Unwanted Visitor.

My conscience came a-knocking…

My conscience came a-knocking,

And he stood there at my door.

He was checking in with me

Just like all the times before.

Last time, I gave him crumpets,

And wished he was doing well.

He sat in my living room,

Chatting with me for a  spell.

But this time would be different,

And I knew it right away.

There he was at my peep-hole,

But I had nothing to say.

The timing wasn’t good then;

I had other things to do.

“Please come back another time.

I must kindly tell you: shoo!”

But Conscience wouldn’t have it,

And he pounded on the door.

He kept calling out my name

And it made my eardrums sore.

I’d boarded up the windows,

And locked every single room.

The air was getting musty;

My house had become a tomb.

I didn’t want him in there;

I just couldn’t let him see

The way things were decaying,

And what had become of me.

At long last, the pounding ceased,

And I thought he would relent.

I sank, crying, to the floor,

All of my energy spent.

But then I heard a whisper,

Barely an audible sound:

“Please just open up the door.

What is lost can still be found.”

I’d hid lies in my closet,

And foul deeds under the rug,

But these words of his were kind,

And they gave my heart a tug.

So I opened up the door,

And I let him come inside.

I brought out some stale crumpets,

And I swallowed down my pride.

He swept out all of the dust,

And mended what had decayed.

He took up in the guest room;

He settled here and he stayed.

Walking the Tightrope.

Welcome to the circus…

I decided to join the circus

Because it seemed like it would be fun.

The people were said to be magic;

The atmosphere was a loaded gun.

“I’m running away to the circus!”

I told both my parents with a grin.

They warned me to be oh so careful,

And make it back home to them again.

I wanted to learn how to juggle,

To walk a tight-rope and breathe fire.

I was lusting for an adventure;

Of magic I would never tire.

I never expected the falling,

The bruises, and the burns on my face.

I should have known right then and there

That the circus was not a safe place.

But the Ring-master was so charming,

And the old lions gave me no fright,

So I practiced walking the tight-rope,

Despite my growing fear of the height.

Confidence was like a second skin,

That I wore every time I’d rehearse.

Though what I did was nothing special,

There were certainly acts that were worse.

Time came for the circus to open;

I held my breath along with the crowd.

The glitter of the lights was too bright,

The cacophony of noise too loud.

My friends told me I shouldn’t go on,

And I should have heard their warning bell,

But I still went out on that tight-rope,

And I fell, and I fell, and I fell.

Hungover.

He came into my life like vodka…

He came into my life like vodka—

It was all too much, too fast, too soon.

His lips tasted like a Jell-O shot,

And I ended up drunk before noon.

But now a bitter sun has risen,

And my lover could no longer stay.

It will take so much more than Advil

To make this hangover go away.

Game of Chess.

Let’s play…

We are dancing around the board;

I’m on a black square, you’ve found the white.

You say it’s fine if I hurt you—

I hope that is true because I might.

There’s a knight standing beside me,

And a bishop that beckons you still.

Perhaps we should cut this game short;

By now, we both should have had our fill.

You suggest we let this play out,

And because I don’t want it to end,

I’m willing to finish this round—

Although it’s torture, I won’t pretend.

The pieces are all out of whack;

We are playing a game we can’t win.

But we’re dancing around the board,

And I just want one last little spin.

Checkmate is mine for the taking,

But I want this sick game to go on.

You have made me feel like a Queen,

Though I’m probably only a pawn.

Perhaps you weren’t clear on the rules,

Or thought it was alright to cheat.

My strategy has been all wrong;

The force will knock us off of our feet.

This has cost us both far too much,

But somehow I do not love you less.

We should never have dared to play

Such a goddamn twisted game of chess.

Thin Air.

My mother said I look lifeless…

My mother said I look lifeless,

And I am inclined to agree.

I’ve taken an undead pallor;

You have made a ghost out of me.

The blame’s not entirely yours,

Though you certainly had a hand.

I have done this thing to myself,

Though it wasn’t the least bit planned.

I wanted to make myself scarce,

And disappear into thin air.

Any place is purgatory

As long as you are not found there.

Tiptoe.

“You will lose each other…”

“You will lose each other.”

We panic and we flail.

No, this cannot happen—

The loss would haunt us both.

Our ache is ancient;

Our story is not new.

We have loved too deeply,

And for not long enough.

So we devise a plan:

He and I will tiptoe,

And whisper “I love you”

Where no one can hear us.

We will keep still and calm,

And try our very best

Not to wound each other

With any careless words.

But we would be wounded,

And the loss would haunt,

Because for every laugh

That the two of us shared,

There would be a tear shed,

And an angry bruise formed.

We were greedy, you see—

Greedy for each other.

There was never enough…

Time, kisses, private jokes.

I swear our friends could tell;

Warning was in their eyes.

We did not know it then,

But we would destroy this.

Somewhere along the way,

The foundation rotted.

We panicked and we flailed,

And then the floor gave out.

The dust hasn’t settled;

It hangs there, suspended.

This burden is weighty,

But I bear it alone.

You once called this fate.

DOES IT FEEL LIKE FATE NOW?

We have loved too deeply,

And for not long enough.

Demonic.

Today, my sadness turned to rage…

Today, my sadness turned to rage,

And my eyes filmed over with black.

I know I’ve said some awful things,

But I don’t want to take them back.

There is no use looking for me;

You wouldn’t recognize this face.

The golden angel has fallen,

And now a demon stands in her place.

Death has now become my color;

It turns out, I wear it quite well.

I will sneak in through his window,

And drag him with me back to hell.

This demon will show no mercy,

Won’t care if he whimpers or cries.

I’m the patron saint of suffering,

The goddess of little white lies.

There is something black inside me—

Yes, I am rotten to my core.

I am sorry to disappoint you;

I am not who I was before.