Who would believe....

If she told them she was not as shinny within,
If she told them the glitter was surface wise only,
If she told them at the end they face a fall,
Who would believe?

If she told them she was scared and alone,
If she told them it was now far too late,
If she told them the hands of time showed no mercy,
Who would believe?

If she told them her fate had mislead,
If she told them the blame was misplaced,
If she told them she despised she more,
Who would believe?

If she told them the pain was there,
If she told them it was not an excuse,
If she told them her punishment was worse,
Who would believe?

If she told them how she tried,
If she told them how she feared,
If she told them how she fought,
Who would believe?

She dreamt of a happy ending,
She dreamt of that long awaited smile,
She dreamt of that final pride,
But now at the end,
Who would believe?

Shattering Dreams

She watches the chips fall off,
One, then two, then another still.
She watches the paint wash off,
A stroke, then two, then another still.
She watches the picture fade,
A scene, then two, then another still.
She watches her world crash,
A piece, then two, then another still.
And as she watches her shattering dreams,
The tears still won’t fall.

She watches the story change,
One line, then two, then another still.
She watches the faith despair,
One inch, then two, then another still.
She watches the scenery move by,
One, then two, then another still.
She watches the color fade,
One tint, then two, then another still.
And as she watches her shattering dreams,
The tears still won’t fall.

Is it pride that holds them in?
Is it fear that keeps them sealed?
Is it fate that she has come to accept?
Is it her nightmare that has now merged with reality?
Is it disbelieve and false hope that hold her still?
What is it that keeps her still heart still still;
Even as she watches her shattering dreams fall at her feet?

Things She Fears

Silence is a terrible bed mate,
But suspense is a vengeful lover,
And failure, the unrequited love.
In unison, my heart’s breaker.

The reaper is a dutiful collector,
But the movie player is like the Russian mob.
And the cause is the coy mistress.
The union holds the tag: DON’T FUCK WITH.

The numbers cut like knives,
But letters drain the blood. Slowly. Surely.
And the fallacy in her hopes is like a salty balm,
In their union, she toys with death.

She has opened Pandora's box,
Slowly but surely it is unveiled.
The world shall soon bear witness,
Of her self-doctored execution,
And they shall watch the first outpour in disappointed silence,
Not caring for the story that led up there in.

Blank Pages

Blank page sits before mi,
Like the book of judgment.
I sit here waiting for the words to appear.
I sit here waiting for the invisible ink to move across.
Writing my sins,
Dirtying the now beautiful white with black, brown and crimson.

Blank page stares back at mi,
Like the book of judgment.
What would the ink write?
What details would it leave out?
The world awaits, and I shudder in fear.
For they must turn to hate and disgust after my sins are revealed.

Blank page sits before mi,
Like the book of judgment.
Would it be enough to hold my transgressions?
Or would another blank paged stare need to be endured?
A bitter laugh bubbles up as I realize like one vain at death’s door,
I wonder more about my appearance than I do the vast sins I posses.

Blank page stares back at mi,
Like the book of judgment.
Funny isn’t it; that we are back at this?
Then I wished to have a longer leash,
But now I see that the shorter was better,
As being yanked back from a great distance hurts a lot more.

Blank pages sit before mi,
Like the book of judgment.
Don’t judge mi is what I wish to say,
I had my reasons is the explanation I have to give.
But as I stare back at the soon to be disappointed stares,
I save my breath.

Blank pages stare back at mi,
Like the book of judgment.
Soon I know it would hold my sins,
My deceit, my lies and my failures.
And though I have enough reasons to make my case before the judge,
I fear sadly, this jury is worse than he.

Deadly weapon

She hides from them in hope that he looses focus,
the things she does to get him to notice her,
she counts in his absence, not minding who is around.
A crush she calls it, but destruction I do.
She hates it.
For it reminds her of how she was and her insecurities.
She hates her.

He adores another and there is no helping it.
She is a friend, and there is no helping it.
No matter how much seduction she puts in,
Its too late.
He adores another and there is no helping it
She is a friend and there is no helping it.

No matter how much seduction she thinks she puts in,
Its too late, he adores another, she can't hurt that other.
And she does not work seduction.
Life's a bitch aint it?

So I shall remain the suicide watch,
As she is too far gone to tell.
Too bad she always wants what she cant have or cant keep.
Life is a bitch, and she is living it

Reservoir Chronicles: The Punisher

She binds herself in ropes of steel,

in mental torture that puts mi in semi-agony.

What heinous crime has she committed,

that she would choose her self-torture to be so?

We hold our breaths as the egg-shells we walk on crack,

for today might have her awoken blank.

Or sad, or depressed, or filled with self loathe.

For a crime, we cannot identify, committed.

She reinforced her conscience with the fires of hell,

and now as a back fire she burns with guilt.

On the road of pleasure, guilty pleasure,

for abstaining, guilty desire, and for doing, guilty deeds.

At what point does the balm awaken?

Little one listen,

for you seem not to know the meaning of a crime.

Though your core-conscience is like a babe's,

that innocence might be the death of you.

You strangle yourself with un-understandable guilt,

a guilt that to us is but an illusion.

Let the real punisher do his job and be, for he has no page on you,

let the punisher be and stop writing your own self-created sins at will.

Reservoir Chronicles: The Illusionist

Her eyes sparkle every time,

but the ring of self-defense still remains.

She gives the illusion of intimacy,

but a'lass, that is but a one way street.

She hides behind Jericho's walls,

reinforced with steel.

So the hologram she projects of her life,

that which you see, is not she.

Life did not deal her a fine hand,

but all thought she took it with a smile.

Yet behind the illusion of joy she presents,

the lost and lonely broken child sleeps.

Shielded behind Jericho's walls,

guarded by herself./

Rescue might come around,

but a'lass its too dark and she too scared to tell.

So as we sit and watch her fiction,

I can't help but smile in envy.

For she steps over all the black cards,

riding on with a smile at her wake.

Yet still as we sit and watch her fiction,

I'm almost scared to breathe.

For what happens when she runs out of tape,

and the Illusionist's spin reverts back to reality?

A Lover's Prayer

I do not want to be loved by you till insanity,

Because when I make a mistake,

I am treated by the insane psychopath that

Your love has made you become.

I do not want to have you sacrifice all for mi,

Because then you would demand I give you my all,

And when I cannot because I am human and selfish,

Hell comes asunder.

I do not want to be thought of by you constantly,

Because then you become controlling,

And when I try to plan a surprise for you,

I could get shot for cheating because I can't tell you where I am.

Love mi if you must love mi, But love Him more.

Sacrifice for mi when you must sacrifice, But always for Him more.

Think of mi enough to make mi smile, But have Him in your thoughts more.

For if I do the same, we would have just the right amount to make our cup full....

Sleeping Fairy

'I want to see you tomorrow'. I reread that text.
Over and Over, Over and Over....
I close my eyes. Maybe sleep will come.
I open my eyes.
Ahh, tomorrow is here. I glance at the clock.
11:30pm.
How can the tomorrow I always dread seem so far away all of a sudden? How can it be that only 3 hours have passed since I went to sleep?
I have never waited for a day for so long. My heart throbs with anticipation and fear.
I want to see him. I want to see him now.
I am scared to see him. What does he have to say? What does he want to tell mi so earnestly by that fountain. I am scared it might not be what I want to hear. But I want to see him.
There is no sense in this. Waiting? There is no reason for all that.
I get off my bed and change.
"I'll come over in 10mins" is the text I sent him.
I change faster than I have ever before and run down the stairs.
My heart racing, My mind in a fog.
What do I say when I show up? I couldn't wait? I wanted to see you now? Too cheesy?
"Hika you up?" My mother says as I get down.
"Yes, I couldn't sleep. Want to go out for a bit" I respond.
She laughs.
"Couldn't sleep? Huni its 11:50pm."
I look at her quizzically.
"You've been asleep the whole day! I was getting worried...."
Her voice trails off....now what do I say when I do see him....

Our fears....

I sit here and watch her,
Terrified to move,
Terrified to breathe.
What if she decides this is it and we are through?
What if she decides she is too weak to go through with it?

For the first time in years the sight of the blade got her heart racing.
For the first time in years, I was not sure what she was gonna do with it when she saw it.

Alone is scary.
Lonely is sad, sadness is sad,
But alone is scary.
The darkness closes in and all I can do is watch her.
I can't help her for I fear we would both be pulled in.
I can't help her for then there would be none to help us out,
None to tell our tale.

The insomnia gets worse,
And when she drops from exhaustion,
The nightmares are unbearable.
Is there anyway to stop this?
Is there any savior in sight?

I know what it is but its hard to accept.
I know its the cycle and thus inevitable.
But I still hope and wish.
Time seems to crawl when she is at this phase,
Like that never ending road that is meant to lead home.

Don't ask her why because she can't say.
Don't get mad when she can't say cause that hurts her.
For you know not how long it took her to convince herself to do whatever.
Though there is no verbally acceptable why she can come up with,
She did think it through.
But the situation is similar to humans needing to breathe to live.
Why must we need air to live?
Just because....is her why....

But she would come out of it, this I know.
For the light is here once more,
That soft warm light at the end of the road.
Though she takes a while to figure out how to get there,
It still shines through the darkness.
She still remains sane and holds on because of that warmth.

I sit here and act as the book keeper,
Detached yet attached to her we both stand alone.
the unknown is a fear that knows no bounds,
But even greater still is the fear of one's self.
The fear of being alone.
Someone help her....help her before she looses to her racing heart at its sight....