I am Possessed

I am possessed. Hauntingly, Beautifully Possessed...

Call me an angel

Call me an angel  So I may pray for acid rain.  I’ll pray for oceans   To run with blood,  Or the sun to turn to ash.  I dare say it doesn’t matter how,  Just let the great scythe come.  Let it sweep through our wasteland  And leave us with nothing but  The embers of an old…

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Home was a Meadow

Home was a meadow. It was running away, grass between my toes...

Love Child

They hung around her like flies Too young Too alone They whispered

A weed pretending to be human

I feel more at home among the trees, As though my body yearns for grass against my skin And leaves around my soul. Like a weed pretending to be human- Growing in the wrong place- Prickly, green and funny shaped And looking for something to uproot me. So I'll keep pressing flowers between these pages,…

My world is made of paper

My world is made of paper, A drop of ink for a soul, An ocean lies within my heart; Waves of words to make me whole.

Pleasantly Haunting

This place is full of ghosts. They exist in the gloomy light of Corpse-coloured candles In those dark cottage walls, Lingering with a ghoulish fondness. I find myself drawn to remain also. Perhaps these melancholy ruins offer More than fear; They invite somber reflections- Reflections of the living as well as the dead- And I…

I prefer that to whiskey and ghosts.

Does the storyteller aways have a Spirit in hand, Alone in the dark While spinning his tale? Or can it be a wish? Maybe a child? A lover? A hope? A thought? A feeling? One that isn't failure, I mean. Or maybe just a cup of tea- I prefer that to whiskey and ghosts.

The Mad Creator

The Mad Creator Mixing poetry and madness In petri dishes made of cardboard Searching for the perfect drink: Make him drunk, But not so he cannot write; Make him numb, But not so he cannot remember his dealings. Make him learn to fly, So he can learn to live like angels To play God on…

We’re picking stitches out of the floor

We're picking stitches out of the floor... Are normal people ever this bored? To the point of self-destruction In order to feel some direction? News flash: We're catching comas to Feel alive; Taking pills when we're Already addicted. Of course we feel the sting of promises Beneath our skin, We're suns just waiting to happen;…