Gasp

Your drowning, I'm watching you,

If I jump in, I'll drown too,

So I watched from the edge of the bank,

While you make your final mistake,

You gasp for air,

But there is no oxygen to spare,

I have started to mourn you,

As your lips turn blue,

Lungs flooding with water,

When we all had warned you,

Your life grew cold,

As you sank into the deep,

This life you sold,

Into a never ending sleep.

Behind the Mask

I used to envy your life,

All I have for you now is pity,

Your decisions cause strife,

Building lies in your decadent city,

How much pain and suffering will you cause,

Now that you are no longer hiding behind a facade,

A mask you wore with shame,

A mask you bare no more,

Though the feeling's the same,

Pain that bores until sore,

Deep,

Penetrating your foundation,

Hypocrite sleep,

With no ones' admiration,

Tell me lies,

For your sewer runs foul,

A stench at death's door dies,

Where hungry beasts growl,

Waiting to feed,

Evil that dwells,

Preying on the naive,

How your pride swells,

Repressing the actual person,

A role built fit,

Of this I am certain,

Your teeth will gnash and grit,

If you continue your ways,

This decision will haunt you for the rest of your days.

Night V.S Day

A drip of water is amplified to its full potential as it stops you, taking you away from what you were doing. Your pupils expand for a more comprehensible sight. Branches from the bushes tear the glass on the window apart. The wind along with thunder, thrash and shake the house. Rain floods the roof of the house until it crashes to the ground below. You cower under the covers, hidden in the deepest part of your bed, waiting for a reassuring calm to befall you. Your heart slams against the inside of your chest, beating in a radical fashion as blood surges through your swelling veins. The floor whines in pain as the growing footsteps close in on you. You hold your breath until your lungs explode, imagining the evil that would soon engulf your being. You are not religious, yet, you cry out to a god anyway. What is it about the bumps in the night?

A drip of water is barely noticed as you continue going about your business. Your eyes squint to see the clock on the wall. The simple branches from the bushes tap the glass on the window making whispers that are almost inaudible. Wind gently rustles the trees as the occasional rumble of thunder is known in the distance. A light drizzle floats to the ground after tenderly sprinkling the roof. You cuddle up in a blanket, awaiting a loved one to return home. Your heart effortlessly graces the inside of your chest as blood is guided through your sensitive veins. The floor alerts you with happiness as the growing footsteps draw near you. You inhale with relaxation while you imagine the smiling face of your child that would soon be in your presence. You are not religious, yet, you thank God for the joy in your life. What is it about a beautiful day?

Nothing has changed, you are still the same person; however, you always fear the night. It is the tales that drives your imagination into a frenzy? Is it the knowledge that there is something greater than you, possessing power to condemn you that allows you to favor the day time? Why do you compare the shadows of night with the lucid corners of the day? Does the lack of sight compel your other senses into panic, or does the clarity of sight wane your senses into tranquility? Do you associate the horrors of the media with your phobia of night, or are you influenced by the security that accompanies your ability to see your surroundings? Why indeed?

The night is the same as the day. They are both under control by time, people are the same inhumane animals at any time of the day or night, and they both serve a useful purpose for matters of the law. If you see a man walking in the late hours of the night, you think he is mischievous; however, if you see the same man walking during the day, you assume he is just walking for his health.

People are creatures of habit, they will continue to fear the night and hold day time with a higher authority. If you just listen to the bumps in the night and in the light noises of the day you will find that night and day are one in the same, in that they are both nothing without the meanings you give them.

An Encounter with the Devil

I was twenty-three years old when my husband died, and I was twenty-three years old when I sold my soul to the Devil. I denounced God, that fateful night, and just like my husband I never talked to Him again.

I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling, almost trying to look beyond the ceiling, into the stars, up into Heaven. I saw nothing. I cried out in pain for hours, mourning my late husband, but God wasn't listening. My eyes burned from the excessive number of tears they produced; I wiped them from my eyes. I looked up at the fictional dreamland with a vengeance, and I cursed the name of God. I meant it with every fiber of my being.

I went into the study and mutilated my Bible, ripping it into tiny pieces. The pages of the Bible violently soared in the air, as I fell to the floor screaming along with the thunder that rumbled in the distance. I sobbed, "I will give anything to feel the type of love that my husband and I once shared, to have a man who is infatuated with me, and for me to become alive again. I would give anything to feel that Spark! A passion like we once had, a burning desire to touch, embrace, and love." The air in the study grew cold, almost deathlike. It soon became brutally smoky. The clock behind me stopped ticking and a mysterious figure took shape in front of me.

I squinted my eyes and pinched myself, thinking it was a dream; it wasn't. The figure came closer to me, and with each step a foul odor began to surround my lungs. The figure held out what appeared to be a hand. He spoke, "If you take my hand, every man you consummate a relationship with will fall in love with you. In return, you will give me your soul." His charm gave me hope, and in my longing for desire I took his hand.

The next day I woke up on the floor of my study. Still feeling depressed I went into my kitchen and slit my throat with a fillet knife. There was no blood. I repeatedly stabbed and slit different parts of my body. I did not bleed and no scar graced my skin. I had no idea that I had made a deal with the Devil.

Without a soul I found it hard to die. I attempted to plunge to my death, freeze to death, blow shotgun holes into my sides, and finally I constructed a home-made guillotine out of my husband's weights and masses of kitchen knives. Once my head reattached itself, I checked my body for injuries. I sustained not one. My house looked like a crime scene, without the blood of course, and I did not look like a victim, I was beautiful. I had an unnatural glow, almost like an angelic being... (Work in progress)

Why?

I saw a woman in the dark. Her ferocity sent bone-numbing spasms up my spine. Why was she in the dark? Why was she alone? These questions tickled my brain. Why would such terse questions plague my mind? All I wanted to know is why. Was this a dream? Am I dreaming right now? Most of my dreams were nebulous and minuscule, but this was clear and extensive. I walked over to the woman, our eyes met. I was feeling misanthropic when I analyzed her dissolute ways. How could I have known of her sins? Why was this happening to me? She was immoral and beautiful, like a rose with thorns. Her eyes burned of green and her soul was despicable. I knew what I had to do. I gave an admonishment, but she drew closer to me. I was a wreck. My mind was distraught and my body was taking over control. She was abject as she took off her red dress. I loathed this. I shouted out language reviling against her wiles. She wouldn't stop. Why did I see the woman in the dark? Why can I no longer see her? I must know. Why are my hands red, and why am I surrounded by darkness? Why?

Losing

Everyday you're losing me,

Everyday you're with him,

Believing his lies,

Cutting your ties,

Everyday you're losing you,

Everyday you're with him,

Choosing to be blind,

Always looking behind,

Everyday you're losing them,

Everyday you're with him,

The family that cares,

When he is scarce.

Forgiveness

How do I count the ways,

To earn your forgiveness,

Do I wait until I'm old and gray,

Slowly fading away,

To earn your forgiveness,

To allow you to let me stay,

Do I walk a million miles,

Or until my toes bleed,

To earn your forgiveness,

To tell you what I need,

Do I climb a mountain,

Risking my life,

To earn your forgiveness,

To end all strife,

Do I attempt to convince you,

Tying you to a chair,

To earn your forgiveness,

To tell you everything to clear the air,

Do I bare my soul,

For your amusement,

To earn your forgiveness,

To agree on a settlement,

Do I have to conquer the world,

So you can see the leader in me,

To earn your forgiveness,

To reveal me for you to see,

Do I fail,

Before I win,

To earn your forgiveness,

To make up for my sin.

I am Sorry

How do I count the ways,

To prove that I am sorry,

Do I notch off pieces of my arms,

Exposing my veins,

To prove that I am sorry,

To remove all the harm,

Do I cut an artery,

Offering you a pint,

To prove that I am sorry,

To tell you that you were right,

Do I severe a nerve,

Removing a sensation,

To prove I am sorry,

To end anticipation,

Do I ruin my beauty,

Scaring my face,

To prove that I am sorry,

To do it with haste,

Do I burn my feet,

So that I can only walk on my knees,

To prove that I am sorry,

To give you my bounties,

Do I sew my lips shut,

Muffling my nagging,

To prove that I am sorry,

To discontinue bragging,

Do I slit my wrists,

Draining myself dry,

To prove I am sorry,

To show that I try,

Do I crash my car into a tree,

Driving recklessly,

To prove that I am sorry,

To love you endlessly.