Final ReviewFrom the perspective of your deathbedwould you want a heart that was whole?Or a heart that had bled?Torn by lovingbruised with caringthin form beating long after youwere sure it should notScared with healing and breakingand healing againUgly with stretchmarksof growth and expansionpurple with lack of oxygenall love flowing out againas soon as it flowed inFrom the perspective of your deathbedwould you want a heart that was whole?
TNTI, I was a powder-keg of emotion.Rich, uncut, pure massed emotionjust waiting for a sparkYou, you were the flameon a very short fuseFirst we sparkedshimmered for a heartbeatand when we exploded when I explodedthere was a mass casualtyof one
UntitledThere was a sadness in her eyesIt seeped into her fingertipsand with the lightest of toucheslodged itself in my soul
Ritual of FireLust's fingers unfurledat the sight of herlike young flames dancingwith warmth and the promiseof heat to followjust enough to engulf heraliveyet still she watchedas hips swayedunblinking, as eyes metallowed for the slight smileunder the gaze of tempest seaand welcomed the vanquishingof her sanity
FailingsLove failed herthe very first time she thought:She had found herself in the reflection of another's eyes.Had found home under the warmth of another's skin.Had found meaning in words dropped carelessly from (love) drunk lips.Has found safety in the presence of another.
Shards of BeingIt was a husk of a heartset on hatred that met younot to hate you per seBut all that you might offeror beSeeOr discoverIt was a husk of a hearthell bent on not loving youand even in thiseven thisWas broken
By DesignA heart can never be lessthan what is isA heart can nevernot loveSomethingSomeoneSomewhere
The CardsThe thing about life isthat thing about love If you are willing to play the game If you are willing to take that betInvest your heartYourself, your beingYou better get real comfortableReal quick with losing
AssessorI am not the guttered shell fit for abandonment you believe you seeI am built in the land slide of the crumbling facade of your delusionI am the foundations that have rotted in the land fill of your wasted timeI am the cracked windows that reflect the broken light of your jaded sunsetI am the dust coated chandelier of your yearning, curling wires and missing crystalsI am the broken hinges on the door of your peeling trustI am the sharp edges of the rusting sink in you derelict kitchen soulI am the empty shell of the collapsing bed that once knew lovers sighsI am the lifting floor boards of the illusion in the passages of your mindI am not built in the broken pieces of me you believe you seeI am the burnt ash in the grating of your heart, crumbling, cold and blackened with useI am the long grass of your derelict garden of faith, abandoned and littered with filthI am the dripping faucet, the perished washers on the inflow of your loveI am the damp ceiling-boards beneath the
RavenThe raven would not say my name -only flutter its wingand settle on the branch.I watched its cockle eyestudy me and the rooftopsthat sang of autumn.Leaves swirled in the wiresas the air blisterd around meand I could feel myselffalling once again -somewhere the lightwould still remember me.
The Word RoseAnd from the blue and cotton clouds,Out forth I plucked for you -A single word rose.Notebook petals, blooming in the bloodOf scarlet love,Dripping sweet melodies from high aboveShowering us in an embracing flood.It was a single word roseAnd upon it was written your heartIn the form of a hundred rhymesPlaying out your song,Your beautiful songAnd nothing could let it fall apart.And from the blue and cotton clouds,Out forth I plucked for you -A single word rose.Poetic thorns, glaring through the galeOf obsidian disgust,Sneering dark voices of our innocent lustWhispering to us of that word rose pale.It was a single word roseAnd within it was hidden my heartIn the form of a thousand crimesWeeping all my sins,All my blackest sinsBut no one ever saw me fall apart.And from the blue and cotton clouds,Out forth I plucked for you -A single word rose.Word rose, oh where are you?Word rose, ah shining in the blue,You hide my secrets andCover yourself in her heart.Wor
Late nightAll alone in my roomSurrounded by darknessThe clock keeps tickingTime doesn't stopAnd there I layMy mind wanderingWhile I waitFor another day to come
A Fairy TaleDismembered limbs fall from the skyDramatic chorus sings silken ribbonsOn the mountaintop, out there in the darknessWhere plants are withered from lack of sunAnd all that is now will be what wasAnd all that was will be once againAs limbs attach themselves to torsosWe get up and walk, smiling, into the lightTeeth, hair, skin, bone re-assembledNew feathered wings stitched to backsThe plants are green on the other sideGrowth ensured by the ever-bright light
TodayI drew a picture of you today. Not because I wanted to. Not because I miss you.I drew a picture of you today. Because your face invades my mind, Every waking moment of consciousnesses.I drew a picture of you today, Simply to rid my thoughts of you. Because I can't bare to see you.I drew a picture of you today. And when I find the courage, When I find the strength.I will burn it.
Bitlets 229The man in the mirror was framed and hung.
paper cranes at midnighttell me the secret of dreaming -i need to know the wayto wish on stars that fall, and those thatdon't, assisting in the making of a tomorrow lacedwith wonder.stud the skywith folded cranes on wireand origami dreams strung up like beads;when the night creeps upand i can't breathe,tell me it's okay to believein wishes that can be foldedas easily as paper.remind me of how daylightcomes even if our star-peppered eyesdon't close to hide it'slight; we will not stop to count oursheep, but rather wondersfound in waking.lace the sunsetwith your silhouette;i am a paper boat folded by finicky handscast into deep waterstrying to cut a path for pleasant dreams--and because i cannot rest my eyesto find solace in silence,i ask you only todream me something beautiful.
lets play pretendI am a lion, brave and strong,I am your defence, for when others see you wrong.I am a warrior, bold and alertbut I am still a person, and a personcan still hurt.
36On every birthdayI think backand reflecton all the yearsthat I've lived.Today I am reflectiveon nothing in particularand everythingall at once.I look at my daughter.I beam with prideat the young lady she has become.I can't help but stand in aweat how much she looks like,acts likeand can hold a grudgejust like me.I take my husband's handand squeeze,waiting for his needleto work its magic.I want his art to bea part of me,now and forevermore.I'm dazedbut not confused.36 is more than three decadeswhich is kind of weirdto think aboutwhen I feel so young.Childhood has been rebornin my offspring-my nieces and nephews too.My own memories mixed with theirsin the form of traditionsI've demanded be passed on.Today I celebratelifeand loveand family.Today I wantat least 36 more years.
With YouI'm less alone,but more lonely.