Perhaps gratitude;
blessed by an
all telling moon,
dragging such subconscious
thought, to the surface
could suffice.
A momentary crisis
this poet; elegiac in mood,
amour propre; a deadly
reliance upon dragons
caged by their own
circumstance.
Blowing fire,
but not until
seductively, their
deviled selves
masqueraded;
abounding self pity
virtuously disguised,
lachrymose stories.
"Come a little closer..."
she was told.
Trusted, naive girl,
bitten, burnt
touching, hand in fire.
"This time will be different."
she was told.
And,
the girl, lost, in
bubble dreams, born
of, raging storms
believed; that love was true.
This princess of,
masochistic pain,
nothing blood red,
gushing, just
invisible violence.
"Believe me when I say;
you're the best I've ever had."
she was told.
Vertigo; medicated
by love, sailing back to
shore, cutting the rope
knife in hand, promised lands.
Scenes of lamination; screams;
she forgot...
The moon dropping low,
honey dew, stars flew -
she awoke,
to the knowledge of,
all her subconscious knew;
whispering;
"The dragon resided in only you."

© Sia Jane

Unrealistic imagination is the notion of believing we lead by Leaders.
Sexist lamination is the economical struggle we voted for.
The ones leading Texts imprinted.
The last time I forgot how to dream Imaginations got arrested.
A suit of the selfish gratitude.
A Brief Touch of the Variable Earth.
A Sudden threat to death.
Directly a touch and kiss for affection.
The ****** and buried are hounding reminders.
Where can you go when the winner is a destructor?
Sobered in the wall exactly when I remember,
The moments I've seen Are Confusing gender.
Reality is deceived by deceit and conquered by the brainy brains.
How these life mirrors reflect is solely based on the act of who lived before I did.
The True Vector.
I'm a gift to my self.
A Glass to my efforts.
I break easily out of focus.
I’m A blur surface.
Just A sample of a naive creation.
An Illusion of trust doesn't deprive evaluation.
They small,
But worth being recorded on an exhausted wall.
Why?
Because the Demonstration is a dead verse.
I don't feel like rhyming,
I will lose the essence of runny energies.
Critics are a cut laser.
The best time to rush faith being held to travel back in scriptures,
sorting obvious elements.
The trick is in the creativity.
Everything I do leaves a mark,
I'd rather mark the approach and invest in my potential.
Shameful victories lost a chance to remain,
In everything the best is the main.
Boldness to the public discussion is excitement,
As always, Great value reflects great taste.
Be a matter to the dancer, Since
Problems are playing sounds of sad wisdom.
A runner bug dug deeply in the routines.
Great Task is fixed if found.
A search begins as an error to your persona.
A name you lift.
A push depends on the boundaries of attention,
Who Set up the scripts ?
Isn't the circle Merciful when the presence
of the absence mothers compatibility?
Does The routine of existence exists in the routines?
How do you know the best route is the one you took?
I do hope!
When hope hugs embarrassment
I’d be a date to the Procedures.
For the same reason a Normal life compiles loss
A remote locating Emotionless directions
Allow me to run silently
Because There exist nothing to alter
The adroit medication the doctor refused to accredit
It would heal a lot of witless moments
Blonde is the color ignorant
As I said
It's a meaningless scrabble
You listening but you see confusion
That's The live end of an entry.

Staying when I shouldn't
Going when I should
My armour is cracked
But fight I know I would

Wouldn't it be easier If we just could
leave it all behind and go live in the wood
If I could I would
Standing where no one stood
alone in the wood

They can't reach me here
and I am lifted of fear
I've held them far to near
and I am ready for the cure

So I do my gypsy dance
and take my final stance
In lamination of the moon
my power will be here soon