Get out of my head
Marauding around as if
you really know the place
Picking through secrets
and fondling my thoughts
Surfacing now and now and now
Just as if I can't wait.
Velvet curtain should lift,
but it's so goddamn soft-
My cage seems so breakable
But I may hurt the diamonds
with my ill fashioned crowbar
But it's not they I worry for
But for the crowbar so rusty-
It seems so strong and tough
but I have ann odd feeling
It'd break far too easy.
Evil
Like a temptress under moonlight
dancing with the pyres of love
Ensuring that the flames do die
Eyes lingering on the spark remaining
hungry, aching, thirsty for flame
A touch and the blister burns black
Once again, hand reached to pyre
Hoping 'gainst hope no longer it burns.
Thirsting for the ideal
Temptress has no fingers left
All of them scarred by love's bright flame
Still attempts are made anew,
And spark sputters and almost dies.
But from the sky dew pellets drop
Opposite of flame, odd fuel to it,
The orange and blue waves dance
To tunes archaic, unknown, and true.
Temptress slinks to wandering shadow
Temptress is beaten, not broken,
Yearning for this ideal flame.
The rain dances still, never halting
Swirling bout like in a circus,
Precipitation, Combustion find joy;
And the flame itself is sparked anew
And the fire is one with frosty dew.
Red roses
and candies
Black blood and the dark
Sweet words and kind lies
Black violets wither soft
Nude bodies alone at night
Aching for warmth;
a warmth that will never come.
Empty
As cold halls echo
through this aching ruin
and whispered words gone
arise to torment
the innocence lost
and the fire tamed
but a spark whimpers
crying for hate,
for love, for anger;
for anything.
Spark of fire it may be,
Still lost it is
in this unending sea.
This thumping.
Oh, I wish its end
to be the very thing
that I fear so deeply
To be twixt heaven and hell
trapped for eternity
But if there is no heaven or hell
For what is this damned drum beating?!
I can't
find a way out of
this labyrinth without King,
Leaving lipstick marks
in places they shouldn't be.
Oh Daedalus! Help me,
Give me wings, give me strength
If I go too high, or fall too low;
A pale arm reaching skyward
Waiting for the blessed Sunday,
For the rock, the white dress
And unrequited possession.
my vision's smeared
with Jezebel's dance...
when will my dawn come?
Her pink fingers and yellow hair;
when will she come to ease
the weight of love, of life?
Woe be to
the man that hails
the only last remaining heart
with its perilous thumps
and fluttering hums awry.
And woe be to the girl
whose only bastion of truth
is in peril and flutter.
But of these sad compendiums,
the only truest terror
is in the heart and of the mind
in the brightest candle lit aflame.
Slashed
into halves,
Strung bout the awning,
Whipped round the bend,
still it is hoping,
lastly it's left;
the end of the torture
but the beginning of end
Hope left in the forest
Hope left in the darkness
Hope left in the recess
of each dark brooding,
of each last stand,
of each unknown.
Finally meets its match
in the last bastion of love
in the remnant of what was
in the heart of man.
Every drumbeat it screams,
Every raindrop it withers
Every laugh it shies way
Til naught but dust.
This great entity,
the last of Pandora.
The box is now empty,
the box is now gone,
the box in its pyre not long ago.