Your Grateful Victim

With gentle hand.
Above unbroken
Cloud green gaze.
Weaved and matted. 
Fingers round hair.
Combined.
Until, so silently,
With softest smile. 
You stole
That name away. 

I Heard The Roar, I Ran

No longer will I
Look, to shores
Of distant lands.
The foaming roar
Of grey wolf waves,
Battered me back.
Screamed me down.
Faced me in defeat.
Toward this. 
The land so banal. 
Worn to fit these feet.
As they grow and harden.

No longer will I look. 
Nowhere else will
I call home.
For I have dreamed.
Tried.
And failed.
So I look to love.
Where I stand.

How Easy It Is

With my own hand.
I pinned a lie.
To such a beautiful,
Wooden door, that had
No meaning at all.
To me. Then.
Those prying eyes.
Were watched as they
Passed. With pure glee.
I smiled. My little
Less than truth
Took wing.
Grew legs.
Reproduced. In forms
So new.
My gift.
To you all.

The Hiding Place

We heal.
In darkness.
The cool,
Solid black.
Licking.
Wounds.
Inflicted.
Under the careless
Gaze.
Of the ever
Flickering
Sun.