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The Dancers reward His words do block the light of sense
and thrust my ears into eclipse.
The air between the two is bent
For light of sense shines on his lips.

Yet sound nor 'llumination makes
the journey from your thoughts to mine.
The air about my ear drums shakes
with vibrations not come from thine.

They all see your twisting tounge,
your outstretched fingers almost dust,
the way your yellowed eyes are hung
and assume your minds cracked with rust.

I see the light upon you priest,
I hear a beat of wings sonewhere;
Approaching as the dancer pleas
and you warn wings beat on the air.

the moon demands her one reward,
accuses me of fearing you!
I offer all I can afford
as I don't know why but......
I do.

To be by myself is to be inside myself.
To close my eyes is to walk between he gravestones of my heart.
A cemetery for time; dead and lost, and love ran cold
Like the water with which I wash my heart.
Eyes glazed with the acceptance it will never again be clean.
It has become a love stained sheet
within which the corpse of simple youth is bound ,
dragged downward by the weight of expectations, sinking to the bottom of my soul.

I stare at the gravestones of my heart,
cold slabs of cold love.
I thought all this meant something...
It just reminds of what's forgotten but forgotten it remains.
It's only a flash and it's illuminated, just a blink of an eye,
Then they're open, you're outside again,
Forgetting that life has turned the Walls of your heart to soil.

I blink-hold it.
There is a gravestone; cracks break and divide it's surface like the scars on my skin,
The markings of mistake eating at the stone-
this is my own.
The oldest there.
There lays the empty skin of a child.
A skin I shed when I became myself-
the empty, purple skin of my heart, shed when if became a tomb.
A child who was defined by her reflection in the mirror, not in admiring eyes.
This image is false, only reflecting the fragments of me it desires to see.
Truth is six feet within the walls of my heart-
with an unmarked grave, for how can I call this child 'myself'?

I stare at the gravestones of my heart.
Each one bears a name defining a period of my life
and the version of myself who lived it.
Sam- naive, needy, afraid, confused, insecure, frustrated, vain, shallow.
Luke-selfish, unfaithfull, uncaring, shallow, vain, self-obsessed.
Tom- relaxed, comfortable, mature, insecure, understanding, loving.
Del- selfish, no responsibilty, carefree, not ready for maturity and comfort.
Alex-Alex? Who will you be? Who will I be? Which traits will fill your eulogy?
These names shouldn't read like chapter titles in the forgotten testament of my heart.

I open my eyes and there yours are,
Alive with the fragments of me that you wish to see.
I wish I could offer you a blank canvas Alex,
but I know it's just another blank gravestone
As I feel a shovel measuring out the time that I'll belong to you with each spadeful of soil it throws across my heart.

I am doomed as the sun, who may never sleep,
But reach with tongues of fire and a million golden arms
for her sister stars but no one will take her hand.
Who wants to get their fingers burnt?
And so I'm doomed to lay alone, as the sun.
Just as the sun is held away from the cool, rest of night with the chains of who she is,
I find a wall of stone where others find the doorway to the day.
That is a room I cannot enter.
The sun longs to weep a cool, wet tear but her firey anger consumes them. Now she longs to rain tears of skin bubbling flame on daytime and nightime until she is fire no more.
But instead she is forced to keep her tired eye pinned open for a sentence of what feels like an eternity.
So when you look up and see her lay alone, comfort her as one day even her time will end
And I just hope our endings meet...

Howl

Dig your claws and scratch my flesh,
unearth my soul that salivates.
Force me up against the mesh,
at first it cuts but then....escape.
My soul will pour from pore like sweat-
my skin a cage left empty. Now
a wolf's hot breath is on your neck.
Attack me, hear my hunger howl.

My teeth bear down upon your skin.
Your breath is quick and hard with pain
and ecstasy. The porcelain
is stained by clouds of purple rain.
Thunderous bruises, sweet to taste.
I'm yours so hold me in your jaws.
I writhe beneath; a hissing snake,
Slipping; wet, as my soul pours
onto your skin; shining with gold
and appetite, which you smell-ripe-
all over me, tightens the hold
you have on me.

Our bodies slip and slide as one
as our desires come to feast
with bloodshot eyes and drooling gums
and excitement of feeding beast.
With skins wet with souls come undone
each opposing pole now meets
between our chests and wrestling fists;
birth and death and hate and love,
between our mouths that meet and kiss
sweet kisses full of teeth and blood.

No traces of humanity,
just shapes twisting before the night
scratch me, eat me, make me scream-
with acts so dark they consume light;
except the moon that fills my eyes,
wide with hunger, wild with lust.
With angry weight pin down your prize,
devouring her with every thrust.

The end approaches with a glimpse
of something from another world.
My lips are met with God’s sweet kiss,
or do I glimpse the underworld?
Is it the shape of Hades’ realm
that closes in around me now?
And then I fall through fading hell.
You stop-silent-and hear me
howl

Oh Tom, my Tom, I feel you, YES!
Once again upon my breast,
and in It too, you fill my heart,
that screams to you 'don't let us part!'
My greedy arms claw desperately
To bring you closer still to me.
I never thought I'd ever get
to have you here with kisses; wet.
Pull me inside your mouth and soul,
don't ever let me let you go.
I open my eyes

But yours aren't there.
Who's are these eyes in which I stare?
And then the realisation dawns-
that they'll never again be yours.

Relax my grip and turn away,
With empty hands and heart I lay.
The air feels cold inside my lungs
To know with my own noose I'm hung.
And as I swing with fallen head
Inside my windy soul; half dead,
you won't see me gasp or stare
or dance my feet upon the air,
for as the cold air fills my palms-
where you should be, an eerie calm
comes over me, and death seems sweet-
an unworthy apology...

The Tragedy of Art

Neon glowing with decay.
An ending masquerading as a beginning.
My plain and empty face, that never drew an eye,
illuminated and uglier but no one notices.
The sound of truth and souls is hidden in the music
to which I, the pendulum of their lust, swing
hypnotizing.

My Apollo

I am a tree with crooked shapebut flowers of sweetest scent
and branches heavy with mistake. Blossoms of goodintent
decorate my crippled form that casts shadowaround.
The weakness in my routes spreading furtherthrough the ground.
Young confusion made my greedy arms grow far andwide;
ugly shapes of satisfaction standing stark againstthe sky.
Black, brittle beginnings chasing pleasures fadeaway
to disappointment, swallowed by the endless grey
of sunless days that is the guilty freedom dirtydeeds
done do create. Your light ran through me alteringmy needs.
And now I grow toward you, reach toward yourgolden eye,
You raise me from the soil of self into yourgolden sky
Your warmth and glow is captured in the red ofburning leaves
you draw out from my branches; cracked with want,deadened by greed.
They're painted with the oranges and reds of fierysuns,
burning like my love foryou that will come undone.
You drew out from my bark - stiff and tight withselfish ways-
flowers of purest white; but the selfishnessremained.

Your light left.

And once again the bleak sky framed my haunting silhouette
but now you rise again and you'll make mebeautiful yet.

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