Last Thread

Hanging there in the darkness,
Suspended between nothing,
Tying all that means everything,
And oh how it hurts me so,
This metal blade so cold,
Must cut this string into,
And all I knew of you.
The taste of blood so sweet,
Only now, it makes me weep,
To see our love in death,
When as I held my breath,
I thought we'd die as one,
When immortal we'd become.
But now I sign in red,
With the blood my love has shed,
And sad it is to know,
In reading your last note,
That as to me you wrote,
The last time this you signed,
Your name that with mine rhymed,
Was in fact to forge to die,
And bury our loving lie.        

At Last

At last, I have reached the end.
And as I stand on the edge of the cliff,
Starring into the emptiness and darkness,
I ask myself,
Why did I come here?
Finally I have sickened myself,
I have thrown myself into the darkest corner of oblivion.
And for what?
I can jump, and end it all, loosing myself to madness,
Happily insane to the notion of insanity.
Or I can turn back to the lonely empty hole that I crept from.
At least to jump leaves uncertainty.
But to turn back, I know the cold lonesome fate that awaits my arrival.
The wind in my hair, I catch the scent of a memory.
A memory of blood,
And I smell it deep and hypnotizing.
At last, I am still alone.
Wither I jump or sustain, I am alone.
All is quiet but for the echoes chanting from the dark abyss.
Beckoning me to join the monotone enchantaions.
At last...
I am still alone.        

Seven Days

Seven Days until the day,
That day of days to bring dismay,
So soon shall come and pass away,
And I shall cry for it to stay,
Then patiently I'll sit and wait,
For the circle it shall sometime make,
And pass me by until I shake,
To reallize it was all so fake,
And sit and dread the day to fade,
When I wish that it was never made,
And hate that he could not have stayed,
And why it can't be mine I prayed,
When after love was left and weighed,
I still the price would have somehow paid,
And curse the thought of how I laid,
To allow this precious day to waste.        

Counting

Infatuation of the idealation,
I can still smell that sweet scent.
The silver taste so fresh,
As if the metal lay tightly between my teeth.
The salty taste of sweat,
Droplets falling burning my eyes,
And I love it.
I feel the blood run across my skin,
I smell the perfume of it's existence.
And I love it.
It's getting closer...
Tick, Tick, Tock, goes the clock,
And the days fall to the ground,
Bringing me down..
Far from that place I called Heaven.
And I prepare myself to die again.
And wonder does it ever end.
... and it's raining...         

Transformation

Transformation: Meaning-The need to allow something to die in order to create room for the new. Painful Change that is necessary. Creating Life out of Death.

There you were suddenly today.
Lying in front of me amongst the others,
Seemingly similar but definately different.
Calling out to me...
Drawn delicately with your wavy brunette hair,
What is it you wish for me to see?
Transformation...
And what if I do not wish to let it die?
What if I would wish it to live and grow and be remembered....
To not suffer the painful change you bring to my door.
I will shuffle you back together and pretend you did not exist.
I will cover you with books and letters,
With music, laughter, and pretend smiles.
I will forget you with drawn out memories.
Hide you in a drawer for safe keeping if need be.
And tomorrow everything will remain.
So that I may be safe within my denial,
Returning to watch the clock count nothing.
I will be happy.