In the lost heaven where the unborn offspring hid,
you laid there with drops of your clear salty liquid 
washing away the irritants I have caused you.
Life had fled from your eyes. 
Don't despair, my insanity will soon kill you. 
Arise now fool! Save the virtue that's left. 
Malignity is coming for you. 
Like animals they are, ready for soul destroying hatred. 
And as if it weren't enough my love for you has not been altered. 


I see it now.
Your soul departs from you,
the way rough wind takes a pedal from a rose.
And such a heavy sorrow your soul carries. 
Now the visions of you in my eyes are blurry
from all the tears and kisses that I have given you. 

Little Red Ridinghood

Little girls, this seems to say, 

Never stop upon your way, 

Never trust a stranger-friend; 

No one knows how it will end. 

As you’re pretty so be wise; 

Wolves may lurk in every guise. 

Handsome they may be, and kind, Gay, and charming — 

nevermind! 

Now, as then, ‘tis simple truth — 

Sweetest tongue has sharpest tooth!

-Charles Perrault

Perfume

"He still had enough perfume left to enslave the whole world if he so chose. He could walk to Versailles and have the king kiss his feet. He could write the pope a perfumed letter and reveal himself as the new Messiah. He could do all this, and more, if he wanted to. He possessed a power stronger than the power of money, or terror, or death - the invincible power to command the love of man kind. There was only one thing the perfume could not do. It could not turn him into a person who could love and be loved like everyone else. So, to hell with it he thought. To hell with the world. With the perfume. With himself."


- Perfume: The Story of a Murderer 

The spark of life has blown her away.
Live because she was born to live. 
Exist because she was created to exist. 
Death come slowly, take your time. 
Waiting here with stiff skin and broken hair. 
Energy patterns like multicolored lights.
Last night's dream of a dead puppy,
blood oozing from its neck. 
The path of needles or the path of pins?
She felt its death so vivid there within her palms.
Paranoia with relaxation,
hatred with love. 
Wielding inertia. Civilized to savagery.   
Questions preferred without answers. 
A moment's thought.
That is gone,
vanished. 
Forgotten. Remembered. Forgotten.
Subconscious effect of awakening. 

Solitude

A remote chill woke him

surrounded by an obscure atmosphere,

bewildered by an inner fear.

He felt himself in a dream

between sleep and awake;

where his horrors and his fears

combine into one greater sphere. 

He stood against the dreary passage

that called to him in a profound undertone.

Through his skin crept a glorious devastation

a persistent suffocation.

Seeking amity he took the long obscure path

that seemed to devour him. 

Frightened by the mere echo of his cries

wishing to find himself in this puzzling maze,

he searched in vain. 

A restless fear that grew louder by the minute

brought him to his knees. 

Within the vast obscurity of his solitude 

he yearned, aspired companionship. 

Just as he felt the solid grip of madness

and the final overthrow of helplessness;

a harmony enveloped him. 

He sighed away a revelation of truth, 

a comprehension of reality. 

He accepted his fate and peace

as the sole and final end of his existence. 

And the obscure atmosphere 

that once shook him, 

welcomed him back home.  

Alone

From childhood's hour I have not been As others were; I have not seen As others saw; I could not bring My passions from a common spring. From the same source I have not taken My sorrow; I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone; And all I loved, I loved alone. Then- in my childhood, in the dawn Of a most stormy life was drawn From every depth of good and ill The mystery which binds me still: From the torrent, or the fountain, From the red cliff of the mountain, From the sun that round me rolled In its autumn tint of gold, From the lightning in the sky As it passed me flying by, From the thunder and the storm, And the cloud that took the form (When the rest of Heaven was blue) Of a demon in my view.  - Edgar Allan Poe

I Am Painted

The color is thick and obscure

showered by this imperfection.

It penetrates through my skin,

it dwells within myself. 

It's unnatural, it's disease!

My defenses are restrained. 

This infestation glorifies

upon my being.

It punctures and humiliates,

I am painted. 

I purge in this rotten mixture

I gasp for breath, 

a short moment of release

but I drown further below

condemning me for ever trying. 

It slowly takes every vital breath.

When every moment seems like eternity

and I am left a stranger,

no longer myself

I am painted.

Gypsy

With the white light of the moon

and the warm sands upon my face

I remember you

I remember the essence of your presence

the chilling of your stare

the light darkness of your skin

true child of ancient deserts

Green jewels in your eyes

dark shadows under them

Garments flowing in the distant winds

this is how I remember you

like the sun

like the desert 

and the wind

like my heart

like my love

Quote:

"We are the music makers and we are the dreamers of dreams."


 - Willy Wonka

Poge

There is so much oxygen in the Earth
and I could only take one breath.
There are a million miles ahead of me
and I can only take one step.
There's an atmosphere if air
but only one wind passes through me.
There are million trillion gallons of water
but only one drop falls through me.
There are thousands to say
but only one word will come from me...

...and somehow... it's enough.