Empty roomsIn empty roomsvast quantities of nothing existswhere no naked eyecan observe the nothingness within.When lounging in another roomor when a door just clicks closednothingness eruptssilent as a cacophonyin those empty rooms beyond.And when a head peeks round a door(like a featherslowly drifting back down from a great height)there really is just nothingnothing happening in those empty roomsnothing happening within.
MelancholicAfter my father died, life continued. Still, I was always taken aback by his terrible absence, marked so bitterly by the thick layer of dust that settled about the house. It lay in every corner, in deep slopes, and no amount of cleaning could unsettle it.And in a similar way, every time I listened to a piece of music he would have admired, or a book he would have recommended, he passed across my memory, and then I would simply think, Oh. When I slept, he told me things. In my dreams he whispered secrets, but they were soundless for there were no more secrets.Sometimes, when at work or while shoe shopping or between mouthfuls at dinner, I would be bowled over by a surge of plaintive emotion. One that has no true name but one that is cruel and ruinous.I always told myself: Things will get better. But they never did.
ZenithThere is a cerulean skylinethat I look towhen I wake up sad,with no one to explainthis feeling to.There is something out there,between the dreams,that I need to understand.That outer limit,I don't ever reach it,but I want to.This won't last forever.I'm on my way.
RecallI hold my head in my handsand begin to think,attempt to recollect,the last,good,memory of you.Awaking with your bodystill close to mine.Pretendingto be asleepwhen I know that youare watching me.Running fingersthrough your hairand waitingfor your happy-cat smile.All of themare decent thoughts,but nothing sparks.Nothing reminds meof that painful lovethat went awaysome time ago.I can only rememberyour excuses falling,brick-like,against my headand arguments burning,aching my failing love,erasingthe last,good,memory of you.
PharosAll of my fireshave been put out now,from the pyre of my heartto the ember of my eye.Once, dangerous flamestravelled in my wakebut all are subdued now.And I think:what use is a beaconwithout a reason to burn?
HindsightRegret is hindsight's backbone,self-pity his creeping heart,and bone fingers that scratchas they work into your mind.Leering lips, empty eyesand crooked skeletal legs.He shadows behindwaiting until he is neededuntil a moment of nostalgiapushes you back.Paranoia over past happeningsis the poison that he seeps into you.And when he's finishedhe steps away again but only for a moment.
WomanismAfter only so many days,An ache creeps into me.It is a balloon of pity,But simply for myself, mind.Such a furore stirsThat in the time between,I am just a little girl,No need for rights here.I'll make you tea,I'll wear clenching dresses,I'll beg, cherish, plead.However,When we meet again,After only so many days,You'd be searching longTo find these thoughts.
OrisonAlways look towards thatgiant blind horizon.Claw at it, keep going evenwhen you are raw.Behind you lies every mistakeyou ever made, even theones you hid.Hold onto that desire burninga chasm in your heart.Never pity yourescape from the past.Never forget it either.
Little BirdI feel your sure heart in my hands;There is a terror over you.One small squeezeAnd paradise awaits.I cocoon you between these two wallsAnd wait for your shrill howlAre you not afraid?You do not know that I am benign.But your quivering silenceIs sound enough for me.I never meant you any harm;Fly like I will never know how.
11 3i've been sitting underthe same tree for days and nowthe leaves are leaving and nowthe bark is peeling andis this what they talk aboutwhen the sparks all flickerout?i've been stoned enoughtimes to be called a martyr andmy mind's been getting hazylatelyhow do they expect me to answerall these prayers?i'm not a saint, i've just gotno grasp on sin.
Lovely knees, scraped elbowsshe wishes she has lovely knees, instead she has a lovelyway to see the world. she doesn't believe in umbrellas, onlythe stars in the midnight sky and the raindrops running downher neck, arms, legs, spine.she knows things that most will find useless: there are morestars in outer space than there are grains of sand on earth. dogshave over three hundred facial expressions, mostly made withtheir ears. the average person will spend two weeks waitingfor the traffic lights to change in their lifetime.she wonders: what if stars are just dead pixels in the sky? whatif they are specks with worlds living in them? that would meanthat we are just a speck to someone who thinks they are alonein the universe.she does not get along with logic. logic is not wisdom, creativityis. she wakes up in the middle of the night and scribbles herthoughts on post it notes: through the forest, down to your bones.the air sleeps under people's beds. when we get there, we'llbe lost again: send me a po
The Siren's Call.The Siren's Call.Bright pink lips,booty shorts,a bikini top.She gestures wildly,beckoning every personto have a dance with her.Another drink goes downand I'm pulled into her dancewhere hips thrust wildlyand hands roam everywhere.Yet when lips meet,it's hollow and brokensloppy and carelessno spark or real feelings.I don't walk awayor even pull apart.Our limbs mesh together moreand even though it's full of sweatand nothing more than heatI cannot bring myself to turn away.This Siren has captured me,and for the rest of the nightI'm hers.
Gothic ChristianI love black.I love the darkHowever, I hate black.However, I hate the dark.People tend to have misconceptions about me.People tend to think I worship satan.People tend to think I practice witchcraft.People tend to think I do not know God.Ravens are black, doesn't God love them?God created the darkness on the first day, isn'tHe proud of His own handiwork?God is proud of anything He makes.God loves anyone He makes.Even if I do wear black,even if I do prefer to walk in the shade.It doesn't make me a bad person.God make the dark. God made the light.Gothic Christianity means I prefer the macabre side of life,while other people only see beauty in beautiful things.I see beauty in the most ugliest places,and in the ugliest situations.Jesus died in the most beautiful way,but at the same time the most ugliest way.He died for His love - humanity.Just as Romeo died for his Juliet.Death to me is beautiful,but at the same time ugly.It's a new beginning for some people,but
VampireVampireA living oxymoronAn immortalOr a corpse?A bringer of deathOr a savior of life?A curseOr a blessing?On the brink of deathAnd saved by a vampire's biteBecoming free of disease and natural deathAt the prime of your lifeAnd having it taken by a vampireDropped into the abnormal darknessTo be a living humanBlind to the beauty of the worldAnd ignorant to the problemsOr a vampireAble to see our faultsAble to understand the true meaning of thingsSo which is it better to be?Human or vampireAlways aging to a final deathOr living forever without worrySurviving in ignoranceOr existing in understandingA heavy priceBut the rewards greatYou have to askIs the cost of life worth it?Most people sayThat vampires don't existBut if you look closely aroundYou see themMaybe not devilish creatures like you expectThose hell-destined beings that find their pleasure from our veinsBut dark souls, sad and desperateDesperate for a feelingThese people you will seeAnd bein
Power of wordsYou have now gained a level.
9.7i am but a weary passengerwondering whomight be missing me - nobodycan tell whether this is just a famineor an infestation,it's strange how that works - here,maybe you are lying beside meor above mebut i am suffocating - love'snot one of those things thatyou can forgeteasily, not quite like - me.
Aura: The ResparkAura: The ResparkI, the sheltered child who started to tragically fall from your graceInto the void of this sudden lonelinessRealizing I followed every single one of your stepsBut yet, I failed to hold onto those uplifting momentsNow I feel as if maybe I had forced you to make every one of those promisesThat which you still keptSo I don't want to sound dishonest, but out of us, you are the strongestYou make sure to protectTo you, everyone, and everything is dearestNone left to neglectBut with all of that, you take on those heavy burdensAnd try your bestCalling out your name into the nothingnessForgetting about the peace you bestowed upon meI guess it's just too hard to be away from
FrostI am devouring chaos,chasing it down with winter's chill.Spare me your fingerprints,summer's lovechild. Those knowing owl eyeshave me second guessing the wild churningin my bones. You are the sleep that sweepsmy eyelashes, drowning me in my own daydreams.When was it...that you plastered yourself to my ribcage?
Homo sapiens idaltuLike leaves falling from treesWe too crumble, eventually.When our backs are brittleand our faces wrinkled as barkone final sighthrough the willow's trailing tearsand we are gone.We are so fragile,so meek,in the end.