Lord Death

I remember the first time that I saw him, the man I can only explain as my constant stranger. It was on my sixteenth birthday, and although my friend Lionel was feeling ill, he insisted that we spend the day together. In his weakness, he couldn’t do much, so he merely watched me pick wildflowers and sway with the poppies in the field outside of town. I recall the freedom and contentment I always received from such leisure, and, presently, I wish these certain pastimes were still enough for me. I am grateful to this day, however, for his determination of giving me those last few hours, for that very night Lionel had died in the tub, aiming to cool his fever .

Sobbing could be heard even from the garden outside of his house the minute the doctor pronounced him dead. Inside, I mindlessly ambled in shock through the grieving crowd like a phantom in the night while glancing at all their faces. I have had acquaintance with everyone there at one point or an other. It was my first encounter, though, with the effects of death and how it bleakly dulled the light in people’s eyes. All of them, each one, had the same look, face after face.

Becoming desperate to find a sign of hope, I frantically begun seeking, more ardently than before, in the manner of everyone present. At last, my gaze fell upon a young man with dark hair that I surprisingly did not recognize, and in his glare I discerned something different, something that confounded me. His stare, while pained, was not dimmed or brimming with tears, but instead read a feeling of profound remorse. Positioned stolid in the corner, no one turned to console him. In fact, no one even seemed to notice his presence. I started to force myself closer to him, but once he realized I had my sight fixed upon him, he tersely awoke from his inner thoughts as alarm widened his eyes. Alas, before I could reach him, he was gone.

I have seen him only twice since, and, still, I have the slightest inkling of who he could be. The occurrence of my grandmother’s final rest was also the first instance I had caught sight of my mysterious stranger since Lionel’s death. He was perched outside in a nearby tree as if patiently waiting for something. I was eighteen when I beheld him last. The youngest son of the Baker family went missing after a family picnic near the river, and while everyone was searching for the small boy, I happened upon this striking man instead.

I found him bent over the stream, twiddling his pale, slender fingers in the cool water, and for the first time, I absorbed his façade. His hair was pulled messily back with strands framing his delicate face. He appeared to be about twenty, with full lips, an angular nose, and a sturdy brow. Though his body appeared lean under his sheer tunic, tucked loosely into his pants, in his stance I could tell of its firmness. As I realized the beauty embellishing his figure, to my astonishment, I began to blush.

Collecting courage, I gathered up the ends of my dress and headed apprehensively toward him, almost as if I were approaching a wild animal. My bare feet kept me silent against the mossy carpeting of the forest, which enabled me to sneak behind him after seemingly prolonged seconds. My heart fluttered as I stood over him, for he was still bent over with his long back curving elegantly, and I overheard him humming softly to himself a sorrowful tune. In sympathy, I instantly reached for him, yet upon resting my hand against his bare skin, for his shirt collar was unbuttoned and drooped over his shoulder, an immediate chill ran through me. He was ice cold to the touch.

I drew back my arm with a gasp as he abruptly stood in alarm. He stared straight at me with a bright shade of brown eyes, and with his nostrils flared I feared I had angered him. Yet, there he tensely remained with a restrained foreboding stance. I weakly stepped back, looking to the ground as I began my embarrassed apology.

“I…I shouldn’t have…”

“No.” His face softened as he spoke while extending his arm in a comforting way, but as a sadness overtook his features, he let his arm fall limply back to his side and shamefully continued with his eyes watching his shuffling feet. “Just… what I mean is… It’d be in your best interest to stay as far away from me as you can.” My uneasiness fading as my body relaxed, I advanced closer to him. The apparent grief in his claim afflicted my own heart, and I instinctively longed to ease whatever pain he was enduring. But, to my dismay, he uneasily shifted away. “I’m sorry, I have to go.” With those hushed last words he hurried off into the depths of the forest.

Now nineteen, I lay in my crumpled bed, dying of the disease I should have died from years ago. The town doctor told my parents that he had seen pneumonia this severe only once before. Almost exactly three years before. We all knew he was referring to Lionel. On this night, though in my obstructing delirium, I clearly see my beautiful stranger pacing outside of my window, the full moon silhouetting his form. Rising from my sheets, I find my way into the cool night. Yet, this time, I make no attempt at hiding my approach as I stride compellingly toward him.
Upon seeing me, he halts in his gait and throws his tormented glance at me, except tonight, his frown seems somehow deeper.

“I thought I was to stay clear of you, and here I find you sneaking about my window.” I deliberately stick my chin out as I find myself oddly irritated with him.
A dismal smirk relieves his worried features for a moment as he responds. “On the contrary, this time, I am the one who seeks you.”

“Oh, is that so. And, why is this? Hmm? Are you finally going to tell me who you are? Are you here to explain to me why you sneak around this town like a shadow?” I mumble the last part more to myself than to him, “A shadow that only I seem to notice.” Inhaling, his breath seeping in through his lips, it seems as if he is preparing to rehearse a speech that he has spoken countless times before. Crossing my arms impatiently, I raise my brow while waiting for a ridiculous explanation, but instead, he only sighs, shakes his head, and loosens his expression.

With an uncomfortable demeanor he replies, “Three years ago…your friend Lionel transferred his sickness upon you. I had been following him for some time, you see, keeping an eye on his progress. I suppose that is how I first saw you. You must understand, that in my experience, due to my…uh…profession, I don’t often encounter such levels of happiness of which I observed in your dancing.” As he scrambles for the right words, I come to believe that he chose to speak truly rather than preach his rehearsed discourse. Reflectively, he breathes out with a serene grin, “and your smile…your laugh.” Clearing his throat, his eyes meet mine in an intense gaze lasting only an instant.

Growing more bashful but swift in his speech, he speaks with his hands in his pockets and his chin back upon his chest, “I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I was fixed on the image of you… in the sunlight, uninhibited, as you were, in your graceful movements. Painted…yes, it was as if you were painted by the sunlight. With your skirt brushing against your knees…the poppies against your ankles, and your hair sweeping against your neck, I swear I’ve never seen so much color than in that moment. Even now, in memory, the brightness of the scene remains.

Nor, have I ever felt such life as I did! Just the idea of me feeling life, it was new territory; I wasn’t prepared. In fact, the feeling that grew within my chest rather astounded me and I grew fearful of it. But still, I could never have disposed of the feeling, even if I had openly desired to.” Expressing somewhat to himself, he whispers, “And, how, with a person in my position, who has known death too personally and for once…for once has seen life, could I not have spared you.”
Confusion weakens me, and I begin to feel fear creep inside me as I mumble uneasily, “What are you saying?” Becoming suddenly faint, I slowly lower myself onto a nearby bench.

Swiftly, he rushes to my side, a concerned countenance on his face. “It’s coming fast.”

“Quit mumbling to yourself and please tell me what’s going on!” I can hear the desperation in my voice.

“I don’t… I don’t know how. The best way I can possibly explain is to say that I work for… someone? No…” He pauses while glancing to the side, as if searching for an answer in the distance, “not someone as much as something. The order of things. How things go.” He groans in annoyance, but continues with a sigh, “I am…well… I regret to admit that…simply put,” He breaks as he swallows aloud and resumes with a sheepish manner, “I am Death.”

Gaping, quiet extraordinarily, I imagine, I feel my heart stir heavily, and obviously noticing my distress, he pleads, “Stay with me, alright. I need you to stay with me. To clarify, I’m not the cause of death, I only meet those who must move on and deliver them to where they are suppose to go. Your sixteenth year, when the signs of death had begun to seep upon you, was the first case, in all the years that I’ve been doing this, of which I grew angry with the ‘Order of Things’. To say this bluntly, I just refused to obtain you.”

Disbelief numbs inside me as I leap from the bench to escape the impact of his report, and I feel the sob begin in my throat as I spit out, “So, you’re here to fetch me, now?” He simply responds with a silent nod, which I retort with a feverish appeal, “You spared me once, please, can’t you do it again? I’m not ready! ”

Rising to stand even with me, he murmurs his reply, “Please, don’t beg. I can’t…It will only make this harder, and it’s already so difficult.”

“Why now, then? Huh? Why now? Couldn’t you have kept away for a just little longer? I’m nineteen! ”

Spinning toward me, so near, I can feel his breath upon me, he hurls out more firmly, apparently
frustrated with where the conversation has landed, “The Order found out. When something doesn’t go the way things should, the Order of Things will eventually find out and correct the wrong. I thought that by now, I would’ve grown apart from this weakness I have for you, which would make this much easier. But, I couldn’t keep myself away. Nevertheless, I managed it, though quite miserably, for some time. I wasn’t aware of how grueling the task would be, and I was even more upset with myself when I felt excitement bloom inside me when I was called to deliver your grandmother.”

Hastening forward, he raises his tone even more, “Can you imagine the guilt I felt! Excitement! Excitement upon the news of someone’s coming death. I quickly pushed away the feeling, however, and decided not to enter the house in efforts to keep from you, and, instead, I waited for your grandmother to come out to me. She was ready, so I knew she wouldn’t try to escape. But, it was a fruitless attempt, for I witnessed you weeping by the fountain.” He hesitated and lowered his voice, “I wanted so dearly to comfort you, but how could I, being who I am, do such a thing. It is not my place.” He finished while shaking his head.

“I don’t… I don’t follow. What would happen to me if I didn’t go with you tonight?”
Running his hands through his long hair, now fallen from the band that held it back, he quietly says, “You will die anyway and your soul will continue to wander and haunt the living. And, I will not have that of you.” His lecture becoming more forceful, he persists, “I have spared you once, and I could do it now, but death will only come again, and next time, and there will always be a next time, you will most likely die in a more sudden manner, not even giving me the chance to rescue you. So I cannot, and I will not, spare you now. I’m sorry.” Turning away, he recovers his composure.

The realization eventually succumbs me and acceptance of my fate slowly clears my previous panicked state. I grasp at all that he had said, listening to his soft voice repeating in my thoughts until something ultimately occurs to me.

Extending my arm, I grip his shoulder until he softly relocates in front of me. Placed near him, his face practically level with mine, in effort to help him recognize that, after all this time, I understand, I break the silence encumbering the somber mood with, of all things, an innocent tease, “I always imagined Death being taller.”

He bears a true, blissful grin that rests lazily upon his face; the first genuine smile I’ve seen lighten his usual dreary mood. I become secretly pleased with myself, and as he regards me with a certain enamoring air, I know that what I had suspected just moments ago is sincere. Breathing out tenderly, I barely utter, “You love me.”

Glancing away as always, he meekly responds with a discreet, “I do.”

Cupping my hands around his face, I feel warm inside although his skin is cold, and, in his hold, I am at ease. When returning his sight upon me, an inevitable sense rushes through my body. A rousing tension builds between us, only intensifying as we both lean in. Once his lips touch mine, a passion erupts between us as his arms hold me tightly against him, my own hands exploring the curve of his lower back.

We mold together like this under the starlight for a while; the moon watching us from above, and at length we pull apart. As I rest my head intimately against his chest, I whisper gently to him, “I am ready for you to take me away now, for what value would there be in life without you…my handsome prince.”

You Say You've Never Felt Jealousy

Scratching inside of your chest?

Well then, if you ever cared about this boy
And you heard what he once said of that girl,
Then you would know.

And, you'd feel it, and you'd hate it.
And, you'd hear it in his voice
And you'd close your eyes
And try to ignore it.

But you've obviously never heard,
And you obviously never cared,
So no wonder you've never felt.

Why couldn't I have known him first.
And maybe that's a little selfish,
But, just because she's always been pretty,
She has had the first hand on most.
And has hurt with her nasty little fetish.

Because she's always been petty,
Which only makes it harder for me
To get this boy to trust.

And it just seems that her trash
Is a beautiful treasure to me.

And I wish him all the love in the world
But most of all I wish it from myself.

But, maybe that's a little selfish.
It's possible that he is hurting worse than I.

I wish I could know
That he knows that
She doesn't deserve
The slightest bit of kindess
After all that she has done.

I can't believe I am banging
My head against the wall again.
But, this time it's different
He is sincere and understands
The difference between
A girl and an accessory.

I've heard the pain in his voice,
It brought tears to my eyes.
In that dingy gas station,
I'd never have know it could
become a place to hold
Such an event as bringing
Together two people.

That pain meant he had loved and lost
And I hope that he doesn't dwell
On what was and thinks of what is.
I hope that she didn't ruin
The chance that I could have
That I might have
With this beautiful boy.

She doesn't deserve
That much power over him.
And, I don't that much power
To be placed over me.

I just want to show him
What I can give.

If only I could show him
How I Feel when he's around,
And even when he's away,
He wouldn't bother me,
And maybe then he will learn
That I can be trusted.

Strange Conversation

The maroon wallpaper was peeling near the corners, and in the eyes of everyone that surrounded me there was an odd blankness. The way they ghostly drifted across the room to each other, repeating the same meaningless conversations in the same dull, monotone voices deeply sickened me. My head began to swim as I felt the lifelessness begin to numb my attention, and I had to escape.

With the smoke slithering into my mouth as I inhaled the stale air, I stumbled for a way out, any door that could lead me away. My eyesight clouded as my mind began to dissipate in effort to dispel the wave of disgust that bubbled in my chest; by the time I stopped staggering, my mind was so far gone, I barely recognized where I had ended up.

The sudden echo of my motions slapping against the walls woke me, and the sour smell of sewage brought me into the realization that I had placed myself in the restroom. Taking advantage of where I was, I sauntered my way to the urinal, yellowed and cracked with age, and unzipped my jeans. I was hardly conscious of the cold draft blowing in from a nearby cracked window until I pulled out to relieve myself. Searching, I found the fogged window, with cobwebs resting in the corners and laced upon the glass, which was so dusty, I could not see the street beyond.

Suddenly, the back of my neck began to sting as I felt eyes staring directly upon me. Clenching my jaw tightly, I attempted to shake off the feeling of melancholic disarray. Closing my eyes for but a moment, my thoughts rewound through the last few months to a moment I shall always hold securely in my mind. Every detail, every whispered breath that she took, shall never be lost.

Just in the way my hand slid up her long, delicate back as I freed her from her dress had instilled such a feeling within me that the impression left could never fade. I lived in that memory. I am still there to this day, and all that had been of me since was simply a shell of a man who’s soul lived with someone else. I wished I could go back to this image, and live before time continued and brought me to this sinister place.

Finally opening my eyes, I rose my chin, oddly surprised to see my reflection gazing straight back, the image somehow too clear for the grimy mirror to have constructed, with the striking blue eyes settled right below my creased brow and my mouth twisted in a worried glower. I looked much more tired than I recalled feeling. I slowly sunk into my reflection, my memories pulling me from my body, and began to remember once more how she had traced her gentle finger down my broad nose and cupped my cheek in her adoring hand. Her touch still stirred along my skin. Memories, haunting memories bloomed like a black rose in the vast cavities of my chest. Deeply immersed in that trance, it required a strange exchange to tear me away. I suddenly felt vulnerable as I stood in that unkempt bathroom, and the abrupt voice that arose from behind me caused me to jump, while letting out a shout, as I grasped for the wall to keep me balanced. Yet, the hidden character continued speaking, which to my great surprise and gratitude meant that she had oddly not heard my pitiful yelp. The voice was raucous and ancient as the echo of it bounced off the hard, faded plastic of the stalls, creating an ominous quality to her speech.

“What’s this I see? A glimmer of love in those eyes? How dare you be so arrogant? You are nothing more than a spot of piss in the miles of pure snow. Empty yourself of this weakness, at once!” The strange cracking voice was from a woman, and it eerily reminded me of a witch’s screech from a fairy tale that I barely remembered from childhood. Much different than the first, the responding voice was like the fragile whimpering of a child, with a pained stuttering chocked between sobs.

“I… I’m sor…sorry. I didn’t…didn’t mean to. I ju…just wanted to feel… I wanted to feel real, for once.” The sloshing sound of liquid hitting liquid and the resonance of brash gagging told me that she had begun vomiting. I believe that her hand had rushed to the wall beside her, to keep her steady as her stomach lurched forward in vicious heaving motions, for a loud banging against the side of the stall followed her meager words.

“Oh, child, stupid, stupid child.” A coarse laugh sputtered from the older woman’s throat, and I imagined that dust fanned out from her cracked lips. “You must have learned by now. You are not worthy of being real. You are but a memory. But a single passing second in his life. Yes, you are an old tee-shirt that he decided to toss away after wearing for just one… last… time.”

A startling, rustling movement followed with a breathy gasp, and looking down, I see the younger woman’s foot slide out from beneath the stall door; the older woman apparently had pushed her closer to the toilet. “Do you see what comes from you? Do you see what you create? This is all you are. This bile that now drips from your pretty lips that’s painted red just for him. Do you smell your disgust in the chunks of your lunch, now lodged in your nose?”
“Ye…Yes. Please leave me be! I understand. I am noth…noth…nothing.”
“Say it like you believe it girl!”
“I am nothing.”
“I am impatient, child, SPEAK UP!”

“I AM NOTHING!” The forcefulness of her sob echoed painfully in my skull, ringing over and over again, poisoning my mind. Her words pinned me firmly against the soiled walls, with my arms spread to each side and my breathing heavy from the fear that triggered sweat to perspire upon my forehead and to stick to my neck. My eyes not being able to rest, they involuntarily twitched from side to side as the remainder of me stood anxiously frozen, not quite knowing what else to do. Her voice was more feeble as she continued, speaking through clinched teeth.
“I am nothing. And I have every right to thank you for helping me come to my senses.”

“As right you should! Miserable creature. You must never bite from the apple. It has done no woman any good. Now stand and compose yourself.”

The young woman’s foot scratched against the filth gathered upon the bathroom tile as she sniffed in her tears and stood up. Realizing my position much too late, I spun around facing the mirror, my face against the top of the urinal and my head hung down. I had every means to rush swiftly from the room, but my legs were shaking too rapidly and my mind was too dazed. I heard heels clicking, and the slow, screeching swing of the stall door opening, and I knew the women had emerged, and most likely had their glaring eyes set fiercely upon me.

No longer being able to hide, I turned slowly around, but to my surprise, I saw only one woman standing before me. I stuttered out a single syllable of confusion as I bluntly gaped back at her. She was pale with purple rings sagged under her hazed green eyes, and her dark raven hair was sloppily pulled up. Her lips, the only vibrant color on her figure, wore a shocking blood red hue that was smeared across her cheek as well as on the top of her hand, and her clothes sagged on her bony frame.

She wavered there like a puzzled phantom, but there she soundly stood, regarding me with stark uncertainty and a faintly growing anger with her head cocked somewhat to the side. Risking movement, I leaned slightly over to glance behind her, just to make sure that there really was no other person. I wasn’t mistaken, there wasn’t anyone else. She was alone the whole time. Scuffing my shoes against the floor, I uneasily scurried away, but right before I heard the door slap behind me, I saw her frail, rigid body unnaturally bent over one of the urinals as her meager voice mumbled to herself, “My, what strange sinks these are…”

A Gothic Tale

There is no greater rejection than that of the human heart, and so Damian hid himself in the darkness of the most impersonal, dreary New York flat. Brooding, lumbering through the sickly rain, he made his retreat to the chapel in the depths of 26th street. The rain pattering on the ground reminded him of dancing in the rain as a child, of times when he was happy. Though these memories of past times only instilled another cringing fit of crippling sorrow inside his chest.

He walked through the rusted gates, swinging open with a sharply screaming screech. The walkway was hidden under chilling puddles, splashing under his black, clicking shoes. His eyes scanned around him and flashes of vividly colored memories sparked against his mind as if on an aged projection screen. A bird bath filled with clear water had invited him, as a child, to cup the cooling liquid in his smooth, innocent hands. Conversation had buzzed and flitted through the churchyard. He remembered his mother's laugh, so much like Rebecca's. Suddenly, his thoughts immediately switched over to images of her.

Oh, how her eyes gleamed when her face lit up as a chirping giggle sang out, pushed out from her beautiful breasts. She decorated her long chestnut locks with violet flowers; she always smelled of lavender and vanilla.

Lightning flashed, cracking through the sky, shocking Damian out of his fruitless dreams. The graveyard was no longer fluttered with blooming buds, but the yard was sunken with continuous rain, dark and foreboding. The forgotten headstones cracked as if in anger, born from all those vacant years in solitude.

How could such a joyful place grow into this melancholic church scene?

He could not imagine the ancient church had once held his loving parents' marriage. The crooked door creaked as he pushed through. Dust sputtered upon the air, chocking Damian, his coughs ricocheted of the heavily walls, the stones faded with time. Strangely enough he spied a candle lit in an empty corner, the light not spreading to the air, chocked by darkness too heavy for light to penetrate. Yet, the dim light provided enough clarity for Damian to observe a cross, swollen and twisted, deformed by each storm that had past resulting in the repetitive drops which fell from the caved in roof.

Not being able to tear his eyes from the gnarled cross, silence drained and pressed against his drumming ears. Time paused motionless and dead until wings fluttered between the rafters of the church. A wind whistled through the decaying walls, blowing out the burning candle. Heart pounding against his ribcage, he breathed heavily while spinning around, his soaked pea coat slapping his legs, and in the far corner near the entrance, he witnessed a flash of a figure skitting through the darkness.

"Hello? Anyone there?" his deep, rustic voice billowed in the empty church. Backing up, he placed his hand against one of the rotten pews. Leaning against it, a three inch long splinter stabbed into his palm. Screaming out in pain, Damian drew his hand to his face, attempting to see the damage. He could feel the warm blood oozing down his wrist in thick streams, and he could smell the sharp, metallic smell arising into the air from his wound.

Empty streets stretched between Damian and the large bell which rang, announcing midnight. Hearing this toll, he shook his head as if to dispel the eerie aura surrounding him. He had been hoping to rekindle, at least, some ounce of happiness or hope, but instead he only found the dead, rundown church of which he now stood inside, as if inside the stomach of a beast.

Finally, he breathed out in a gruff tone, "I need to get the hell out of here." Heading towards the door, a silky voice paused him in his step.

"I really would like to disagree." The soothed sound was a woman's voice. Turning around Damian saw that the candle was relit and standing in the light was a tall, thin woman with striking raven colored hair, cut short and tattered. Her dark hair complemented and brightened her clear, blue eyes. Her lips were naturally scarlet against her pale skin. He couldn't stop staring; she was stunningly more attractive than anyone he had ever come across before. His head became light as if it were floating above his shoulders, and his thoughts became jumbled

"Who are you?" he spat out in stutters and pauses.

"Who I am is of no importance Damian. The night has ended, and you haven't found what you destined out for." Her voice was melodic and poured into the air in a thick and sweet manner, reminding him of honey dripping through the space between them. As she spoke, her body strode towards him, her hips swaying side to side in a seductive manner. As she neared him, he could smell her intoxicating scent of sugar and sweat, and by the time she was close enough to see his own perspiring glands, he was drunk with her presence.

Immobile and entranced, he replied, "H…H…How do you, um, know, my…"

Placing her finger against his full lips, she whispered, "Shhhhh, quiet Damian. Relax. All will be well."

Her cold finger, once taken away, left his lips tingling, almost as if it was still there. He blinked and shook his head to attempt to clear his heavy mind, but each time she said his name, he seemed more in her control. As the seconds passed, he took in her delicate, angular face, and decided he'd let her do so. Perhaps she'd make him feel loved, even if temporarily, for tonight. That is what he truly desired. To find a renewed sense of this feeling.

"You are a handsome one. Dark hair falling to your smooth chin. So young. So fresh." Her fingers entwined in his hair, and then she lowered and placed her hand upon his chest. "So much pain though." As she spoke, her voice sympathetic, his heart melted and he felt strangely healed. "Your russet eyes have no need for sadness tonight." Her slight shoulders were revealed under her sleek black tank top, which was paired with jeans that hugged her legs and graced her hips. Even standing tall in her stance, she only reached his shoulders.

By then, Damian's eyes were drooping and the blood beneath his skin radiated heat, so warm that as her hands traced over his face, pulling back his hair, the iciness of her touch almost burned his skin; this sensation alone keeping him awake. Leaning forward in a kiss, she licked his neck from its base to his ear.

"Delicious. AB positive. Perfect. Damian my dear, you are going to make a most delightful meal." She breathed out as she opened her mouth, revealing two half-inch long fangs. As she pierced into his throat, his blood pooling into her mouth, his breath choked and gasped. His body slowly became limp as she held his withering shell in her arms. The spiced smell and the sweet taste of the smooth liquid sliding down her throat satisfied her so much, a shiver ran down her spine. The blood colored her cheeks as she drank it from the body of this handsome man, running it into her own veins. At the moment when Damian's life slipped through the wholes in his neck, the twisted cross fell off the mantle with and endless crash.

Standing up, she whipped the last drops from her lip, looking up to the sky she spoke with a content smirk "Finish him off." Pacing slowly, she then disappeared into the darkness, which enveloped her receding figure.

Within seconds a multitude of ravens and pitch black crows flew down and began pecking off his flesh in tiny pieces, poking at his dried eyes, eating his cold, lifeless corpse, and not one drop of blood splashed against the old, wooden floor. A shell of a man lie in the church, and if an onlooker witnessed the gruesome act, they would have found that there wasn't a single speck of blood left in that heartbroken corpse.

Damian found at least one thing before his end, his heart no longer felt the pain of his loss. Secretly, he had wanted something, anything to end it, and it just happened that what it took was for his heart to cease beating all together.

Confusion On a Spring Day

The winds are swirling
within my mind
thoughts are buzzing.
I can't find peace,
but the air is cool
and the sun is shining,
sending her rays to dance
Upon my skin, tingling.

but lust isn't the same as love
and i want lust for only
the one i love.
but not everything is perfect
and i must keep up
the strength i have acquired
to hold back the unwanted desires.

so wash me clean
pour cold water across my head
let me taste the fresh
crisp taste of this rain
that sparkles under the sky.

let my eyes feel new
as drops flow down my upturned head,
brushingclinging to my eyelashes.
my hair is dark,
hugging my shoulders
as the water runs
down my neck,
gracing down my back,
drenching me in forgiveness
covering me in simple bliss.

a slight smile,
my arms reaching for the sun,
I think of the one I truly love
and the breeze starts softly
gracing my skin
and drying the drops,
soaking them into each pore,
a part of me forever.
swirling,
the world spins
and all my thoughts
twist in the air around me,
my thoughts relax, and
as I tumble to the soft
loft of the rolling hills
and many shades of green,
I stare at the depth of blue,
whisper my truth,
and slip into the only place
I have ever really belonged.

Torn Between Two

whispers burn into the folds
of the ears hidden
under the unkempt hair
decorated with gripping
fingers, as I attempt
to rip away the thoughts
pounding against my skull.

all is well
all is just
whispers and lies
whispers and lies.

my smiles once belonged to me
but now they are lost
somewhere between my confusion
and images of the past.

all is well
all is just
whispers and lies
whispers and lies

a feeling crept upon my chest
unwanted, I tried to fight it.
now I am split and have no choice.
I have one sword
and two of whom
I have no desireto fight.

Fear of loosing
fear of rejection.
My eyelids flickering
as my breath quickens.

I attempt to straighten,
quiet the battle inside my head.

One for him
The other
for the other.

Screaming, my hands
find the nesting home
within the strands of hair
that fall before my face.
Hiding my tears.

I've never been good at hiding.
He knew all along.
I did not ask to feel exactly as I do now.
But time is all that is left
To lead me where I should.
And when he turns around,I wonder even now,
Where precisely I'll be.

I never asked for this feeling,
not fair to him
as much as the other.
I'll wear a smile.
for him.
for him.

I'll wear a smile for me.

Things are beginning.
Not ending.
With leaves under my face,
fallen upon the ground,
I crawl one reach forward.
Things are beginning.

Crackling.
I might try to stand.
But not now.
The sun is still so light
and the time is just not right.
It's too early.
But things are beginning.

Moonlight Sonata

Star Bright, Moon Light

it is the moon that intrigues me.
the soft silvery light
that sings lullabies into the night.

the moon is more forgiving
than any sunlight I've seen,
though profoundly beautiful,
and warming with it's golden colors.
I prefer the moon.

After seeing the light,
and knowing the dark
I prefer the moon.

The night is my cover.
The peace as the world falls asleep,
and leaves the world to me.

The night is my freedom.
The world is my playground,
once the sun says goodbye
until morning.

The moon with his pale light, gentle
but with powerful ways of moving the tides.
Seductive and caring.
The moon with his secrets,
I want to understand him more.

I have been the moon's lover.

Listen to me sing
as the moon fills.
Listen to my song,
much louder than the crickets.

I have touched the moon,
and forever am changed
by the impression left upon me.