Prophecy of Dark
Alone, huddled in a corner, will cower a boy
afraid of the Dark.

Lip bleeding, hands calloused, body trembling
knees will be clutched.
Knuckles white, limbs bruised, soul charred
wings will be broken
Fears dancing, nails digging, security stolen;
innocence will be lost
Alone, huddled in a corner, will cower a boy
afraid of the Dark

Feeling missing, heart tender, happiness crushed
hope will be destroyed
Hearing acute, toes curled, eyes wide
terror will reign.
Stomach retching, sweat cascading, breath captured,
Dark will come
Alone, huddled in a corner, will cower a boy
afraid of the Dark

Nothing spoken, skin pale, chest pounding
pleading will do nothing
Tears streaming, face beaten, mind racing
filth will build
Self worth massacred, spirit bleeding, faith tortured
prayer will continue
Alone, huddled in a corner will cower a boy
afraid of Dark
cruel, vulgar, uncaring
Dark

Alone, huddling in a corner, cowers a boy
afraid of Dark
His shame the only thing keeping him alive


Hidden Meaning
Why is it
so hard
to write
happy poetry?

Maybe because
nobody
really wants
to be happy?

Is it easier
to make love
with sorrow
and tears?

Is sorrow a martini
the seven deadly sins?
Is it certain those things
will depend on eachother?
I will write
joyous bliss down
everyone can read it and
be happy.


Wisdom
i cried today
because my black crayon broke,
but then i picked up a yellow one
and used it instead.
i like it's color better.


Alcoholic
Focus on the ice
until the glass stops dancing.
I down another


the affair
there’s a constant bangin’
comin’ from the wall
i ask papa what it is,
but he stares an’says nothin’ at all
sometimes there’s loud noises
and they tend to frighten me,
papa squeezes his arms ‘round
me tight, and holds me on his knee.
i know he’s always cryin’,
and i don’t really know why.
maybe he’s scared of the noises too,
and that’s okay, he doesn’ hav’ to lie.
i'll be a good girl for papa,
and then we can go and play
and he can finally stop cryin’
and the bad things will go away.


Unaccomplished
i find it sad;
when i looked around
for something to paint my life with,
all i found to use
was this dusty black chalk.


Life.
There's a never ending cycle
of feelings in my mind
Some are enticing
while others destructive.


my favorite vase
it was blue and purple and held
my eyes for the longest time
the shine from it was very bright
and made my eyes water,
i asked it why it hurts so much
and he cut me in response,
so i ran into my room
and clutch a stuffed memory
from an empty childhood,
that holds no promise for a better tomorrow.
Stained