Feel free to ignore this post. It's for a poll I have up on deviantART (here). I didn't want to submit two new deviations (yet).

( I killed my shadow. )

( These are her ashes. )

Song quote:

"So long ago I don't remember when..
That's when they say
I lost my only friend."

-----

I think the banana spiders are stalking me. I swear. I went to unlock the door for work today, and right behind the handle, there was a huge banana spider and two spiky eggs that probably hold about seventy more banana spiders. YECH.

Surprisingly, I didn't kill them. Even more surprisingly, I actually forced myself to turn the handle and push the door open, with the spiders about three inches from my finger. God, if that's not overcoming your fear, I don't know what is. O_o;

Sooo... I finished the questions / script for my next quiz. And it's going to be the Mage quiz. But you'll never find it! MUHAHAHAHA...eek.

I'd like to sell the prints of my elementals; my only problem is that they're not going to fit on 8.5 x 11" paper like I can squeeze the rest of my pictures on. They're kind of longer vertically than any of the other pictures I drew [damn me for drawing things out of proportion]. Ah well. I'll fiddle with them tonight and see what I can come up with.

Watched a Jackie Chan special yesterday. The man is so awesome. I guess if I were going to meet any movie star / actor, he would be the one I'd like to meet. I don't usually fawn and dote over actors because of silly characters they play on a screen; but the man is a genius when it comes to choreography and stunts and martial arts... I swear, I've watched most of his Japanese films just to see the whacky situations he puts himself in.

[edit] - I've learned that if you do the simplest things on the computer fast enough, they look like magic to people who don't know what you're doing. So I've made it a point to make everything look like "magic" to my co-workers. It's fun. I'm the local magician. ^_^

-----

This disease is
self-inflicted,
gnawing at my veins.

Sweet ammonia
sorted, sifted,
branded me again.

I am wanted,
never needed;
here I'm offering

my humbled pride
for warmth, a
lullaby for suffering.

Where, my dreamer,
should we wander,
lost upon these seas?

Following the
wicked current,
windswept melodies,

and other, softer
strands of laughter,
drifting to my ears.

I'll wait, I'll bury
my beration
in these longer years.

[in the tradition of imagery-less lyrics.]

You haven't taught me anything,
but I don't really mind.
You seem to like ignoring me,
but that's not so unkind.

[How long should I wait,
how far should I stay..
I'm torturing fate,
clutching my yesterday.]

I went to see you earlier,
the shock over your face
was not what I expected.
It was wrong.. it was misplaced..

[I think I can feel..
if I really try..
I feel like I'm dying..
I'm dying inside..]

I want you to be here today.
I knew you wouldn't care.
but deep inside, I die because
I know you're never there.

[It hurts less to know..
It hurts less to believe
it's my fear of restraint,
not my heart on my sleeve.]

The little things are killing me,
they've killed me so, so well.
I'm dreaming of my heaven,
with my spirit trapped in hell.

I trust I trust the world I trust
it's falling falling down.
I move, collect the broken pieces,
dead against the ground.

Love and life and lavender,
these shards against my hand.
Somewhere, fancy lurks beyond
this bitter wand'rer's pen.

A bit of truth I found in all,
and lies always between.
Never never think of never,
wash the rivers clean.

Isn't ever, was it, when
the fae were still alive?
Does it trouble you, my chaos,
dreams you left behind?

I ate I ate a pretty plate,
a platter of your lies.
Swallowed, broken, I can hate
you now, your sallow eyes,

They sting, they torture, somewhere deep,
somewhere where I can't reach.
I wonder, wander, love to love
this malady you preach.

Stake me, shred me, hold me tender,
never let me go..
I'm lost I'm dying in this splendor,
dead beneath the flow.

In this dream of you,
a-dream, a-wash,
the sand crabs are
blue, not chalky,
small and serious
and always digging.

This shell of loneliness
echoes a false ocean,
lies about its worth,
hollowed and
dirty and dead.

I breathe the water,
drink the air,
find myself a
rock to sit upon
and stare a stare
at nothing.

Does the morning
smell like this where you are?
Do the flowers always
hum a soft melody,
fish bake slowly
in the sun dribbled pool?

Does everything always
seem so far away?

I found a truth last night
that I forgot,
before the light
shook me awake.

The dreams still
crash against a pebbled shore.
The meadow still
sings with a vibrant life,
a life it knew only
from your touch.

And here and here,
and always here,
I'm waiting.

I'll watch your reflection,
splintered mirror,
a-dream, a-wash
in this dreamless isle.

I'm not lonely..
[I'm just crying.]
I'm alright now...
[they're just tears.]

Far before these
darker ages,
dirty drugs of
yester-years,

my heart beat steady,
rhythm faltered
only from your
errant smile.

Vicious Dreamer,
hold me closer,
let me bleed
with you awhile.

Someone drowned me
in their fury,
in their bloody
disarray.

I can't feel you
watching over;
I'm watching myself
decay.

These walls of darkness
wreak confusion,
blind me with
insanity.

If ever you have
heard my whispers,
prithee, God,
remember me.

Every time I try to add something to it, it takes away from what I was trying to say. So I think, for right now, I will leave it as the shortest poem I've ever written.

Have I really been a slave
to vengeance? I am free
in this doorless, barless cage..
this violence in me.

I woke up this morning, and cried.
Just like every frosty morning.
They all mingle together,
bright beads on a watersilk necklace,
and I string them in silence.

I woke up this morning, this one
like every other reality-infested
day. Long roads wind the way
to boxed emotions, pixelated prayer,
and some fluorescent substitute for truth.

The floor was cold to bare feet,
barren dreams; it bore the
burdens of the settled twilight.
The scent of mashed potatoes,
stale and stuffed in dirty dishes
is only a memory, filtered through stark air.

Stale duties cling to me,
week-old bread crumbs collecting
in unwashed pockets. Something
about them that makes everything
a little dirtier, a little older.

I snagged at dreamless memories,
plucked a few and watched them
wilt within my fingers.
Petaled dignity and fragrant mistrust,
bartered for a false smile.

The small child, neglected behind
the wooden bars, a friendly
smattering of sun to keep her company,
hummed quietly to herself.

One day, she'll rely on the
comfort of strangers, the
gentle release, the brighter
sparks of free salvation,
challenged and snuffed in a moment's stare.

Today, though,
the dreams are
nagging, through sleepless circles
settled under my eyes.
I'm waiting, I'm waiting, I'm waiting
to be set aside.

which leads me to wonder why I keep doing it...

--


What I kept for you was tarnished hatred,
and all I learned beneath you was my shame.
I buried water-flesh to walk beside you;
My soul I tortured, once, to bear your name.

I find my gaze obstructed without reason
by seeds and wild flowers on this path.
A bright collection, you planted within me;
Long before this winter knew your wrath...

My heart collects the flowers deep inside me.
My soul implants their pollen in my mind.
I taste the nectar of a sweeter burden,
resolve myself to gorge these chains of time.

These tendrils creep beside me, neverending;
I know their tickles well against my feet.
They've followed me through path and mount and river.
Beneath the crimson waters, we would meet..

We'd sing a stifled lullaby to Chora,
and rend the garments from our tattered skin.
And deep within their haunting dark elation,
I found the passion of a lusted sin.

This winter still embraces my sad spirit.
Your anger still encompasses my head.
But somewhere far, my distant soul has drifted
to passion, warmth and wild flowers instead.

I am a corporate robot.
Fingers click methodically
a myriad of flattened
instability, stabilized
by printer cartridges.

I'm somewhere between
A and K in filing forms
and futile hopes to
build a tower to the sky
of Babel file folders.

I traded seraphim for
labels, wine for water,
a soft embrace for
a mechanized voice for
molding paper that means
more than our humanity.

My words are hollow
times-new-roman-ed strips of jargon
smashed to pixels and
pressed against another
thin sheet.

Somewhere inside, my dreams
have turned to abbacuses,
thoughts cocooned,
wishes wilted
in a corporate box.

Tell me that I'm
not alone.
I'll find a way to trust it.
Tell me I can
grasp the sky.
One day I'll waver through it.

Tell me there's no
point to cry
for history's beration.
Tell me I'm not
doomed to live
for someone's expectations.

I'm bleeding through
the orafice
a deadly Scorpion gave me.
I'm bellowing
without a voice,
and doubting he will save me.

Something sickly stirs
inside, and
leaves me without reason.
I'll die again.. They
wouldn't mind..
I'll force a breath's cessation

just to see the
other side.
I want to grasp the Dreaming.
I want to climb, with
spirit feet,
the road where mortal seeming

is inhibited from
traveling.
My fingers stretch to find it.
I'm lost within the
dreams again,
embracing winter's blanket.

Whisper to the wind.
It sings and dances,
whistles, whips and washes
through the soul.

Drink the fire's radiance.
The embers crackle,
fester, fume,
gorge on shadows in
skyless dark.

Tumble with the rivers.
Dewy drops cascade,
sink and swallow murmurs
into deathless sleep.

Finger through the earth.
It squirms and wriggles,
sifts and drifts to
sand-piles once again.

Hear the soul cry,
shout a soundless wave,
swell, flourish, and
crumble broken.

Between them all,
he falters, rises,
stumbles on his way.

I don't want to
anymore.
I can't listen,
I can't cry...

Someone's knocking
at my door,
but here I sit,
and ask myself

Why can memories
still sting?
I want to fly,
but I'll just sing

about these brittle,
yellow wings.
I can't cry
anymore.

I don't need to share my pain;
I've already gone insane.
These hollow walls I've rendered
fable clipped and spirit shorn.

Don't think you can salvage me.
I'm lost in my iniquity,
my crown a prickly ring of thorns.
The book I hold adorns

my hesitance for sanctity.
I'm baffled by ubiquity.
They're everywhere and nowhere and
around me crucified.

The moolit rays avoid me.
No oil can anoint me.
The candles flicker prettily;
I'm by their glow denied.

Oops.

You found my little secret.
Outward, I'm ashamed...
Under matte blankets, I can

Die, disturbed with darker lullabies.
Only silence touched this space before.
Now my words, sloshy ink, careen and
Tumble downward, always down...

Undermined determination; choice
Negated by some tragic, spiral
Destiny. Can you wait for
Eternity? ..I never could before.
Restless dreams, in that timeless
Slumber, where blank can abate
The tainted lips and pale complexion.
Agonizing stare reflected back.
Now maybe you can find my other
Dark, sad secret, harbored in this dirge.

[I'm famous for those, aren't I. x.x]

Time is catching up with me.
I'm pressured, twisted, and implored
to finish projects, fill up space;
someone else just won first place

and here I am, still racing on.
My cause and balance shifted when
the seconds ticked and tumbled and
my laces tied together.

I've sat on bench and pew, read pamphlets,
waited for some bell to sound;
reinsured my soul for heaven,
damned it on the rebound.

I've talked to preachers, doctors, wise
and foolish men, children, whores,
degenerates; I've lost my hope,
worked up courage and united

with a total stranger. Once
I drove a stick-shift,
pedaled faster than my brother,
raced a dog and lost with teeth-marks

in my leg. I've heard a gun,
I've fired one,
and felt the sting of
wounds on others

and myself. I've sliced my
wrists and neck with kitchen knives,
cornered bugs to tear their wings,
let them go, or set them in a web

to be devoured. Then one night
I cried for hours,
wished upon the faintest star
of hope, that I could

run away, from life and someone's
heart that beat against my
chest, inside... And
seasons later cried again,

never wanted fingers
to unwrap the warmth against
my arms.

Here I sit,
mundane and different all the same;
no one can claim
my life's been waisted...

Still, I wonder
what I've waisted,
writing on a
painted matte;

or how the seconds
here devour me.

Bound beyond a pitted wave, sordid refuge offered by the splinters of a vessel torn. Still the petal's ragged sigh moistened signs interpreted to offer drinkless drink, but the shadows suffering were weighted as I sank. I may not march to battle, but the war I fought is won. I may not feed the hungry, but my children feed your sons. I may not have a rhythm, but I'm magic all the same. I may not spark a fire, but I drown its fragile flames. The tender tiers erupted in a bright cacophony.. They stole beneath my fingers, and the storm devoured me.</font></font>

[Song Reference..
"Everything you say to me
brings me one step closer to the edge,
and I'm about to break..
I need a little room to breathe,
Cause I'm one step closer to the edge,
and I'm about to break.."]

My mouth is dry.
It tasted
bland this morning.
Wasted
all my time in
dreaming;
reality is
slipping
far away.

I could shatter,
broken;
tumble from
unspoken
memories, and
listen
to the crash of
glisten-
weary glass.
My canvas.

My sunshine, well,
she smiled.
Today she laid
awhile
'gainst my bosom.
Softer
was her hair than
many;
Splendor-shorn and
heaven-
scented.

My blanket-warmth, he
wrapped me;
held me together,
me,
that prison-palette.
Iron
bars do not a
mother make.