Meaningful Scraps Of Solitude

This is a piece of paper,

a scrap and nothing more.

This is a piece of paper,

and yet, what good is it for?

This is a pen,

ink and little more.

This is a pen,

darkness at its core.

Yet when one meets the other,

together at the door,

they walk out hand in hand,

and doubt themselves never more.

Personal Exile

I ask you for paper and you have none -

fine, I'll use my skin.

I ask you for pen and you have none -

fine, I'll use my blood.

I ask you for words and you have none -

fine, I'll use my own.

I ask you for comfort and you have none -

fine, I'll use my soul.



Forming Shadows

The shadows that are this darkness,

they do not understand.

For how can they,

being nothing but the darkness that they are?

They close in on this land, nightmares in their hand,

and your dreams fade and retreat and reshape

to become a new shadow, lost within the mottled shades of grey

from which all understanding does eventually form.

Pale Dreams

Are you listening to this?

Do you hear my quiet voice,

protruding softly through the darkness?

The pale amber light she shines forth

is but a light fog within my mind.

I do not get to rest,

there is no retreat,
no peaceful slumber or exile

within this beauty that is your night.

And yet I call upon you,

for your name has been drawn,

your number now cast.

This is my dream now,

yours ending at last.

Anxious Dreams

Where do we go from here,

this path we're on coming to a close.

It's narrow now and I can hardly miss

all the little things that I never used to notice.

How do you expect me to keep up this charade,

to pretend I can not see these things which pain my soul?

It aches and it squirms,

shying back to its own personal retreat.

Evacuation not being an option.

That'd take too long to plan.

And here I am again.

I watch you from the distance,

waiting ever so peculiarly

for me to appear from the mists.

And yet I never do.

I close my eyes tighter,

hope to dream brighter,

and move on to a new pursuit,

a new frontier or wasteland.

I no longer need your anxiety

to tell me who I am.

Images In The Dark

I see you in the dark mists,

watching me ever so silently.

You think I don't notice the way the light

bends so perfectly along side your body,

as though the darkness wraps its blanket

at your whim.

And there you are,

tonight,

again.

Your breath so quiet and rhythmical

as though it's part of the perfection

that is this moment,

this universe within my mind.

Did you see me that time?

I left the door open,

let the darkness in.

I can hear your silent steps

getting closer,

I feel your breath upon my shoulders.

I release the knife -

you're right on time.

Death is so beautiful.