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.

I Believe

More than any other color, I believe in blue

The widest outstretched arms I’ve ever seen above and below the moon

In bright pastel or tempest grey, she always builds a day anew

With hope of sun or fear of pouring rain, my prayers may still come true

If I were to pick a religion, I believe it would be you

You, the watcher who hides away and watches from a brighter view

The invisible smile of a stranger that I picture in my dreams

I ponder on how you’ll never know how much your unseen smile means to me

More than any time, I believe in midnight

The one second on the clock that an erroneous day is blown away

A flitter of hope in a shivering heart beat leaps awake

Ready to make right this fresh new day

Yes, I believe in this the way I believe in virgin snow

That quietly covers our footsteps and holds our secret close

She wistfully shifts around our frozen trails

And slows the time just enough for us to observe the small details

I suppose it’s hard to not believe in God;

Who else can I find to blame the hardships of life on?

Or where do my prayers go after they fall as weary tears?

What idol can I rely on to placate all of my fears?

But no one can reply to all of the questions, all of the demands

They fall back into the frail fingers of my tired hands

So I believe in magic, the magic that makes up time

Who meticulously grooms the sea and the sky

Patiently healing wounds and removing the iron ball and chain

So the hope in my heart can finally fly.

Messages You Will Never Read

I’m only sometimes sober when I write you messages you’ll never read;

Silly thoughts and forbidden words that bring me solace you’ll never see

I hide away from terrifying truths for fear of what you’ll think of me

I lie to you, and to myself too – the truth is such an ugly thing

I wear a mask of several layers, just in case you can see through

I wander round earth’s many corners just to stay away from you

And still I circumnavigate the globe to watch you from afar

I’ve known you only in concept; I have no idea who you are

Like religion, I see you only how I would need you to be

But you’re more of a demon than an angel in reality

But that doesn’t discourage me from heathen thoughts or sorcery

I’m closer to hell than heaven, and all you’ve done is encourage me

But not enough, not quite enough to send these messages you’ll never read.

Ghost in the Wall

Like a ghost in the wall, I long for your voice. I’m starving to hear your echo through the halls; to feel vibrations from miles away.

I long for the day that I can hear you say again all of the phrases and all of the words that made me shudder – that made me happy to be heard by your eager ears.

I held you dear. I miss you, dear.

And I miss your bright eyes, and your words so wise they sometimes brought me to tears in being all of the things that I have always been so afraid to hear.

But when delivered to me in your peaceful tone, even my greatest fears made me feel at home while swaddled in your arms.

The distance hasn’t made the sound fade at all even in my memory that waivers as I age….

Oh, I age, and like wine the years only make me a little bit more bitter but more or less worth my own weight in gold.

Still, I love to be your ghost. To never see you and yet to ravenously seek the bits of you you’ll never know, your many facets that you never showed;

You hid from me even in the bright lights of day.

Your voice echos over the ages, over many seasons and over many stages in which our lives play on like staged shows where no one knows what the ending will be,

Not for you, or me. Yet like a ghost in the wall, I watch you.

I yearn for your call to bring me back to life, or your silence to let me haunt you with my aching desire.

I wish to light a spark underneath your skin so intense and burning that when you touch me,

I have no choice but to breathe again – the way you did before I became the ghost in your walls.

Within an Echo Chamber

A voice so small bounces off the walls

Little whispers, honest lies, I can’t quite hear them all

Gaps in transmission and drops in modulation

All I have are garbled murmurs

Bits and phrases I have my way with

I need you to say this

You’ll never change, you haven’t lied

But I need to be whole inside

You’ll change for me. You’ll be every thing I need

If I want to feel fully alive

That’s not what you said, but it’s in my head

Your voice making me sweat and shake

I need to hear it loud and clear

It’s only for my aching heart’s sake

Be you, but be true, and be only mine

And see me through the darkest of times

When I can’t hear, you disappear

Though you repeated yourself aloud

I did not hear you say good bye

I did not want to hear you say good bye.

I haven’t learned my lesson

A rush of blood through the veins

A bolt of lightning to make the heart beat again

Hot tears simmering against eyelids

Cold drops of sweat on feverish skin…

Oh, what I would give to feel again.

I gave heartache the longest break,

A thin layer of frost coated my skin

And I placed chains on all the bits of me within

That ever longed for love.

I clipped the wings of that captured dove

Soundproofed the glass to stifle her song

I doubted I’d miss it after so long,

But now I can’t even recall the sound.

Now, I don’t miss your mischief or your mistresses

I long for steady heart-beats and only tears that accompany a smile

Hope has yet to seem worth-while,

When I remember cold and lonesome December

When ice and snow trapped me with no place to go

Your arms twice as cold, the novelty of me so old

In your fickle heart.

I do dream to the sound of my favorite song,

Of breathing normally after so long –

Inhale, exhale and carry on

With no drugs or no alcohol, just faith in love.

A rush of blood all through my face

Electric pulses resuscitate

Heat of the sun when it’s finally May

Cold chills of excitement; heart, don’t hesitate.

Oh, what I would give to love again.

 

Douse Me.

He once said to me:

“You’re like a fire – hard to hold close due to the heat of your flames

The ones you love end up scorched, and thus you flee in shame

But it’s evident that you were here, long after you are gone

The tell-tale trail of smoke lingers and the ashes are trailed along.”

I don’t intend to tend my embers, they spark themselves once I’m awake

They slowly kindle throughout the day and surround me in a steaming haze

I can’t see through the wispy curtain, I can’t comprehend the errs of my ways

All I see is red, vivid and growling through the darkest of days

I mourn for those I hurt – I swear!  I hope they do recover

But I beg for mercy under the heat, the sweat that drenches my covers

Every morning the yellow sun peaks over the lake my eyes are red with hate

I don’t want to live another day engulfed in these perpetual flames

Scorched and charred I crumble, ashes tossed into the air

Shrunken and crippled, there’s less of me and so much more of the terrible flare

Nothing will remain when I exhaust, nothing but the smoke and the haze

While I’m still here, I pray someone douse me

Much like my lost lovers, I despise the pain.