On the Razor's Edge - 1. Poetry

No Idea

Do you know what love is?

Have you seen the moon, hanging high,
Sending rivulets of rays drifting dreamily
Toward where lovers lay?

Have you met the one,
The one who makes complete
The life that you must lead?

Now have you lost the one,
The one that made complete
The life you will not lead?

Have you cried yourself to sleep,
Knowing life is not complete,
And these rivulets of rays,
That place where lovers lay,
You'll never see again?

Then you have no idea.

11/2/04

Secret's Vengeance

I can't tell anyone,
The secret burns inside,
All I can do is lie and hide.
I can't do what I wanna do,
Or say what I wanna say,
Because, what would they do,
If they found out I'm... wait!
What am I doing? I can't tell you that!
You'll all hate me, just for liking Matt,
Or Aaron or Tanner or Bracy,
Instead of liking girls like Stacey!
But I don't care, because you're so shallow.
And later in life, all you'll have is sorrow.
And for all the hate that to me you showed,
I'll laugh when its all returned, ten-fold.

11/12/04

Shivering

I don't know what I could say
To make them all just go away.
Homophobes and empty freaks,
Idiots and computer geeks.
Just let me go, just let me run.
I wanna leave so it'll all be done.
Revulsion comes at every scorn.
Rejection pricks much worse than thorns.
Asinines who laugh and play
Don't know that some will have to pay,
For all the ignorance and straight-out hate,
That they send out, only to condensate,
On me.

12/6/04

Cutter's Dream

A cutter's dream flows through my mind,
Thousands of razor blades all in a line.
Sharp, so sharp, and cuts so neat.
The pain is here but bittersweet.
Worse pain is gone, blocked out, shoved aside
By this newer pain on my arm's underside.
The blood can flow, the skin can sting,
So long as I don't feel all these horrible things.

1/??/05

Coerced

For me there is no escape,
From this freakishly sad and strange dreamscape.
How does he torment me so?
Twisting these bonds into my soul.
I can't run away, and I can't deal,
With this love that back I'll never steal.
I'm forced to sit, forced to stay,
To stay, and sit, and dream, of late,
Of happiness not meant to be.
What was a dream is now a nightmare,
Forced on me.

1/26/05

Bloodlust

HE slinks there, shoulders
slumped. The androgynous curve of HIS
visage, so inviting. If I could just
maybe touch, just once...
HE smiles.
Perfect teeth tainted, tinted the
alluring shade of
red.
I wonder what HE tastes like.
It has to be
blood;
The life is still welling from his wrist, and the
blue
tinge is from his feral mouth.
HE is all that I am and can
ever hope to be.
HE saunters slowly, seemingly weightless, towards
myself.
I feel the warmth, the burning
fires of lust within. HIS
touch
consumes all, and is all.
I feel the prick on
my neck. All is HIS.
All his bliss.

5/6/05

Justice Done?

A red silk scarf wraps round his wrist,
tied tightly, if only to hide the fresh attempt.
Luscious lips form an irresistable "O"
over the end of the lit cigarette.
Jagged nails dig into the skin of
his arm, blocking out things
better not thought of.

His legs move of their own
volition, propelling him out to the street.
Smoke creates a lamp-lit halo
around his head.

He is the fallen angel,
whose innocence was denied,
whose caution was defied.
None of that can be rectified.
The scarf slips.
He grabs the blade; this time he'll be sure he dies.

Now the world will feel his pain,
through their consciences' endless rain,
of the blood they may as well have spilled.

Was this really justified?

5/10/05

Torn

He sits in the flowers, possessing tattered wings.
These blooms deserve his beauty not.
This angel's life is full of broken things,
as his flowers begin to rot.

He eclipsed their meager beauty anyway.

The fairy's darkened appearance upon his soul had no change.
Kohl pencil and black lipstick don't hide his light,
Though now his emotions seem to have no range,
And nothing can ever be alright...

He'll never realize his lovely self,
I only pray he doesn't bleed away his health.

This fairy with ragged wings will never know
Just how many people love him, and dearly so.

5/11/05

City of the Dead

Why do we hunger for more?
Why do we scorn the world?
What is the purpose of starving
ourselves, and killing the hunger with cigarettes?
Why do we swallow unknown drugs,
then dance on the edge of the bridge?
Why do we confuse happiness with inebriation?
Why, in the dark of night, in the solemnity of
our quiet, private rooms, do we create
thin spiderwebs of razor tracery on our wrists?
Why does the world reject us and send us away?
Why do we desperately love each other,
for the the very things that make others wary?

Why else, if not that we are already dead?

5/13/05