Once Upon a Midnight...

Once,

Twice,

Thrice upon a time.

The clock that never strikes on the hour,

But upon the memories of heart loss and pain,

As it's powered by tears,

For it washes the blood away.

The little dagger and long ax,

Are the instruments that tell the time.

"For torture."
Of course one person might say.

"For each little man dies in some way."

Even if the person is alive and well,

Suffering is the thing that drags on,

In what we call,

"A livin' hell, sir?" 

"Correct my good man." I answer the voices.

"Correct indeed."

Two twin pale forms of human
Are watching the clock as they are filled with glee.

Their pointy teeth are not at all messy,

And their hair is certainly dressy.

Their suits however can be a drag,

But they wanted to do this so they can be a brag.

"Stop with the rhyming strange writer!" One says.

"It's time for the killing." The other says.

Then with the instruments of the clock,

Now in their hands,

They come closer to me,

As I'm filled with regret.

But they do it slow and painless,

As they trick me in the eye,

Making me think how I'm,

NOT,

Going to die.

But they trick me,

Both of them with their smiles wide,

As they slash me open.

"Bye bye creator." They sing to me,

"We shall see you in the next story."

MyHouseofSorrow

I'mConfused,

I'mConfused,

I'mSeriously Confused.

IDon'tUnderstand,

IDon'tUnderstand,

IDon't Understand.

WhyDoIFeelThatICan'tTakeItAnymore??

TheVoicesStabMeLikeKnives,

TheHugsAreNowPoolsOfPoison,

AndMusicIsMyHouseofSorrow.

MyHandsAre Chained,

Stapled,

AndGlued Together.

TheyAreInABind,

A Contract,

ForEndless Pain.

In Exchange?

ALifeOfDyingSlowly.

I CanNoLonger SeeTheSun.

I Can'tEvenSmell SweetThings.

MyMouthOnly TastesSand,

AndIt'sBitterWithSalt OfMyTears.

I Can'tEvenSpeak words.

I OnlySpeak GibberGabber.

Ach!Ach! 

MyOnlyCry ForHelp.

EveryOneThoughIs FarFromMe.

MyLovedOnesTowerLike Pillars InAnEmptyMansion.

They OnlyStare,

AsI ScreamBack:

ACH! ACH!

HE-

HE-----

HELP!

No OneResponds.

EveryOneWeeps,

AstThey DecideNot ToReachMe.

ThenThey All Leave,

MyHouseofSorrow.

The Captivating Journal Entries of Beauty

Gentle river, Rippled all across it's bank. Two pair of eyes penetrate it's surface. A pale hand comes out. It wants to touch the sky. The lips want to kiss the moon. But the fingers retreat. A head of long golden white hair flows in the bank. The eyes are now blue like the sea. The fingernails are clear as colorless glass. But this creature then dips back down into the lake. It's tail flukes gently before leaving.


This happened on the first night.

She appears again. Her head pops out of the water. Her eyes only notice the moon. I don't hide as I watch her. Her head is posed in a 45 degree angle. A perfect picture of beauty.

That was the second night.

On the third, her hand was perched on her chest and her neck stretched to the moon as her voice ascended. The song was rung by the gravitational pull as the waves carried the voice to the moon. I couldn't breath as I wished to be that moon.

She then disappeared for two days after...

Once she came back, another hand was perched in hers. But was the opposite of her. It's large hand took her small hand whole. It's eyes were pale as clouds. It's hair dark as any black hole.

But it had no tail.

That day, she finally saw me. As I looked at her with a stricken heart.

She put her hand out to me.

She sang me a song.

But I couldn't reach her.

I couldn't even touch her.

As I was the one,

The lonely soul,

Standing on that moon.

Blue Dust

B

l

u

e

 

 

Dust

 

 

F

a

l

l

s

 

s

s

s

        slowly

                y

               y

             .

          .

     .

 

B

l

u

e

 

Dust

 

Makes

Dreams,

Takes Sleep,

And turn it to gold.

 

 

Gold

D

U

S

T

 

 

Sadly though,

Turns to rust.

 

Gold

D

U

S

T

 

 

Stays in the

Stars

?

 

In

space

?

 

In locks and under key

In houses of rich

?

 

However,

 

B

l

u

e

 

Dust

 

Never grows old.

                      .

                .

        .

  .

Is open to everyone.

                           .

                    .

             .

       . 

Is allowed to be kept by you~



A Camp and A Death Wish

In the cool water,

My hand is underneath,
Being washed by the salt,
And was hit with the impact of it's pain.

Now bone is in view,
The white a bit and covered in red,

But skin still there to hold strong,
Yet at same time still dragging,

And a pool of red appeared,

Like mist on a foggy bank,

And clouding your vision till its impossible.

But it still gives way,
As you squint to see the world before you.

 

My eyes make things up,

As I stare at the hand,

Being dragged by the stream.

Imagining,

A glow of scales,

Brushing,

Pushing,

Playing with my finger tips.
A flow of memories appear,
Me smiling,
And dad as well,
But soon was drowned in the red mist,
And appearing,
A shiny piece of blade danced in my hand.

 

I took a few breaths to myself,

But it was stopped as a call came,

I think it was a robin,

But turned to words, "Ericah!"

My teeth grind and eyes flared.

They were targeting the person,

The tall woman in blue and stupid putrid white.

I got up as I stroll back.

Her face was big and bloated like a gas pump,

She always pissed me off.

 

"It's against the rules of this camp."
She scolded me as she tried to show her fierceness,
"You can't do this again! Please no more!"

She kept saying that kind of stuff like its her religion or something.

I just sighed and answered, "Whatever dude."

She took my wrist,
The one not in blood,
Burning my sensitive nerves in my skin.
And removed the weapon I held.
She placed it in her far pocket,
Away from my reach.

"If you run off one more time I have no choice but to call quits for you in this camp. For good."
It echoed as it only brought both happiness and grief.
For good.
I wish it would be for good,
To get out of this world would be for good.
To be able to sleep soundly,
And never awake up will be good.
But if my parents found out,
The way I think to me is enjoyable,
They would never let me hear the end of it.
She then started to drag me,
Away from the bloody mess I made,
As I was upon the bank of a river.
It was where papa and I would fish.
But now here, its a camp site.
A worthless site it was,
An all girls seclusion.
The mad of the mad come here,
And I just happened to be special.
No,
 "Special".

We trotted to my cabin,
Two girls that were usually there were gone.
Thank God I thought.
As she was going to let me go,
She took her sleeve,
Ripping a cloth,
And tying around my wrist.
The blood stained the blue,
Like a genocide was taking place in a vast ocean,
The scales turn to a rusty red.

"Please stop doing this cutting. The only thing your doing is hurting yourself."
But if anything she hurts me more then what I do to my body.
Her authority,
The right she thinks disgusts me.
If anything I'm only doing this in sake of my father.
It's pathetic effort but its true.
She sighs as she places me in my cabin,
Opening the door to a old place,
With holes in the wood,
And vines that hang everywhere.
It felt more jungle then a simple forest.
 I just sit on my bed,
And had to be the one that was the closest to the door.
I hold my wrist,
Wishing to squeeze the bandage off.
She then leaves.
I knew though she didn't.
She was probably now going to a place close by.
To keep track.
To keep watch.

My hand is underneath,

Now bone,

But skin still there.
Always,
Always there.

 

 

Time of Traveling

I'm the air,

I'm swift and gently come to the surrounding.

I sneak in-between  people,

And disappear before they can blink.

I over hear conversations,

I whisper in the ears of my friends.

My mind travels to faraway places.

To the worlds known and unknown,

Like presents for your birthday,

Or stars that can't be located.

My mind weaves,

To and fore,

Hidden in the tall grass that shield me,

As my smile appears,

And turning the green sea,

To a dark blue ocean.

Its always changing,

Always in motion,

But still,

I get my chance,

To close my eyes,

And breathe.

The Call For Help

Can anyone help me?
Can anyone hear me?
As I walk down the walkway,
Even with my smile is full,
My insides are charred to the core.
My tears are invisible,
The salt disappears between my teeth,
As the smile still stands.

My hands that hold each other,
They dig into each other's flesh.
The need for help,
The greed of my pitiful heart for someone,
To hold and say to me,
"Everything is all right"
It's devouring my soul.

"Good-bye",
I whisper to the audience,
Who are all standing corpses.
My hands are ridden with blood,
My eyes are plucked from their sockets,
But I still see the cold hand of the Grimm Reaper.

His smile seems more real then mine,
As I take into account the gentle presence he gives me.
"I do feel dead,
Inside and out is what my life had started with".

But at the last second,
I cut Death's hand in two.
Agony rained from the sky,
As now pure tears streaked down the canvas of my face.

I didn't accept Death,
I didn't accept the audience,
As I stare into my soul who hugs me,
I denied the peace offering,
Reserving the nature to appreciate myself.

"Will life ever ease for myself and my loved ones?"