“Life’s Pestilent Design”

Night tolled,

a quiet enrolled,

like a carpet beneath their feet.

Knights doing battle,

a malignant routine,

like a dance in the firelight.

Fright laughing blissfully,

a goddess in black silk,

like a cruel winter breath.

Plight looking down at the scene,

a girl in a green dress,

like a summer-seeking weed.

Light weeping over a fallen knight,

a boy with red in his eyes,

like a panicked deer.

And in the sweetest of whispers,

the whole world came,

undone.

 

“Falling From Symmetry”

Safe on a tightrope,

falling from a microscope.

Drowning in a pool of stars,

purchasing our pretty scars.

Writing things on the wall,

using honey and a tiny scrawl.

Forever fighting our mirrors,

slaying those ugly little flaws.

This is how we get our claws.

Like Narcissus of old,

trapped in front of a reflection bold.

Only she dislikes what she sees.

“The Candied Spider”

Falling in the black,

needles from decades past.

When life hands you venom,

you drink it with honey,

throwing up flowers and vinegar.

Devouring the red,

it goes straight to your head,

narcotics standing in your stead.

Passion and poison are one in the same,

collections of a home make,

keeping you awake.

Roses in your hair,

this fancy nightmare,

courts the craving.

And on your tombstone,

engraving.

 

A Charming Composition

Ah music!

Your vanity is unequal, your voice mismatched. Twisted metal and sculpted wood breed your chords, spawning an army of ethereal attendants. Your children serve you beyond doubt, braiding their hair together as you pull at the strands.

Ah music!

Your power is staggering, capable of reducing the clouds to tears and the faeries to madness. All pay homage to you and your gilded cup, begging for the chance to sip your sunset wine.

Ah music!

You are brilliant and bold, your branches sewn in seams of gold, dripping with green sugar and blue salt. A pool of silver laps at your ankles, trailing feelings of melancholy. Oh how it feels to be you, treasured music! Humans languish under your jeweled gaze and offer their hearts to your pale lips. Devour me! Your hands trace along a mountain’s cheekbone and the wing of a fledgling. Sketch me!

Ah music,

such brazen pride,

from a mumbling thing.

“Crooked Realm”

Under the water,

where sins go for slaughter,

it rains in reverse.

Machines spit out dreams,

stitched up at their spilling seams,

unsure about their new legs.

Wolves cry instead of howl,

constantly on the prowl,

looking for the source of their bleeding.

Fae wander the hills,

with hair as black as a raven’s quills,

struck blind by their own beauty.

A tower unmoving,

skin grooving,

collapsing in on itself.

All the kings horses and all the kings men,

weeping in a golden glen,

for they lost their king.