I'd like to preface this
section with the fact that a lot of these are very dark, and I'd like you
to know that I'm a pretty happy person.:) I'm not scary and dark like my
poetry, but I enjoy writing dark poetry because it's so interesting to
write from someone's perspective who has a completely different demeanor
than I do like that. I feel like I need to preface that, cause some of
these are particularly scary. (Specifically: The Man and Means to an End)
An Ode to Xander
wasn't mystical, in any way, shape, or form. He was just a man, same as
you and me. He wasn't special, that's for sure. He had no power, no
strength, no smarts, but he had wisdom, he had sight. He could see. Not
with his eyes very well, because he only had one, but with his heart. He
could see truth. He took people and saw them for what they were: mortal,
human, imperfect. And he loved them. He was just a normal man, but he
could see without the bright light of the spotlight, because he wasn't in
it. He had a fantastic view of the truth of life because he wasn't the
main player, the star. His view was unclouded, nonjudgmental.
was just a normal man. He was just a normal man and he was not special at
all. He was extraordinary.
usher more and more people in
stories of them make things interesting.
man in particular stands out to me.
looks not for a path but for a journey.
is older, but also much wiser.
has not only survived, but lived.
convince him to come aboard.
hands me his payment, and it takes me aback.
joy encompasses my face.
must have been someplace exotic to obtain such stuff.
take the juicy red fruit into my mouth.
smile as I taste the strawberry.
man would bring many stories.
his food wasn't half bad either.
The Beauty of Gray
came in the world as a bright shining knight, a doo-gooder through and
through. But certain events darkened your shine, took away some of the
good that made up you.
course I had a role in this, I'm not going to be modest, it was large. I
set the stuff in motion that made you betray your Angel, the one in
your little school girl was depressed, felt sick, watching you go dark.
But I of course, reveled in it, taking every moment to keep tabs on my
then something odd occurred, a fluke for sure it must be. Because I
started to want you, need you, which was very strange for someone like
bodies seemed to be made for each other, like puzzle pieces sure. But
then, even that wasn't enough, and I began to lust for more.
truly started to care, about what tricks I had played on your mind.
now you were falling for me, which shouldn't happen to me or my kind.
felt sorrow when I saw you, because I had twisted your being so. But you
gave me such pure pleasure that I just couldn't let you go.
nothing is ever lasting, and ours lasted too long. And the reality check
of death came calling, and quickly sang it's song.
now I sit here in Hell, wondering what we had. I feel like I may have
loved you, but I could have also turned you bad.
don't be sad lover, when thinking about what is true. I did mess with
your white, but I think gray is a more fitting hue.
were absolutely lovely. You started out so beautifully kind and amazingly
na´ve. And so absolutely stunningly boring.
I changed that. I destroyed you and rebuilt you so that you were so much
more than that. I added to your complexity by making you suffer and you
are so much more interesting because of it.
caused you to betray your friends and loved ones and had you isolated in
the darkness. And it latched on to you like some sort of incurable virus
and it will never let you go.
now you are so much wiser. That darkness showed you a completely new side
of the world, one that you thought you were already acquainted with. But
you were so wrong.
you really should thank me. I tortured you and played game after game
with your mind, but now you are infinitely more capable to continue on in
this world. Now you are rebuilt to such a high standard even I am
An Ode to Drusilla
stars are speaking to me. They twinkle and sparkle and dance, laughing at
the silly Earth below them. They are amused at the trivial things they
see humans concerned about here on Earth. Things like money and love and
death. They twinkle at beings like us and wink as the blood splashes so
they don't get it in their eyes. They're laughing with us and
sympathizing, too. They understand what it's like to be an immortal in
mortal world. And they're twinkling, shaking their little Pompoms and
cheering us on, silently, a million miles away. I hear them though. I
talk and laugh with them, but not with my mouth full of course. Mommy did
teach me better manners than that. But after, I converse on the stars
about life and how trivial it really is.
The Suffering Angel
singular stare. A perpetual state.
cannot sink any farther, nor can I swim.
Surrounded by nothingness.
have been encased in hatred and vengeance, never to escape. But it is not
my own. I have had vengeance latch on to me, and although I deserve it,
the revenge is still painful.
did deserve it long ago, but not by him, please oh please, not by him.
But he did. Fueled by misconceptions and misunderstandings, his hate for
me boiled. He didn't care to find the truth, all he sought was revenge.
now I sit. Suffering for eternity.
cannot sink any further. I dream of the day I'll be free, but the dreams
are only less unpleasant nightmares.
perpetual torture. It will truly last forever. Surrounded by nothingness.
to earth is the man. As a lone soul, he rests. Master of silence he is, but he
remains talking. Never a word muttered, yet millions of stories received.
of my nature I understand. I retrieve the soft messages and I translate them
into a meaningful sentence. Little pieces in a longer thought. Like reaching
into a boiling pot and asked to only grab a single drop of water. Yet I can read
his incoherent silence and make of it something useful.
message stays with me forever. A small memory from a lifetime of chaos. Kindled
from the fire of another's soul. Each and every second a million years to craft
never ending cycle of transferable lives.
to mine and mine to another's. I remember the silence to the next gifted
interpreter. Never uttering a single word while telling my whole life story. The
words flowing to him in invisible waves crashing on the shore of another's mind.
I'm through sharing.
and less is memorable. I drift in an empty sea. Knowing I will live on through
another. Every day is quieter.
I close my eyes. Only the darkness is seen. Under the sea I sink.
the shadows I exist. Not thriving nor dying. Simply existing.
two dimensional memory somehow tangible in a mediocre 3D setting.
I do exist.
live on, experiencing life from these gray shadows. Never offered a place
in the sunny pathway just a few steps away.
I do live on.
am the extra, the spare, the nobody. I am the lesser. I leave life to the
heroes. The some bodies. The ones that will live on through books and
they will die.
might live on through others, but I will live right now, and although I
am not a hero I will experience life through open eyes and clear
may not be a hero.
god damn it, I will live like one.
will not live on.
I will live now.
the light I exist. Not just existing, but living.
by the current.
waves surround me,
my lungs with doubt and fear.
flail and trail and wail and fail,
see any hope up ahead.
head goes under.
am pushed onward,
the monstrous force.
fight in spite of the might of the sight,
see even more rapids ahead.
by the current.
am pulled on and on,
eventually my struggle lessons.
see that the key to being free was the fee,
lasting through whatever the water threw my way.
still, I am pulled by the current.
Means to an End
is a means to an end.
people, these creatures that twist and disfigure the lives of others,
figuratively but also literally, have been comfortable for far too long.
Their leader writhes in a dirt-covered grave, and now they are ready.
They are ripe and ready for the picking, fruit to be ripped right from
the all-too-familiar vine that has gripped them for all of these years.
And I'll make jam out of them. I will crush their very fibers of being,
and I will hum a very merry tune whilst doing so. These girls will be
destroyed, their lives, their families, their feelings, gone. A fine
powder in the palm of my hand. Then I will let the powder float into the
open spring, carried by the current and I will be free. But for now I am
chained to my hatred, chained to their open coffins: empty and waiting
for occupancy. But it has begun, and it will end. I am no longer a
victim. I am revenge itself, and I'm starving for my first kill.
on the corner of choice
lay before me.
take the path of silence
to miserable safety.
road ahead is bright
mediocre at best.
see a certain future,
not one I will miss.
I look at it's foggy neighbor
visible to the eye.
path was tattered and unloved
what was beyond was underlined
was the path of risk
failure or success.
was the path of fears
putting them to the test.
was the only exception
the path's fickle nature.
this meant potential outcome,
of this I became a believer.
took one step toward the fog
me in it's arm.
walked deeper on the path
happenings no longer an alarm.
is the man. Sprawled on the ground he whimpers. Pathetic howls that
sounded as if they came from dogs. He wailed and moaned, but he knew that
no one was coming. He had accepted the fact that he would die alone long
ago, but this didn't stop the pain. The seconds were like eons as he felt
the warm, thick red excrete from his stomach. The knife lay next to him.
Perhaps if he hadn't removed it from it's nest within his feeble
body. Possibly it would have given him more time. But more time for what?
More time to wallow in his own pool of blood for certain. This was
better. Less time for pain. And what an excruciating pain it was. His
wails of agony had subsided into small whimpers of defeat. He wasn't
going to die with dignity. He would die crying and begging for mercy
surrounded by his own carnage. He would die alone in a dank and
disgusting alley that smelled like trash and blood, and the second aroma
was of course enhanced by his unfortunate circumstance. Tears rolled down
his dirty face and his whimpers got quieter. He was fading, his soul
slowly sinking deeper into the depths of darkness as he clung to the very
knife that had caused him such agony. He released the weapon and it
clattered on the ground, echoing all the way down the dark and seemingly
endless hallway. His eyes stay open, and his last breath exits his
red-stained corpse. His chest settles and his limbs stiffen. The blood
eventually dry as the rats savagely tear away at the feast left before
them by some unknown circumstance. The torn and mutilated body lay in the
alley for several days until the smell of gore brings someone to find it.
As it's taken away in the black plastic bag all that's left in its wake
is the red forever stained on the ground and the full bellies of a few
very well fed rodents.
the church and forget your friends. And take the book back to it's home.
It isn't about the worship or the praise. To achieve it you must believe
without outside influence, all alone. How is this possible in your
not all there sometimes.
are times when I look upon myself like I am a character in some novel. I
can see myself, but I don't have any control of what I say, or how I say
I am cut off, and sound stand-offish or awkward. And then there are other
times when I seem harsh and rude. These things aren't me, though.
as if my subconscious is speaking through me. As if I'm not the driver of
the puny body that I think is mine. There is another: another owner, a
more powerful controller of the me that is not actually me. And that is
selfless overseer of the me that stupidly thinks it has control.
in the end we have no control. Things happen. Not for a reason, not
because of some all-powerful, watchful creator floating up in the sky,
but just because. Things happen. And because there is no rhyme or
reason, everything that happens is important. Each event, each minor,
seemingly meaningless shard of a memory is an extreme asset to form the
make-up of each seemingly meaningless individual. So, although there are
times that I do not remember exactly what I did, or why I did it, it is
part of me. And an extremely important part of me at that. Maybe this is
why people don't know themselves very well? They just cannot seem to
the dark of night I sit
wait for you, yearn for you
after year as the memory thins
are not going to come
will never see your soft blue eyes or warm smile
I wait still
wait to see the soft shadow of your boat against the sunrise
wait to here your wonderful voice filled with excitement
is what keeps me waiting
waves of the salty sea engulf my feet as I weep for you
realize that you would have come home
I realize that you can't come home
make a decision to leave the salty waters at last
am done waiting
the next day I imagine you again
I am at the seashore once more.
years I hid from them.
glares hit me like arrows,
laughter like a bomb in my ears.
by the terror.
tried to survive, but slowly fell down Into the endless abyss.
silence tore at my clothing,
apart and alone.
by unrelenting hatred.
with them, I climbed,
higher than them, but level.
my pain would never leave their memory.
that such a word,
a ten letter word,
what we all yearn.
might be silly,
might be naive.
it means something,
to us all,
else would we all search for it?
try our best.
sit in our classrooms and offices,
we tell ourselves that we are loved,
you are a good person inside.
do we need acceptance from others?
it because we need to be seen?
it because we try need that feeling?
it because we don't accept ourselves?
got it now.
need to be accepted,
in truth we think that we aren't good.
don't think we deserve our own praise.
if we don't deserve our own praise,
should we deserve others'?
an eight letter word.
down on the earth
lazyily drag along
let the wind push them
the water drip from there edges
see all there is to see
never hearing a word
still they float, endlessly
is a hole in my body where it fits, but it's not filled.
gaping, a giant wound that if not plugged up will spill out my insides
and destroy my being.
I must fill it.
is pertinent that I quell my craving and I will do anything to do just
I cannot retrieve it.
is protected. Surrounded by a unbreakable wall that could only be opened
by a series of paper keys.
am dying and it is my only hope.
guardsman is uncaring, handing it out to only those with the key.
Laughing in the face of the ones that don't have it.
I found another key.
forced my way through with metal and a flash and then I stepped over
cherry wine as a picked up my prize.
guardsman laughed no more.
little sting as I shoved it in and filled the hole.
living again I strode away from the now red strained broken wall. Wails
continued in the background as I walked away never looking back.
The Genius I Knew
watch him as he dances around logic, never actually entering in a
Genius I know doesn't see it laughing at him.
thinks of it as a friend, but the two hardly know one another at all.
It's near identical twin is the only one he knows.
him with sweet words the twin tricks the genius into following him into
the light. It shows the genius his grandiose shadow so he thinks himself
larger than life
genius I know still doesn't see the trick.
twin dances with him still. It shows him all of the fools that surround
them and they scrutinize them together.
genius I know doesn't recognize his own reflection.
the twin showers the genius with compliments. They go out to the water
and walk on it together.
genius I know doesn't realize it is only thin ice.
the twin is done playing with the genius. I no longer know him and he
know longer knows himself. I forget about the genius I knew.
day a long long time later I am graced by the presence of a genius.
thinks himself the most mighty and powerful genius in the world. He
gloats and speaks very beautiful words to everyone and they are in awe.
As a finale he turns water into wine no longer a genius but a deity. I am
the only one that realizes it is just muddy water, corrupt with false
logic and power.
genius I knew would never know it.
An Ode to Azula
sit there in the mirror, laughing and jeering at me.
sit there, disappointed, eyes looking down in disgust.
have no control over me.
know this and so do you.
scared of me, I can see it in the mirror.
eyes are underlined with fear.
the initial hatred.
wasn't what you wanted.
was cruel and unkind, right? A terrible person who was nothing like you.
you're both gone and I'm still here.
was the winner.
ended up with the power.
turn and face the empty room behind me.
smile. I jeer.
I hate myself just like you would.
I have the power.
I keep smiling.