A Writer's Bane

Pens dance across oceans of white and black alike,
Elegantly, they spin and slide to the music they create,
Stories appear and another world is born,
A soul transferred, time lost and a heart, torn.

Slowly they rise as does the sanity of their creator decline,
A thousand lives lived through and a thousand eyes laid down to die,
A thousand tragedies, a thousand joys and still yet a thousand more,
The new land breathes a past that it cannot remember just yet.

A mirror shattered and all shall see through its shards, a piece of who they were,
A reachable kind of immortality that in our cruel world revolved around the concept of popularity,
An art reduced to a tasteless competition amongst manipulated trades of man-made currency,
Relive their lives, they implore you, so they not be forgotten but often, eyes that open do not see.

Stories, malformed and starved of passion are bound and presented,
Yet if they contain what the majority would enjoy, primitive instincts triumph over sophistication.
A kiss of warmth, to gaze into the fire beneath a light full of far away stars,
Yet everyone decides to bake themselves in a cave set alight with the entrance barred.

And so, a thousand lives that never live, die,
A new land breathes its last before it could flourish,
A war ends before it has begun,
A dance of ink and imagination done in vain.

The Narcissist

Roses dim but never grow,
In stars that shine not on saddened eyes,
Screaming yet in silence must,
Still she suffers but cannot die.

Yet you harm and claim blood your own,
Screech in fake agony with pointed finger,
Blasphemous to think other than you were wronged,
Slow poison to your loved ones forever lingered.

With sands that fall and seasons fly,
Hope anew flutters into their hearts,
Yet again and again arrows let loose,
Never letting wounds heal in time.

Questions you take and answers you give,
Doings betray confessions dear,
Remember, remember, and always remember,
Scars reflect in each and every tear.

For is that not the way to break this?
The mirror that holds your perfectly imperfect world?
Where the eyes of the beholder belong on you and only you,
Crowned to reap whatever that comes to.

And shows are celebrated way into the night,
Crocodile tears flood the theater,
You the 'star', with audience held hostage,
Marked and labeled for you to use as you saw fit.

One by one, the crowd will grow,
And more so shall that monstrous ego,
Collect, replace, use, recycle,
Was that not what you're doing to your second doll?

Claim to love but such can you justify?
Or is that the reason at all you fell into such chaos?
For in your world, is love only reciprocal if one suffers?
Is love only reciprocated if they tied themselves to you?

Watch while she wastes away,
Yet still you leech on,
For it was never allowed for her to suffer in your name, is it?
Or better said; it was never allowed for you to be named for it.

A Reply To The Shard Collector

Beautiful words yet they wound me so…
Reminding me of a lifetime that has passed,
No longer am I the same, my love,
The sands are falling and falling fast.

When will you tire of me, my empty self and I?
Time escapes yet hallucinations constantly plague,
They taunt with visions of your departure,
Telling me that all along I indeed was right. 
I do not wish to rip, love,
And I do not wish to harm,
For even if such honor on me is bestowed,
I can only do so with broken arms. 

And do you not deserve more than petty attempts?
Of orders that were deigned as affections we once understood?
I beseech that you turn away from this ugly form of mine,
And remember me the way you most kindly could. 

What I present, I present in pride,
Also to be worthy to all that you are,
As long as remnants of me shall stand,
What will last will be my facades. 

All that is left,
Is what can only suffice,
No longer befitting to your presence, 
Yet I cannot say goodbye. 

And because that is so,
I stay with a painted face,
To hide cracks and missing shards,
I will be by your side until you send me away, your grace.

Can you not see what i have foretold?
What commeth from this soul of mine is twisted,
Unfit for the very consumption of the mind,
Yet you still chose to hold and believe in it.

Mistress dear, understand that remnants remain,
Excavation would only lead to more and more pain.

So i beg of thee, force me not to write,
For my words though blunt are sharp,
And drawing blood upon reasons wrong,
I forbid myself to ever do upon you. 

As i begin to stable myself,
Maybe soon i shall look down without regret,
To pick and hone my skills once more,
So be patient, love, and do not fret. 

I have not abandoned what we cherished once,
Just confidence is missing from it all,
With a hand i soon hope to hold,
I will have strength to once again, stand tall.

Mirrors And Mockery

Bring me the illusion of all I had ever dared to dream of,
And then douse the fire to nothing,
Remnants of embers float to the sky to disintegrate to nothing,
Stars of cold light laugh at them.

The thorned rose hears their cruel jesters,
Opening its dreamy petals to listen but says absolutely nothing,
It's silence as deadly as the poison within its thorns,
Turns away and leaves them to such mockery. 

Cradled sparks that wanted to grow as high as mountains,
Lighting up that dark world for others to see,
A dream nurtured then monstrously murdered in the night,
A changed persona like a virus, came to overthrow. 

It had no place for dreams,
No place for the beauty in the dark nor beauty in the light,
Just floating between realms made on numbness,
Not a care in the world. 

There he stands,
The one who lit those fires and the one who doused them,
Clouded eyes but he claims them clear,
Speaking of things that were colder than the water. 

And what is the little rabbit to make of it?
The one who fell in love with those dancing flames,
Now soaked and beyond frightened,
Shall she run away or approach this mad man? 

The Most Cruel

Random words that string themselves together,
A mind of their own with a puppet to emit them,
Coursing through the air and echoing against cold walls,
Clashing against one another, enough to cut through skin.

Unguarded and fragile it stands,
A heart that after so much torture, still bleeds,
Uttering every hidden syllable treasured dear,
Flowers of self-destruction fruits and reseeds.

A confession, a lie, a sliver of truth,
Crusted by time and rusted shut by fear,
Prized open when fear cancels itself out with fear,
When anticipating the arrival of death, contents spill.

"Beauty divine, unrivaled and flawless...will you spend all of eternity with me?"

Beautiful words twisted into flowers that hang their heads,
A question unanswered while echoing forever in the darkness,
Unwritten and unrecorded except by an already disintegrating memory,
A beloved held close but now whose reach lay farthest.

A broken promise even before it was made,
A word of tenderness now pierced with such cruelty,
A puppet without strings now lay lifeless upon the floor,
Unable to utter any more though in his state of incredulity.

A soul that has left his medium right before that hazardous moment,
An avoided breath of a reply that could have stopped his heart either way,
Be it in pieces or beating so fast that it stopped, guilt floods him for his cruel deed,
His heart was no longer hers to own, tomorrow never, but always yesterday.

The Harshest Winter

Dearest love that holds my heart,

Why hast thou grown quiet and cold?

Has your affection for me disintegrated to nothing?

Or has your heart yearn for another to hold?

Eyes that turn away from my own worried ones, 

Once warm hands that pull away from mine,

Looks of disdain cast by that beautiful face,

I beg those lips to not tell me goodbye. 

As snow forms from crying skies,

And fall gently to the dead earth below,

I stand in the bitter cold as you cast me out,

So does hope leave my tortured soul.

Words never graced those lips it seems,

Your actions as loud as a meteor's descent,

Memories are only what we have now,

For Christmas did you want another fool as a present?

Under the mistletoe she stood,

Beaming brightly with a painted face,

Arms around you tight with a look I once had,

You pick her up and whisk her away till you left no trace.

A silent murder in the harsh winters of the heart,

Believing it was spring when my blood slowly froze beneath the skin. 

Awaking to face the most bitter cold,

I couldn't believe I let you win.

And again I speak into the moaning winds,

Asking once again for the answer I long for,

A wondering thought that pleads to have rest,

From the one I had previously so adored.

Dearest love that holds my heart,

Why hast thou grown quiet and cold?

Has your affection for me disintegrated to nothing?

Or has your heart yearn for another to hold?

The Jester's Fate

Tear stained marks upon a painted face,

Bells ringing freely but sorrow sounds out,

Strangled words never leave that forced voice,

Trapped forever in this world of fakery.

Tell me of the jester,

Who leaps and prances on command,

Bound by not strings nor words,

But chains and crowned threats.

Labeled a fool for all to see,

Facades and trickery his bread and butter,

Always a joke and nothing more,

A toy, a tool for all to use.

Madness within madness,

His only asset left to utilize,

Slowly evaporating his own soul,

Soon turning him not into a puppet but the lunatic. 

The rambling fool that no longer pretends,

His shattered insanity in mere pieces,

Yet everything remains the same,

His suffering and inner death never known.

Tear stained marks upon a once painted face,

Bella rang freely but sorrow sounded out,

Strangled words never left that forced voice,

Trapped forever in this world of foolery.