Inside

Curling round and round in my depths, making me cringe and wither up into a ball on a small sofa in a dark corner of a quite room in which I am doomed to spend my quiet eternity all alone...
I hear rustling of paper and raise my head to see that the source of my intrusion is nothing more than another figment of my imagination.
Quietly still on the dirty wood floor I see only a pre-packed bag who's destination has found itself no further than the corner it was packed in.
Nothing here, nothing there,,, open the door if I could find the desire to put my feet on the floor and actually take the steps,,, find the energy to put my hand out to turn the door handle... for what? To look outside of into a world full of everything I want to see, to do , to smell, to touch, to fall into and to... love... yet only to never be able to step outside.
Why torture myself intentionally that way?
Lying here on the musty smell of forgotten forgots, I smell the smell of red everytime my mind starts to wander about the wondering again and again... I close the magick window in my mind to keep myself from remembering memories that were never there... the red, the dark so beautiful liquid red, burns my soul and is raging violently inside my quiet skin to explode and give me... release.... that passionate angry untamed screaming loss of all control is now quietly lying as lost and desolate in this dark four walled prison as the body that once allowed it's release.
The packed bag sitting there mocking me in the reminding tone of how I had the chance then, yesterday and today to take that first step of that magnificent journey I have already taken once before and ever since been lost.

Another Dead Angel

It seems like forever, trapped inside this horrid misplaced eternity. Steadily shrinking into that dark hole of mediocrocy, I already know I'm nothing special, nothing to be remembered.

"Here Lies Another Dead Angel"

Something generalized to save from the embarrassment of leaving an unmarked rock in the midst of memorable markers. Listening to the footsteps trudge across the dampened grass above as they scurry to continue on with the same inconceivably predestined meeting with eternity that I have experienced.
What was I, that I deserved such an insignificant existence? Why was I, if it mattered to no one but myself? Struggling to live up to that organized superficial phasod, that someone with such an average unmistakably futile attempt at beauty, could never live up to.
It's almost like being a weed in a rose garden, eventually the gardener will find you and pluck you out so that you don't take away from the beauty of the landscape, when all you wanted was to perhaps mask the fact that you're just a weed by merely coexisting with even the scent of beauty. And in all the world of seemingly understanding sympathizers, with their tales of lonesome wanderings, who seem to share the same feelings of misplacement and abandon... I am still alone. And so are they.
Which also brings to mind the questions that turns in my brain like a spinning wheel, turning over and over, yet spinning out nothing but the same thread in a constant search for the end,,, who am I? And why am I here if I mean nothing to anyone but myself? There's supposed to be more,,,
... isn't there? ..

Blood Red

And oh how I fight this need to bleed... to take that which in secret keeps, to take and bleed on parchment sheets with crimson ink of misspelled reads. To spill it all, and watch it reach and drip and spread on blood red sheets.
How comely is the fairest skin that breaks with decadent blood red sin, and fill my every aching whim which makes a my breathless breast fill wind. And breathe it in at last it seems, that scent of life and death that leans, to lean and sway in either way, to take you in or make you prey.
Awake again, with that metallic taste that suddenly alive does make, the deadest dead among the grave and spread those wings, which to thee take.
Spread and fly I off to fall, in lovers arms, in hollow walls, and spill that blood red love to thee, to take it in and be with me. Take it in and one we are, with silent hidden unmarked scars.