Where are you

Is the world dead?

A Question Answered

Good Evening,
My name is Nicole and it is a pleasure to meet you all.

Revenge

I want what was taken from me
I want it back
I want every smile
Every laugh
Every moment of joy
Every peaceful eye close
I want back my innocence
I want revenge upon those who ripped out my heart
I want revenge on those who burned it in the fires of hate
I want revenge on pain
Revenge on hate
Revenge on demons
Revenge on angels
Revenge on judgment
Revenge on you
It will come.
My revenge will come on swift wings
My revenge will come for you
All of you

Goodbye

My mask is gone
My mask of forgiveness
I can no longer look with blind eyes upon your wrong.
Pain is my only gift from you
Nothing can make me turn from it anymore
Blood and tears have been the only bond between us
You gave me my mask
To hide yourself from me
I can not live with this anymore
I can not survive this anymore
My mask is gone
I have given it away
Pain is to much
Tears are to many
Blood became to heavy
I will have it no longer
I cannot bear it
I must let go
I must let you go
To live I must let you go
Goodbye
Goodbye

Lullabye

Rock-a-bye baby in the treetop.
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock.
When the bow breaks the cradle will fall.
And down will come baby, cradle and all.

Read this song carefully.


Am I the only one who finds this a beautiful but darkly messaged song?

Unknown

I do not know who wrote this, but it is beautiful:

Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.

Movie Review

Only moments ago I witnessed one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. I watched a movie called: Kissed. As I watched every scene, my love for this art grew. Many emotions flood through me. How incredible this was. What a display of love and passion. I cannot tell you what the movie was about, it is beyond words. I can only tell you how it made me feel. Passion, love, longing, desire, craving. Every emotion possible is coursing through my veins. What sacrifice, what love. It's incredible the rush that comes from knowing that there is something out there that understands and embodies what I myself feel and think. I know many will not understand what I mean or why I write this on here, but I must let it out, this feeling of incredible light and flow. This surge of indescribable passion. My heart, how beautiful this was.

Song

I heard a piece from a song today that touched me deeply. It is rather similar to a piece I wrote in my past. I cannot recall who sang this or the group name, but it goes this way:

"So long, this goodbye.
May we meet again in another life."

"Strangers passing by,
May we see clearly in a different light"


Simply beautiful.

Wishing

I wrote this at age 13:

Through my window the stars shone brightly.
Upon them I'd wish with my heart open widely.
My desires took flight on wings of chance.
Hoping beyond hope to be real at last.
As years would go by, my wishes would grow,
My heart ever open for my wanting to flow.
And then the day came I would wish no more,
For fate had finally come through my hearts open door.
My wishes were granted,
My dreams became true,
On that day, that fateful day
That I found you.

Fantasy or Reality.

How many people in the world would prefer fantasy to reality? I ask this because I am wondering if I am alone in some ways of my thinking. I love to imagine. Build and construct another world, MY world. Building far away lands, houses, situations. I can spend hours in my mind. My fantasy world is heavily dependant on movies and music. So much so that I feel sadness and pain when I find that an actor I was fond of has passed on. I hurt as if I knew them personally. My day often depends on which song I hear in the morning when I awake. I sometimes insert myself into a film I have just seen as if I were really there and that situation were really happening, or imagine myself on a stage in front of thousands playing a song with all my heart. Some would say this is a bad thing. Part of me agrees with them. Instead of going about business I should accomplish, I spend my time wondering if my world should have rolling hills or high sun-lined mountains. Should I see ocean or sit by a rushing river? Should my house parlour be on this side or that side? People that I once knew in school have moved on. Some have gotten married, some have children, some are attending school, some have moved to other places. But I have not moved on, I live in the same house I have for sixteen years. I have no children, I have never known love. I am only now starting to show an interest in school. Others cannot wait for each day, and I cannot wait for a new movie or album to come. I am surrounded with maps of imaginary lands and blueprints of houses that do not exist. I love my own world, my place of true hearts and real ideas. I feel more alive when I am there and I would give anything to make my world a reality. I live more there than I do here. Weeks go by without any real notice of the outside world, but every time I do emerge from my mind I find that life has passed me by a little more. Should I take control and have a real life, or continue the fantasy life I already have? What would you chose?

Marked Down

I was wandering through the store today and I saw a sign over a few items on a shelf that said 'Marked Down Price'. I began to think on that. I wondered to myself why those things had been marked. They had been deemed unfit to be placed among other items just like them. They had been 'Marked' because they were damaged or out of style. Perhaps they were not up to the standards of consumers on weight, appearance, usefulness. They were not to be mistaken for things that were wanted. They were marked to show the world they were not as good as others. They were not worth as much as they had once been. By no fault of their own they been seen as less worthy. I began to compare this to humans. How many times do people mark someone for not being up to par? They judge on outer surfaces instead of taking a chance on that person. Just because they are different, does that mean they are to be given a 'Marked Down Price'? Do they lose worth because they do not fit the mold? In my experience, the things in this world and in this life that seem different, that seem damaged or under consumer standards, have worked just as well as those that were cherished by everyone. My experience with people has been no different. Should any one's?

Fears

I was watching a program on television and a man with a microphone was asking passersby on the street what they were afraid of. Some said spiders, a few said snakes and others named a few more wee beasties, but most of the people said that they were afraid to die. They were afraid of death. I started to wonder: Is that why there are so many products out there to make a person look younger than they really are? Are they trying to defy death? Why can't they accept that they will age with dignity and grace? There are many religions, stories and legends that speak of death. In them death takes many forms such as an angel, a spirit horse, The Grim Reaper, or just a cold feeling that lays over them at the time of passing. There are also many different opinions on how death will come, but one thing they do have in common is this: DEATH DOES COME. No one can escape it. Kings to peasants, saints to the wicked will all meet death. No matter how far you run or how deeply you hide death will find you and no amount of cream or ointment will stop or change it. I also began to think of what I am afraid of. I am afraid of not living. Instead of wasting my time trying to save my life I would rather use my time to have a life. I want to live the way I want to with no holds barred. To live every moment and every dream to the absolute fullest. When death does come for me I want to look back on my life with no regrets and no remorse. I want to look back and smile because I will know that I lived MY way. I do not want to be haunted with ' I should have done this, I could have done this, I would have done this, if only...' I want to be happy with the knowledge that I did. I think perhaps if we all lived the lives we wanted, the way we wanted, then nothing would be left undone and no one would fear death because they would have truly lived. With all this, I wonder if death is really to be feared. I feel we should embrace it and celebrate it. We never know when death will call to us, today or tomorrow or even five minutes from now, and if that makes us treasure every moment and every person in our lives more and more in every day that we are given, then why should we fear death? Is fear and all it robs us of worth it in the end? What are you afraid of?

Longing

In times like this I feel a longing.
A pull inside of me.
A calling of another time.
I feel out of place in this day and age.
Outside of this advanced world with my wanting of days of old.
Outside of this world with my desires and beliefs.
Outside of this world with my heart, mind, spirit and soul.
Outside of this world.
My heart dances with a memory of another place.
A place from long ago.
I can not escape this wanting,
This urge to be somewhere I cannot be.
I long to have existed in another time.
A time of beauty and simplicity.
An age of mystery and superstition.
Of true love and far away fantasy.
My soul longs for these ancient days.
My spirit lives in memories of that life,
Though my mind cannot remember anything.
My desires peak and my imagination soars.
How I wish to live in those forgotten nights,
Those wished kissed days,
Where everything and anything was possible.
Perhaps my spirit is recalling a life I have left behind.
A life my soul was not ready to let go of.
Perhaps it was ripped from me by another,
Or even by my own hand.
I do not know many things,
But there is something I have no doubt of:
I live in the wrong place.
I exist in the wrong time.
I wish to return.
I wish to go home.

Life goes on

Life goes on.
All around me, life goes on.
Without me, life goes on.
Leaving me behind, life goes on.
People are growing up, life goes on.
People I once knew are getting married, life goes on.
I am forgotten, life goes on.
I can't be like them, life goes on.
No matter how hard I try, life goes on.
Why can't I find love to, life goes on.
I am left out, life goes on.
Without me, life goes on.
All around me, life goes on.
Life goes on.

Gone

Today it was gone.
The spirit.
The sounds.
The presence.
It was gone.
Things are so empty now.
Not quite right.
So much is different.
I feel so empty now.
Without it I feel so empty now.
Without her I feel so empty now.
She just walked away.
Walked away and left us behind.
She made us be without her.
Without her spirit.
Without her sounds.
Without her presence.
She is gone.
Without her things are empty now.
Without her things are not quite right.
Without her things are different.
Without her.
Without my Mother.

Heart

Heartbreak.
Heart ache.
Heart of stone.
Heart of ice.

If the heart is such a good thing then why does the most pain and suffering, the worst hurts, happen in the heart?

The Highwayman......by Alfred Noyes

The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.

He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, and a bunch of lace at his chin;
He'd a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of fine doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to his thigh!
And he rode with a jeweled twinkle--
His rapier hilt a-twinkle--
His pistol butts a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred,
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

Dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim, the ostler listened--his face was white and peaked--
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter--
The landlord's black-eyed daughter;
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say:

"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light.
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."

He stood upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement!
His face burnt like a brand
As the sweet black waves of perfume came tumbling o'er his breast,
Then he kissed its waves in the moonlight
(O sweet black waves in the moonlight!),
And he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.

He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon.
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon over the purple moor,
The redcoat troops came marching--
Marching--marching--
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

They said no word to the landlord; they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets by their side;
There was Death at every window,
And Hell at one dark window,
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

They had bound her up at attention, with many a sniggering jest!
They had tied a rifle beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her.
She heard the dead man say,
"Look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way."

She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

The tip of one finger touched it, she strove no more for the rest;
Up, she stood up at attention, with the barrel beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing, she would not strive again,
For the road lay bare in the moonlight,
Blank and bare in the moonlight,
And the blood in her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain.

Tlot tlot, tlot tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hooves, ringing clear;
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The redcoats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still.

Tlot tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment, she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight--
Her musket shattered the moonlight--
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him--with her death.

He turned, he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the casement, drenched in her own red blood!
Not till the dawn did he hear it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon, wine-red was his velvet coat
When they shot him down in the highway,
Down like a dog in the highway,
And he lay in his blood in the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.

And still on a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a gypsy's ribbon looping the purple moor,
The highwayman comes riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred,
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

Pieces

In my hands lay the pieces of my heart.
Broken, ripped, and torn.
Just pieces, old, unkempt.
They are useless.
I can not bring myself to throw them away.
I keep holding them,
Trying to fit them back together.
They don't.
The pieces are worn and weathered.
They don't fit anymore.
They are different now.
They have grown apart.
They have become their own.
I keep holding them to try and restore the damage.
To fit them back inside me where they belong.
Hoping beyond hope that it is not to late.
But time has passed, things have changed,
And in my hands the pieces remain.

Advice.

I would like to ask those who read my page a question. I have been offered by an outside friend to publish some of my writings. Should I do this? I would very much like to know your opinions.

Failure

I have failed.
I have lost again.
Why do I keep doing this?
I keep trying but why?
I know what will happen.
Why do I put myself through this?
I keep setting myself up to sink lower and lower into myself.
I hate that.
I hate this.
I hate everyone and no one.
I hate everything and nothing.
I failed again.
How can I do this?
How can I stop?
I can't, that is the problem.

Fantasy

The most beautiful place I have ever been is in the realm between dreams and reality. Not asleep and not awake. A level in the middle. A world between worlds. Where every sound I hear outside my dreams finds a way inside them. Where I can no longer tell if where I am and what I see and feel and do is real or not. This place is where anything can happen, any land can be conquered, and any love can be realized. I find myself not knowing if a memory is real or something I have dreamed. The line is blurred, the boundary crossed. I am anything and everything I wish to be. I am young and I am old. Wise and playful. Strong and weak. Nothing can stop me here, I can overcome all. This is the most beautiful place.

Young

I don't want to go grow up. I don't want to get older. I have seen what happens to people when they grow up, I am sad and afraid it will happen to me. As people grow older they find it hard to believe in what they can not see. People lose their innocence, they become harder and more cynical. They cannot see the imaginary world that they used to because it takes innocence and a pure heart to see them. When we were children we could see incredible things. A cardboard box became a tall beautiful castle. A stick became a rifle or sword in the heat of battle. A tree or bush became a fire breathing dragon guarding the princess. Now we can not see anything unless it is bought by money or on the television. Gone will be the days of complete trust and true friendship. I don't know about anyone else but I do not trust the way I did when I was a child. Trust was so easy because I had not allowed the world to make me suspicious of everyone. My friendships were true and better because we were never in competition with each other or fought over petty things. As I see people I used to know I am saddened that they have changed so much. That I have changed so much as well. I want to be young forever. Life was better and things were so much simpler but meant so much more. I want those days back. I want to be young forever.

Hero's and Villains.

Why can't the 'Bad Guys' or 'Villains' ever win?
Who decides who the 'Bad Guys' or 'Villains' are in the first place?
Sometimes hero's need to lose to stay hero's.
Sometimes hero's need to lose to stay human.
Is that why there are so few hero's left,
Because they are never allowed to fail?
Don't humans fail?
Don't humans lose?
So why can't hero's?

Liars

Liars are everywhere,
In front of me
Behind me
Beside me
In me
Through me
Everywhere.
Around every corner,
In every crevice,
Hiding in the darkest places.
Lurking inside people we love,
People we trust.
Waiting to free themselves
Waiting to destroy.
Liars are everywhere
They can not see themselves.
Am I one?

First time ever I saw your face

The first time ever I saw your face
I thought the sun rose in your eyes
And the moon and stars were the gifts you gave
To the dark and the empty skies, my love,
To the dark and the empty skies.

The first time ever I kissed your mouth
And felt your heart beat close to mine
Like the trembling heart of a captive bird
That was there at my command, my love
That was there at my command.

And the first time ever I lay with you
I felt your heart so close to mine
And I knew our joy would fill the earth
And last till the end of time my love
It would last till the end of time my love

The first time ever I saw your face, your face,
Your face, your face

Lovely Song.

Starlight

Starlight
Star bright,
First star I see tonight,
Wish I may
Wish I might
Have this wish
I wish tonight............

I wish to be taken to the sea,
My home far away.
I wish to be one with those who have gone before me.
I wish to be heard, felt, and loved.
I wish to belong.
I wish to be free.
I wish that I could wish.
I just wish.

On a Faded Violet......by Percy Bysshe Shelley

The odour from the flower is gone
Which like thy kisses breathed on me;
The colour from the flower is flown
Which glowed of thee and only thee!

A shrivelled, lifeless, vacant form,
It lies on my abandoned breast;
And mocks the heart, which yet is warm
With cold and silent rest.

I weep--my tears revive it not;
I sigh--it breathes no more on me:
Its mute and uncomplaining lot
Is such as mine should be.

Past Returns

I died a little today when that fateful sound erupted from my computer.
That sound that announces you have mail.
When I looked I saw it.
That title.
Those words I thought I would never see again.
Your words.
Your name.
You told me you missed me and you had been to weak to see things through.
My heart says 'I forgive you'.
My mind says 'Piss off'.
Which one should I listen to?
How can I survive again?
How can I let you into my heart?
How can I not?
Why can't I turn you away?
Why can I not hate you?
I died a little today because you killed me.
You killed me and I like it.

Today

Today is a gray day,
Clouds are everywhere.
The rain is coming in the distance,
It's scent comes to meet me.
I see the lightning in the sky outlining every shade,
Every wisp, giving life to the shadows below.
I see the wind moving the leaves, the grass in the field.
Rushing to catch any and all that run from the coming storm.
I feel the chill, my skin comes alive from the cool touch.
The damp in the air, the anticipation of a cleansing to come.
I hear the roar of thunder in the background.
Breathing life into each movement, giving it a purpose of it's destination.
Then It comes,
The rain comes.
The drops fall on my skin as pin pricks,
Soft and delicate, then stronger and stronger.
Running down my skin, leaving roads of liquid deep,
Roads of precious water.
The trees dance wildly to the music of the wind.
The rain swirls and dips to the rhythm of the storm.
I stand and behold this beauty, this show of nature.
I stand and watch this display of power and care.
Today was a gray day, my favorite day of all.

My Fault

Where am I?
Who am I?
What surrounds me?
This dark,
This silence,
This pain.
Have I created this place?
In this place a thought comes to me.
Has everything I have seen and done my own doing?
Have I brought this on myself?
I fear I have.
I have caused
This dark,
This silence,
This pain.
This is my fault.

Picture perfect

They say a picture is worth one thousand words. I wonder what picture they were looking at when they said that. Was it a picture of a man whose home is a box next to a dumpster in an old, dirty alley in the city? Perhaps it was a picture of a young girl with a decision to make, save a life or turn her back on it. Or maybe even a picture of a child whose parents were never coming home because of their lack of wanting a child. Why one thousand words? What would those words say? Would they be able to tell the story of how the man lost everything because of his love of an addiction more than his love of family or a job? What would they tell me of the girl who was more scared to lose her life at school than to dedicate it to an innocent? Can they tell me what a child would do to survive in this world knowing they were not wanted, always being afraid they are not wanted by anyone? If they took my picture, which picture would it be and what would it say? Would it be the picture of me sitting alone in my room with a sketch book as my closest friend? The picture of me standing on the edge fighting to find a reason not to jump? Or the picture of me screaming silently, a hollow sound in a hollow world. What would those one thousand words say about me? Do I have a choice in what they say? What would I want them to say? Would I lie and tell a story everyone wants to hear even if I must lose myself to gain their audience, or would I tell the true story that no one cares to hear even if I must spend forever alone just to be true to myself? What would I do? What would any of us do?

Past

I was sitting in my closet today and I was thinking about the past. All the things I used to do and all the things I thought were my life. I began to think of how differently I viewed things back then, how closed my mind was. I also thought about the friends I used to have. I remember the days of blood sisters, promises to be friends forever, and thinking that we all would stay together forever, no matter what. I think of now, and all the friends that I lost through time. What happened to those promises? What happened to blood sister oaths? What happened to the thoughts of staying together forever? All the friends I had back then are gone now, moved on or moved away. Despite intentions and efforts to stay in contact, we drifted away from each other. I passed a friend in the hallway a few days ago, and we barley even acknowledged each other. I have lost so much in the past years. As we grew up we grew to old for friendships of those days. When did that happen? I wonder what has happened to each of them, where have their lives taken them? What paths have they chosen? Do they think of me? Do they wonder these same things about me? Do they miss the days of friendship as I do? I watched a movie titled 'Stand by Me' yesterday and at the very end of the movie the main character posed a statement to this affect: I have never had friends like the ones I had when I was young. Does anyone? Those are not the exact words, I changed it a little for my own purpose, but the same point is there. What happened to the times of past and Are they gone forever?

Thank You

I would like to take a moment and thank all those who have taken the time to send gifts. They are all very lovely. The bracelets made of hair and the ring of stone are just beautiful. Thank You so very much for sending me such wonderful things. Yes, I do collect strange and unusual things. I have collected them myself and they have been given to me. And yes, you may send me a gift anytime you wish. If you wish to know my address again please feel free to ask, and I shall give it again. It would be a privilege for me to be thought of so highly that someone, anyone at all, would honor me with a gift. Especially as personal as these were. I wear the bracelets and the ring always. They are beautiful. Again Thank You.

Home

I went to the cliff today, and I jumped.
I looked out over the water, steely gray and cold. The depths seem to summon me, beckon me to their icy core. "Come to me" I hear the sea whisper in the wind. The sea, she calls to me, calling me to return to my home beneath the surface where tears are mixed with those of a thousand lovers who have cried to her. Where pain mixes with the icy cold of the waves and suffering vanishes into the abyss. The oceans of time are laid before me and I long to be home again, lulled to sleep by the crashing of waves against the rocky cliffs, the roar of the wind on the water. As I fall closer and closer to her waiting arms I feel the spray on my face and body. I feel the sting of the liquid ice and the comfort of her touch. Finally, as if I am being born, I crash through the barrier between these two worlds. My eyes are open, the water envelops me, deeper and deeper I sink, visions of my life playing before my eyes like a theater where I am the star. People who knew me, people who did not. "Do not mourn for me" I tell them inside myself " I am home, and I am free".
I went to the cliff today, and I jumped.

Feeling

I feel cold. I feel alone. Is that because I am truly alone or because it goes along with the Gothic Image? So many say they are alone and no one understands them and blah fucking blah. I wonder if they know what it is like to really be alone, really misunderstood. I wonder if they have ever truly felt the icy grip of loneliness on their heart, their spirit. Feel it dragging them down. Would they try so hard to make people think they are truly this way if they knew what it really felt like? Am I as fake as they are? This loneliness that I feel, is it something I can change, something I have made up, or is it something real and I am doomed to have them close to me forever? If I could change it, would I? I have become so close to these feelings of being alone, these feelings of despair, sadness, rage, self hatred that if I were given the opportunity to become happy and calm and love myself, would I take it? No, I wouldn't. These feelings are my home, my sanctuary even if they are fake, how can I leave them? I don't know anything else except that with these feelings I am home and that is where I will stay.

Mirror

What do I see when I look into the mirror?
I see a face with no light shining forth from it,
Lifeless eyes, kiss less lips, touch less cheeks.
What truly looks back at me when I look into the mirror?
Everything I wish to be.

Something Lovely

I was searching the Internet today and I came across some pictures of some of the old freak shows. There were pictures of the Wolf man, the Bearded Lady, Rubber man, Siamese twins, Worlds Smallest People. They were wonderful. My eyes filled with tears as I tried to memorize each picture. What amazing people! What beautiful heroes! Oh, how I wish to be brave as they were. If only I could go back in time to when these marvelous shows were held. I would go and see these extraordinary beings. I should think I would faint from the excitement and the honor of being so close to them. I know this may not seem very important to many people, but to those who were with me on my first page know how dear these beings are to my heart and how incredible they are to me. If only we could be as open minded as they, as accepting.Oh, how breathtaking, simply lovely.

I see

Low there do I see my father,Low there do I see my mother and my sisters and my brothers.

Low there do I see the line of my people, back to the beginning.

Low they do call to me, they bid me take my place among them in the halls of Valhalla, where the brave may live forever.

Fear of happiness

Flashes.... All I see are flashes. Flashes of light. I am surrounded by the dark, dark as pitch. When the flashes come, I always wish for the darkness to return though I hate the darkness. Anything is better than the flashes though. When the flashes of light come, the darkness is illuminated and I see what is in the dark around me. There are horrible things I see. They are ugly and grotesque and evil. Everything I see is me. They are all different versions of myself, one more horrible than the last. The darkness I see is in my heart. The flashes come from moments, very brief moments, that I feel something like happiness. When I feel those moments my guard is let down, and the eyes of my soul are opened then I see the real me, and I long for the lonely, cold darkness again. So I ask myself, do I remain in the darkness, blind to myself but forever alone, or do I face my demons, my monsters and let the light shine on?

Crimson Freedom

This crimson flower that flows in my veins. So beautiful, so warm and delicious. From my skin it flows so freely, as free as I wish my spirit could be. Freedom, the wings that the pain and blood give me. I soar above all. My freedom, my crimson freedom. The smell, it makes me close my eyes and dream of a better place, where scars are beautiful and this freedom lurks in every pair of eyes. Where everyone knows true pain and suffering,and so they give in to the ecstasy of their own crimson freedom. The flow of their life, the key to true freedom, the wings of their flight. My wings are stained with this beautiful hearts blood. Will you fly with me?

Questions

I have a few questions.....
Why are some people fortunate enough to find love, and others are not? Why are some of us doomed to walk this world alone and incomplete? Is it something we have done? Is this our punishment? Have we done an unforgivable wrong in a past life that keeps us from happiness in this one? What will it take for us to be redeemed? How can we kill this infection called loneliness, this disease of being unloved? How long will this punishment last? Forever? Until we learn some lesson? How will we know? What have we done? What is our fate now?

Rescue

Everyone wants to be rescued in some way, everyone wants to be taken away from something in their lives that haunts them, that keeps them from living the life that they want. Why do so many people want their rescuer to be me? Why do people have to look up to me? I am no kind of hero. I cannot save myself, what makes them think I can save them? I used to try to help them, but that failed. I did not help anyone. Why are all these eyes on me? I want to live the way I want, and do and feel and believe the way I want to. Does it make me a bad person to want to be left alone? To want to be myself instead of what they want me to be? I am tired of having to hide my true self because it does not agree with their lifestyle or their belief system. Why is everything I want and feel bad? If I am so bad, so evil then why do they still look to me for help? Why do they look up to me when they need me, but look down on me when they don't? If I save anyone I will save myself, not them. I do not want to be in the spotlight anymore. I don't want to be watched anymore.

I wish I may,
I wish I might,
Have this wish I wish tonight...
I wish to be left alone to be me, and accepted.

Hole

As I stare down this hole, I feel peace.
As I stare down this hole, I feel calm.
As I stare down this hole, I feel ready.
As I stare down this hole, I feel resolute.
As I stare down this hole, I feel love.
As I stare down this hole, I feel free.
As I stare down this hole, I feel life.
As I stare down this hole, I feel the trigger behind it.
What is this hole that all my hopes and dreams lie within? The barrel of a gun.

Sick

I am sick of trying
Sick of lying
Sick of crying
Sick of darkness
Sick of sadness
Sick of loneliness
Sick of fear
Sick of tears
Sick of peers
Sick of blindness
Sick of weakness
Sick of madness
Sick of hate
Sick of love
Sick of life.

Alone

I am so alone
I reach out into the darkness, no one takes my hand
I walk along this path, no one joins me
I speak into the silence, no one answers me
I look into the expanse, no one peers back
I scream, no one hears me
I touch someone, no one feels me
I throw my heart, no one catches it
I give my all, no one receives it
I see my dreams, no one makes them come true
I know fear, no one saves me
I know hate, no one loves me
I know anger, no one calms me
I am so alone

Elements

If I could be anything, I would be the wind. That way I would be with all those who will think of me after I die. When the wind moved their hair, it would be me running my fingers through it. When the wind touched their cheek, it would be me caressing them one last time. When the wind brought to them the scent of flowers, it would be me saying goodbye. I would everywhere and no where. Free, completely and forever free.

Earth, Wind, Water, Fire. If you could be one which would it be? Why?

Beauty

The world is full of cruelty, it is everywhere. But it is the beauty hidden around us that helps us to survive, IF we are willing to look for it. Beauty is in everything and everyone, we just need to look with the eyes of our hearts and souls, not the eyes of our peers or of society. We must see beauty where we believe it to be, not where we are told or taught it should be. A mother with her child, a nude portrait, or the death of a stranger, they are all different types of beauty, but they are all equal in emotion and intensity and passion. The only time beauty is tainted is when it is perceived in the wrong way. When you look at it in the wrong frame of mind or spirit, that is when it becomes wrong or strange or disgusting. There are those who say that certain things are wrong or vulgar, but it is only like that because they look at it that way. If their minds and hearts and souls were free of the images this world wants us to see, if they were free of the standard definition of beauty laid down by fools of this world, then they would see all things as beautiful. True beauty is worth looking for. True beauty is worth holding on to.

Tired

I am tired of being wrong
I am tired of being looked down upon because of what I feel, or think, or believe
I am tired of being blamed for everything
I am tired of being pushed aside because I don't 'fit' in
I am tired of being ignored because I am young
I am tired of being alone
I am tired of being surrounded with no way out
I am tired of being told what to do
I am tired of feeling like I am not good enough
I am tired of my age being looked at instead of me
I am tired of being told I am to young to be in love
I am just tired

Leave me alone

Leave me alone with your encouraging words.
Leave me alone with your expectations, your parental guidance.
Leave me alone with your need of a role model.
Leave me alone with your words of criticism, rebuke, and gossip.
Leave me alone with your future plans.
Leave me alone with your ideas of right and wrong.
Leave me alone with your thoughts on belief, happiness and fulfillment.
Leave me alone with your praise of others.
Leave me alone with your ability to bring guilt and remorse.
Leave me alone with your words of shame and fear.
Leave me alone with should have, could have, would have.
Leave me alone with what I should be doing, how I should be spending my life.
Leave me alone with your feelings.
Leave me alone.

Searching

I find it beautiful that all of us, no matter how different we are from each other, we all are looking for something. We are all bound together by the fact that we are searching for something to hold on to, to believe in, to bring us back to life. We are different in appearance, beliefs, thoughts, feelings, looks, backgrounds, but we come together for a common need. We are all reaching into the darkness for something to take our hand and fill whatever emptiness we may have inside of us. We may all be looking for different things, but our search is the same. Something as little as this need brings the corners of the world together, unites us through a bond that will never be broken. How beautiful to think that someone shares my desperate need to find something to make me feel alive, complete, whole, to even just feel at all. We are in this together.

Tomorrow

If I died tomorrow, who would know?
Who would care?
Who would rescue me if I called for them?
Who would hear me?
Who would try to stop me from leaving this world if they knew beforehand?
Who would come to my funeral and cry and say "If only...."?
Who would be strong enough or courageous enough to show me these "If only's" before I die? Who would come and show me a better life?
Who would show me the love I have always wanted?
Who would come and take me away from here?
Who will come and save me from tomorrow?
If I died tomorrow, who would know?

Come to me

Come to me tonight.
Come to me in the light of the moon, silent and confident.
Come to me through my window, the door to my world.
Come to me as a lover, a bringer of peace.
Come to me in the dark and touch my body, my mind, my heart.
Come to me and touch me like a shadow, icy, soft and beautiful.
Come to me as my rescuer, my hero, my protector from the world.
Come to me and whisper hope into my ear.
Come to me and bring me back from the dead.
Come to me and show me love worth fighting for, worth killing for, worth dying for.
Come to me and show me sacrifice.
Come to me and show me your true self, and reveal to me mine.
Come to me and be my life forever.

One more step

I must not give in
I must keep going
One more step

I must not give up
I must keep going
One more step

I must survive this life
I must keep going
One more step

I must look for the sun
I must keep going
One more step

I must make it through this nightmare
I must keep going
One more step

I must live this pain
I must keep going
One more step

I must know this isolation
I must keep going
One more step

I must carry on
I must keep going
One more step

I must remember this fight
I must keep going
One more step

You

In the day I think of you
In the night I dream of you
In the silence I hear you
In the pain I feel you
In the blood I taste you
In the heart I am you

Anger

Anger
Ripping through my heart
Shredding my self control
Killing my love
Wounding my hope
Tearing up my sanity
Driving away my calm
Taking away my progress
Sinking my dreams
Becoming my everything
Taking the place of all I hold dear
The only thing that is constant and close
Anger

Ashamed

I asked myself today why I am ashamed of myself. When did I start to think of myself as not being good enough or not up to par? I look around me and I see so many who will not meet my eyes because they feel ashamed of themselves like I do. Why is this? Why do we feel this way? I do not want be ashamed of who I am and what I want or what I feel and think and believe. This is me, when did that become something bad? When did it become such a bad thing to be me? Just because someone does not like who I am or the things that I choose or the style of clothes that I wear, that does not make me lower than anyone else. It does not make me a bad person. I am not beneath anyone. I am not inferior. I am me, and that is okay. I AM dark and I am weird and I am strange and unusual and eccentric, and that is okay. You can call me whatever you like, I do not care anymore. I will not be ashamed to be myself. I will not cower away in the corner because I do not fit in. I will embrace every weirdness, every peculiarity about myself. I will shout it from the roof tops " I am me and I am okay with that". This is who I really am , if people do not like that then they can cross the street, or look the other way, but no longer will I punish myself for being different. I am not ashamed. I am me and that is beautiful.

Sweet Dreams

We lie here together, side by side, staring at each other between the flashes of our lives. Our hearts blood running from our veins and joining together on the bathroom floor. Just as our blood becomes one here so our souls will be one on the other side. We are the last thing each other sees before the dim and dark take our sight from us. Together we sleep, together we die and together we fly to a place where there is no pain, no hurt, sadness, anger, or sorrow. A place where there is no you, there is no me, there is only us. A place where forever actually exists, hearts are whole, love is complete and anything is possible. Peace is everywhere. We are one and the same, we can never be parted. So we will take these razors and commit ourselves to each other for always and forever. We will sleep here together and wake in that beautiful place. Sweet dreams my love, sweet dreams.

Death

Death the silent lover, the carrier of souls.
Death the answer to my problems, the hero of my hurt.
Death the last great adventure, the last conquest.
Death the icy black, the inky lovely.
Death the hollow eyes, the evil grin.
Death the breaker of wills, the destroyer of futures.
Death the uninvited, the unwanted.
Death the lover of razors, the collector of blood.
Death the loser, the winner.
Death the fear giver, the comforter.
Death the beautiful, the dead.

Die

For faker, I hope you like this my friend.

I think about your soft skin and I die.
I think about your sweet kiss and I die.
I think about your light touch and I die.
I think about your eyes staring into mine and I die.
I think about your heart in my hands and I die.
I think about me saying I love you and I die.
I think about you saying you love me and I live.

Delusional

Delusional to believe that there are people who can think for themselves.
Delusional to believe that those who go against the grain have a chance.
Delusional to believe that we can do anything besides just following.
Delusional to believe that we can break free.
Delusional to believe that we can lead.
Delusional to believe that we are different.
Delusional to believe that we matter.
Delusional to believe that we care.
Delusional to believe that we will be heard.
Delusional to believe we will survive.

If believing in these things makes me delusional, so be it.

I do believe that we can think for ourselves.
I do believe that we can go against the grain and have a chance.
I do believe that we can do anything besides just following.
I do believe that we will break free.
I do believe that we can lead.
I do believe that we are different.
I do believe that we matter.
I do believe that we care.
I do believe that we will be heard.
I do believe that we will survive.
I believe we will rise above 'them'. Do you?

Remember Me

Remember me when I am gone.
Remember me when the wind blows.
Remember me when the rain falls.
Remember me when the sun shines.
Remember me in the thunder.
Remember me in the lightning.
Remember me in the pain.
Remember me in the joy.
Remember me in the silence.
Remember me in the dark.
Remember me when you are alone.
Remember me and I will be with you, Always and Forever.

Walk with me

Take my hand and walk with me
Through the forests of demons,
Through the mountains of shadows,
Through the valleys of death.

Take my hand and walk with me
Past the boundaries of our bodies,
Past the limits of our minds,
Past the constrictions of time.

Take my hand and runaway with me
From this place of painted faces,
This place of fake smiles,
This place of dead eyes.

Take my hand and runaway with me
From this place of prison,
This place of of chains,
This place of unbelief.

Take my hand and runaway with me
From this place of pain,
This place of guilt,
This place of pointing fingers.

Take my hand and walk with me
Away from this life.

When I see your face.

When I see your face my heart melts. The splinters of ice my failures have hurled at me shatter into millions of pieces, each one reflecting your eyes, your lips, your life. When I see your face the darkness from my eyes is lifted and I can see the light of love shining from your heart. When I see your face all my confusion is chased away, leaving understanding and peace within myself. When I see your face I see the eyes of unconditional passion staring back at me. When I see your face I know what it is to be complete. When I see your face my heart, mind, body and soul become yours. When I see your face I am open, exposed, vulnerable and free.

What Is love?

What is love?

Love is jealousy
Love is passion
Love is pain
Love is wonder
Love is dark
Love is blood
Love is tears
Love is deadly
Love is blind
Love is mute
Love is cheap
Love is priceless
What is love?.........................Unattainable

Roller Coaster

Up, down, all around it speeds me on.
To the night sky, to the frozen ground it speeds me on.
It thrills me, frightens me, soothes me and speeds me on.
It leaves me, loves me, hates me and speeds me on.
One thing to make me feel all, one thing to drain me dry and speeds me on.
I wonder where I will end up, end in, end out and it speeds me on.
I want it to stop, slow down, ease up but still it speeds me on.
Every high, low, and in between it speeds me on.
This ride of rides speeds me on.
This emotional roller coaster.

Time

The beyond lies before me.
My journey through forever has begun.
What lies beyond the beyond?
The world I long for, the life I desire.
My mind tells me "You will never make it, you will never succeed".
My heart tells me " Go on, just one more step".
Will I ever reach that place?
Death tells me "No".
But I must continue.
I must go on and make my footprints in the sands of time.
I must make it to the land of tomorrow.
I cannot give up.
I must go on and escape this life, this place, this hell, this shell.
So, I will carry on.
I will take one more step, and one more step, another, another.
I will continue.
I will not give in.
I am coming, my tomorrow.
I am coming, my time.

When we two parted......by Lord Byron

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half-broken hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this:

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow-
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in it's shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me-
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:-
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met-
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.