Insanity's Angel

She presses her palms to the pure white wall

lost in a dream that cannot be seen by mortal man,

reaching to the face of the tall, silent angel towering

above her small, meek frame fragile to the wind.

Her lips move in unheard murmur, a silent prayer

filled with the deepest secrets of the universe,

asking to see, asking to feel, asking to be free,

but the angel doesn't move, doesn't say, doesn't breathe.

She traces her finger across the corners of the room

bewitched by the hope lingering in her heart

that one day she'd discover the truth of her purpose;

why she lives instead of her long lost love.

The voices inside her head whisper sharply

and so she kneels on the charcoal floor closing her eyes,

searching for the meaning of what yesterday held,

what tomorrow brings, what today didn't happen.

She wiggles her toes in a breeze that doesn't blow,

stroking her hair in lonely comfort she accepts,

calling the angel to touch her bruises and scrapes-

to heal what time can never erase.

Pulling her legs tightly to her chest, she rocks quietly

back and forth in memory of a cradle long ago,

forever a witness to short affection and a broken promise

that the arms she was born into would never let go.

Laughter, smiles, photographs inside her mind,

a song of sweet sadness replaying without end

as she recalls the days wasted, the happiness that once was,

part of something other people believe in too.

The temperature grows colder, but there are no windows,

just a bantam light bulb above twisted in the ceiling

to constantly remind her she cannot see the sun-

left to shiver and tremble in unnatural light.

Alas, she pleads once more to be unchained,

for sanity to return and other ways she'd meet old age,

to be released from the torment of talking to her thoughts

and the shadow that ceases to answer at all.

Nobody hears and she screams aloud,

and white-dressed figures rush like leaves in a storm

to pin her body to the familiar concrete ground

she so despises and yet it's what she must know as home.

A prick to her flesh, a surge of sedation in her blood,

again and again- no more she dreams.

Banish the pain, banish the loneliness, the nightmares,

and give a light of guidance to joy.

A numbness dwells in her hands and she groans,

left behind over and over to suffer this torture,

and those busy faces she'd seen times before

desert her to the haunting of complete emptiness.

And so she lies in an unforgiving stillness,

noiseless tears spilling in anguish across her cheeks,

a grief so deep- how the angel takes pity,

kissing her forehead softly as the lights go out.

Death

Death; the feared majesty of all known truths,
a brooding shadow following scentless,
hovering close behind hidden like sleuths
in the midnight when the clock strikes lifeless.
Come to rob prematurely the mother
of her newborn child and gentle husband,
taking without return as no other,
selfishly stranding the widow saddened.
Drifting indifferently in a black boat
down the swiftly rushing river of tears
and blood of the bodies that cannot float,
this adumbration defeats mortal years.
None may flee the dark inevitable
as the hour glass drains on the table.

Spectral Enchantry

Mystical colors in a distant sky,

shades of evergreen and the scarlet blush of shy,

dancing with white angels of a heavenly space,

glittering in the sweet smile of the moon's royal grace.

Lush violets in the tulip's hair,

swaying in the soft breeze, its delicate care,

romancing with the lovers captivated by

the fruitful curiosities sparkling in her eye.

A whisper, a shore, promises in the stars

illuminating the world as cattails hum like sitars,

beautiful music soothing the tense ear,

vanquishing doubt, pain, anger, fear.

Comfort takes hold beneath the tender blanket of night

filled with peace and tranquility's delight,

releasing a warm, gentle tear of surpassing ecstasy,

of happiness, true glory, and the nightingale's harmony.

Sunset fire blooms divine in the horizon

as fingertips reach earnestly to stroke clouds of satin

beside rainbow waterfalls pouring the spectrum's hue;

pretty tones of yellow, serene waves of blue.

Grass like feathers and the dove's powdered wing

caress in a mother's affection as the constellations sing

mesmerizing rhythms of celestial voices, flawless,

a lullaby of beauty, ultimately breathless.

Merry Facade

We say we see pain, but what do we really see?
A girl laughing on the swing, eyes like the sea,
her hair in the wind, a rosiness in her cheeks.
If only you'd known she has suffered for weeks.
Constantly she hides behind that pretty smile
so the world doesn't question what has lasted a while
nor will she feel a burden to those she holds dear
for which she bears regret and sheds a burning tear.
On the surface she goes on with a merry facade,
but inside is an aching that will never fade.
Her chest throbs with an emptiness, but in front of you
she dances and giggles like you'd want her to.
A social life- many friends- but still she feels alone
like the quiet moon in the sky, far away from home
in some other world where her dreams can't be reached,
an acceptance she fathoms as her hopes have beached.
Silently she cries so no one hears and worries,
but how she yearns to scream the anguish of her memories;
the lies she's told, the mistakes, and pain
she's caused others, hiding her tears in the rain.
Often she'll say she's perfectly fine and grins
to change your attention as her mind hurriedly spins,
and she'll find the energy no matter the stress
to joke by your side as long as she doesn't have to confess.
Days and days will go by and you'll never know
or understand the sorrow inside this girl who appears to glow
because she's done it before, she's hidden secrets so long
so you could continue your busy life, so she's said nothing wrong.
And you'll have no reason to be concerned or ask
why she lies awake each night painting this mask,
the one she'll wear again tomorrow on the swing laughing happily.
We say we see pain, but what do we really see?

The Overwrought Home

The roof of my house is made of brick,
and you would think because it is a form of
stone and not some chopped up panels of oak
it wouldn't burn, but oh it has, many times,
which for anyone is hard to believe. In fact,
my house has been set to fire almost every day,
and allow me to be of surprise once more when
I say I am the victim but also the suspect.
You see, countless memories have dwelt in this
forsaken place; aunts, uncles, parents, and nephews
have left their marks, and frankly I grew angry,
found motive, and learned to hate the passersby
and any crevices in the basement wall they dared
point at. The holes- damn them and the mice
coming through, gnawing at the furniture
as if a banquet was being served, biting
more holes until the leather couch becomes
a Dalmatian coat of hollow polka dots.
Packed to their soft, ruffian fur sleeves are the clouds
of the most sickly staining dust, attracting
foul insects alike, and as may not be imaginable
I am then noticeably, and I do emphasize,
overwhelmed.

Young Lovebirds

Sweetness of mine, how you bring these warm tears
of joy inexpressible in mere words,
for 'I love you' would take countless, long years
to pronounce the feeling of young lovebirds.
I would give to you the world if you'd ask,
but you repeat so softly in my ears
I am the world to you, and my one task
is to kiss away on your lips my fears.
Held in your arms, I close my eyes and sigh,
happily savoring the sweet moment
of a time when it is just you and I
in the moonlight's beautiful, silk garment.
Let us dance away by fragrant candles,
fingers intertwined and adoring stares,
knowing of the future, my heart fondles,
you prevailing the deepest of my cares.
Fly with me into the sunset far above,
we two blissful doves forever in love.

Collapse

So tired

Running

Gotta keep running

Ready to collapse

Nausea, body ache

Legs going to break

Eyes going to close

Everything going dark

Falling, falling

Going to crash

Waiting, waiting

No pain... Silence

Opening my eyes

I see You