in the water, which lapped at my hand, hungrily.
I walked into the water, it lifted my shroud and my body.
I lay there. I lay there and heard the water whispering mantras in my ears.
And I lay and let the whole world see me, for what I am
And they looked and stood,
And I never felt so safe than in the ground, the air or the water.
Let water begin where ice had begun.
I am at one.

I hate everything about life,
the only reason I'm alive
is because I don't believe in suicide.
If I died tomorrow,
I'd only see it as this curse
of being alive was finally lifted.

I'd be sad if you died.

You shouldn't,
because life is a burden,
when the burden is lifted,
we can be peaceful in the realm of the dead,
no longer following society's rules
and having to worry about others.

Doesn't that seem so lonely to you?

No, because I've always been lonely,
I don't trust anyone because anyone I've trusted
eventually turned their backs on me,
not caring about how I feel about the situation but
about what they could get out of exploiting
the kind of person I am.

For what it's worth, you can trust me.

I'd rather not,
Because one day you're going to find someone
and forget all about me, it's happened before
and history repeats itself.*

History may repeat itself but I don't plan on being history to you.

Sure, next time i'll restrain

i won't go back
lie after lie
i have nowhere to go
no tears left to cry
i ran myself dry
nothing left to give
for what is the reason to even live?
i dont want to die
but this thing we call life
isn't going too right.

misty day if she mistakes her
lens for the world. every breath
elects new particles to the surface
of her sun. every now and again
she twitches in sleep and it's like
electric dream time spits seconds
in hours. hours in minutes. minutes
in mine. once in awhile she wakes
to stroke my back or my arm and
if holy moments are all the time, us
together float the illusion of Maya
away to be here. I look in her eyes
and tell her were just God playing
hide-and-seek. she nuzzles my nose
like a sweater cat and speaks. a
multiplicity uncorks the wine and
tells us to dance. I'm dancing. Keep
dancing.

the glockenspiel of our daily raid of sewers in heaven
and our Jovian dwarves appalling the rapturous capacity of forever and ever.
the kooky jingle of our serpents, darning socks for the antichrist
and our elaborate rats. the simple maze of our condition
in the hell were at. the creaking gate to a twilight
and a lost chapter
marooned on an
island
of undead Librarians.
starving for brains
tardy with the
Harold
Robins

knife in red breast.

If I had a Rocket!
then that milkey way
                                        i eat last night
                                                 will have to watch out
                                  for it's self
                As I blast off past mars.

Your skin glows like the Apple, blossoms deadly as the rose in the purest hope of spring.
My yearning heart rises to your flute voice and leaps like a Bat at the whisper of your name, Poison.
The evening ascends in on a great Crow wing.
I am calmed by your Dress that I carry into the twilight of Silver Daggerbeams and hold next to my Heart.
I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of blood.
As my Breast falls from your Lace glove, it reminds me of your pale hand..
In the hushed, I listen for the last Howl of the spring.
My heated Lips leaps to your Garter. I wait in the crystal moonlight for your secret Silver Bullet so that we may Whisper as one, Lips to Lips, in search of the glorious Red and spiritual Grave of love.