Stay

Push me down, lead me round, throw me away

I beg you stay

Lead me on, treat me wrong, unfair play

I plead you stay

Hold me close, want me most, hands on my yearning spine

Yet decline to be mine every day….

I dream you stay

Hold me down, let me drown in your eyes; hazel lies

Every breath wonderless, truthfulness still null, yet…

Stay, come what may.

Stay.

Black Magic doesn’t Work on the Devil

I like to think that I

Captivate with my brown eyes

Wordlessly hypnotize

On a throne of butterflies

I often believe that I

Capture prey in silky lies

Pouncing while they fantasize

Of dreamy days and steamy nights

I push my pins in

You don’t let me win

Toxic slowly sinking in

But you counter with a grin

Me and my love are black magic

Your hallowed out heart is satanic

I cannot believe that I

Can’t Magick my way into it

Welcome back to the show!

Welcome back to the show! All the world is a stage

With manic depression and clinical rage

Unbridled joy and inexplicable glee

A circus of colors and faces we’ll be!

Shuffling masks between smiles and tears

Holding back aching through copious years

Cynical smiles and ecstatic frowns

Paired with baby doll eyes and an Ice Queen’s crown

It’s been quite awhile since I swung on my ropes

The noose left my neck and I danced on my toes

It was a grim show, but I digress

I distracted myself with my own happiness

But what is a show if no one is amused?

So the rope now strikes the back of my muse!

Though the lions and tigers have long since been tamed

The stringless marionette lives to entertain!

End of Song

Tell me to stay

Push me away

Tell me you care

Never be there

Hold me close

Shun me the most

Time after time

Like a song out of rhymes

Repeat the same verse

A dozen times

Time after time

Like a song out of rhymes

Repeat the chorus

Wear out the lines

Want me in the dark

Leave me in the light

Unshackle my heart

Unburden my nights

Come closer

And feel from miles away

We’ve gone on too long

Put an end to this song

Why do birds fly?

Birds don’t fly to get away

The land and the ocean hold their prey

They seek out trees when it’s time to pray

They seek warm leaves when the skies are grey

Birds don’t fly because they’re free

Beneath the clouds is where they’re made to be

In a flock of geese or a murder of crows

In endless space they huddle close

They migrate in a widespread V

Through cold and ice, they fight fatigue

And finally when it’s time to rest

They nestle their heads within their breasts

The sky is their curse just as ours is the earth

We gaze onward as they gaze below

Knowing here we’ll spend the rest of our lives

Knowing there is where they were made to survive.

Bourbon and Vermouth

Your eyes cast a merciless spell

Your kiss banishes me to hell

My heart wonders what drum yours beats to

My kiss tastes of bourbon and vermouth

I don’t mind when your skin confronts mine

I don’t expect your heart to be mine

You see lust where I see regret

I haven’t learned how to fight it, yet.

Flower Massacre

A field of flowers, a plague wrought upon by my insecure thoughts:

Does he love me, or does he not?

I scatter the petals into the wind; they falter, unable to answer my question

A daisy chain is broken with ruthless pain as my fingers commit a massacre

He loves me not, or does he? Why don’t the full blooms answer?

They say a lady should never sleep with a stranger

But his arms felt like freedom to my entangled heart

The blood-thirsty lips of the devil have a taste for foolish girls

And their foolish desires which wholly satiate liars and their sick lusts

Are they any less savage than those of us who lay waste to a field of roses?

Licking the blood the thorns draw from our fingers

The pain of bleeding is far more satisfying than that of a broken heart, constantly wounded and dense in scar tissue

He loves me, he loves me not.

Siren Song

Gone before long, such a shame

A moment into his voyage, he capsized in a watery grave of lily pads.

She sang to him, she lured him in, with crystal petals and a mischievous grin.

Intoxicated by flowers, and inebriated by lust, her voice reverberated within his head,

And whimsically, she braids her hair, and watches his boat break among stones.

Just another fool, yet another fool

And the love of a fool doesn’t last very long,

So he may as well suffer a siren’s song.

Strawberries in the Winter

Strawberries taste like summer, with a sweetness that gives me visions of green strawberry fields

With bright red gems glittering with the morning’s slowly dissipating fog

And fragile white, round-winged butterflies fluttering through the miles and miles of sweet strawberries.

Tasting a strawberry in the midst of a winter, I wonder how far we roam to find strawberries in a place so cold

Across the country, through the snow, to the other side of the world where it isn’t below zero

Or maybe just a little down south, where the porch is warm enough to languidly rock and watch the trucks drive by

Through day and night, to bring these strawberries out of the light and hope they survive.

A journey up the coast, to where the sun doesn’t shine and the earth is too cold for strawberries to grow

They taste like another place, or another time, as I’ve witnessed summer before with my own eyes:

It smells like the green leaves of the strawberry, tastes just as sweet and sounds like cicadas

Feels like sweat on my forehead, my bare feet on sand and a cool salty wind with an ocean wave cadence.

I wonder if strawberries in the winter taste just as nostalgic as pomegranates in the summer

To fully validate the irony in that I only miss one when I’m with the other.