It comes now,
The Living Mettles
The Quick-Silver Madness
They sing to me.
Soft Loving Voices,
They whisper violent nothings in my ears.
They de-construct the world I have built.
They re-destroy the life I dreamed.
They un-create the hope of sanity.
It comes over me,
It creeps up my legs,
It wraps its finger around my thighs
It looks deep into my eyes
And it
SCREAMS
…return to the dandelion fields
…return to the battle
… Take up your sword and March or may, combatant.
And I the ever living,
The unending fool
Return.
Return to the blood covered fields of my youth
Return to the same mistakes I always make
Return to the ending I am never content in.
Return to the dream, of being able to dream up something better.
These long hard nights,
These empty beds
These void walls
I try to cover them in colors,
Fill them in pillows,
And shorten them in pills
But, they remain…
They remain and I remain
The victim of the quickest…
quick silver…
How many ink wells must I dip in blood
How many rubies will pay the costs of this?
How many fortunes?
How many ransoms?
How many robberies?
I can’t keep living as a thief,
Of time,
Of memories, of loves, and hates, and emotions in the vast general world where people feel something outside the numb.
I am incapable of being human anymore
Covered in the madness
Covered in the Quick-Silver
Covered in the past
... I am the voice
... I am the goddess
I am the sin,
And I am the one you pray to!
ON YOUR KNEES
She charges in on her black horse
She charges on the field
The beatnik butter cups
And the dandelion savages
The raving bluebells
And the troll sunflowers
The wild tiger lilies
And the last drop of morning dew
So many petals, flying falling
There is not end.
There is no other world
There is no heavens
There Is no choice….
I can not, not chose to be the champion.
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