Do you remember him?  
The one who appeased the children
And teased our sense of direction

Where will he lead us today?

Maybe to a secret place
That we  shift to the back of our minds with age.

So let's get led on the tracks
That someone once labored over

Towards where we shall learn.  

...And while We are (all up and secluded)
   In our humble abode away from the rest...

It's for words, not spaces, that we yearn.

Mr. Williams
and his guitar
bring aesthetics
to a new level
in the paradise of my room -

my entire being
totally ravaged
for 3 odd minutes.

I knocked on your door at 3 AM because I was cold,
but you let me inside for different reasons.
I was wearing my mother's jacket and perfume
and I think you thought I was her,
but my lips are fuller and my hands are harder.
I felt your smile and you felt mine,
and you told me about being gone
so we left.

I held a whirlwind of your emotions in my hand
and it was the first time I'd felt so much
without even moving.
You asked me to throw them, but I couldn't do it,
so I put them in my coat pocket and cried without telling you.
There was something you whispered to me
at half past six that is sitting in that pocket, too,
but I just can't bring myself to look for it.

And the whole time I was waiting for you to hit me;
I had to keep reminding myself that I wasn't her.
In the passion of your memories
you would grab my hand and shake it,
the weird part was that I let you, I didn't protest.

You were kind at 9 AM when I left because I was warm,
but you pushed me out the door for reasons I don't understand.
Maybe because I wasn't her,
or maybe you just needed your sleep--
but I am content with a pocket full of your emotions and memories,
and you are content being alone.

I am floundering
in a sea of doubts;
in a mire
of recriminations
and guilt -
for having crossed
the border
into the unchartered
waters of individuality.
Suddenly
an Ave Maria
haunting
my room
in the isolated
depths of the night
prevents
my scream from developing
and startling the entire village.

stop pushing me down
stop holding me to the ground
let me stand on my own two feet
when i get up i hope its the devil i meet
because im gonna get up strong
im gonna get up right
this wont take long

im getting up with a fist in my left hand
and a hammer in my right
im gonna be smashing the devil all day
im gonna be smashing him all night
but i suppose i should be thankful
because the devil gave me hate
something to let loose
somethin with which to devastate

nothing will break my path
i tear down the road with wrath
my dreams can't be shattered
broken, beaten, or battered
everything in my way will be killed
nothing and no one is stronger willed

I live between the darkness and the light
I am no angel of heaven
or demon of the night

i do not **** for pleasure or smiles
i do not save lives for rewards that stretch for miles
i do not hide in secret because of fear or defeat
there are reasons why i run and retreat

to most i am evil
i am the devil within
to most i am the devil himself
i am each and every sin

they are wrong

i cannot be defined
my life cannot be waved off and signed
i cannot be controlled
i am driven be the fury of the warriors of old

there was a time when wars were fought with sword and shield
and such a power that made their enemies yield
lives weren't saved out of simple care
they were saved for the good of everyone everywhere
their hope was always hanging on the tip of a string
but they knew the future can be changed by even the smallest thing
and even though life barely hung by a thread
they lived and fought as long as they weren't dead

He grabbed at the fat on her legs with his tongue,
and his teeth.
He was going to devour her,
like the dinner she made earlier.
All he thought about was ***,
his friends all called him, "Caveman".
It turned her on
(especially when he left the lights on).
She was obsessed with the heat,
in her room, in the kitchen.
When he cut off the circulation on her wrist,
it made marks,
(she loved them).

She held her fists between her lips
and chewed them
as if they were caramels
or beef jerky (she loved meat).
Stopping only to taste her own fear,
she became an enemy of herself
and dreaded the taste of her hands.

She kept her eyes averted
or crossed because she was crazy,
and chuckled silently
behind her eyebrows.
Maybe she was keeping up an image
to show that she was afraid of change,
or maybe she wasn't.

She kept her mind
under her tongue
and pressed down on her thoughts
until they were altered.
She let her ideas mix with her spit
and swallowed them until she was full,
or until her mind was empty.

Whisper, she said in a voice that was not real
because it did not exist
it was not true that she lied, for she was not real and neither were her truths.

there is pain in my eyes, she would feel it, and she would not fix it.
there is no cure for relentless tears which sometimes come of will,
but today stung and dried out my eyes. she can't touch them.

who is real anymore? god, i will be on your side if you agree to a few conditions.
(i will think later—now i am writing.)
keep in touch, alright, dear? she asks but there is no answer. typical.

it is okay, it is not okay, there is a choice i have to choose.
and she can do it for me, i am tired of being the one who knows.
maybe the leaves carry enough weight to fall on my shoulders,
and that is better than the load i currently carry.
(oh the beauty of alliteration.)

i don't want to know, i want to face the sun, even if it blinds me,
and i will be just like everyone else and that's how it is.
(i can't capitalize, i hate pressing the shift button.)

take into account the fact that i am not a bird, or a deer, or dead, or alive.
and at this point you will see who i really am.
i don't expect you to understand until your late thirties,
at which point you will not even remember this moment,
this moment where you read the thoughts that flow through my mind and onto here,
taking up a space that matters to nearly no one and effects none at all.

i have no choice in the matter, i can't make me into someone else or something else.
can i ask you politely to stop ******* making me feel like it's not enough?
here is fall, where the leaves shall drop and land on my shoulders,
and god help me forget the reasons i am asking for weight in the first place
and help me remember how to lie and make things okay;
because, god, what is life but one ******* lie you have told me?

Whisper, she says in a voice that is not real, make sure no one else will hear this lie.