Poetry is one of the few things that keeps me alive. If I achieve nothing else in life, I would be proud to be known as a poet. Of course, there is a long way to go. :P

Most recent… an attempt to help someone understand a reality they’re in denial about:

Ghostwriter

If she could, she would show you her broken mirror:
a thousand empty eyes, and drips that laugh
in soulless resignation.

If you would, you could feel the cool black torture
of screaming shards that rip you all to pieces,
and she would smile sadly.

If she could, she would crush the glass that mocks her,
till only light could fill the bleeding crystals,
and she would disappear.

If you would, you could see the way your words,
on wings of fervour, beat away the whiteness;
spirit shrouding nothing.

5 JUL 06