My skin is cold
Water runs over it,
Metallic and hot,
Like being bathed in blood
Drunk the night before.
Lavender soap smell,
Lost lady's perfume, lavender
Aid to eternal sleep.

Short Poems for a Busy Time

Look up at the Moon
Contemplate all your desires
And selfish yearnings.

This time slipped away
From your fingers, tightly grasped
Life stolen again.

Awake and asleep,
This is the house at midnight,
A student within.

Seven times seventy
The amount of forgiveness
The heart must receive.

At a Time...

Take me into your arms
I have no hope and feel
The stars are but a soulless black void
I no longer care
The rules, laws, morality disregarded
Take me to bed
Let me bask in your affections
I long for the attention
Though attention has
Brought me to tears
And tears cried, into empty void
Push not aside this wound-less bleeding heart
My desperation in depression
You strived so far before
I fall to the mercy of your desires
Exposed fully to a lover's heart
For Eternity with my own is suicide.

Death's Heart - Part One

Era Sokol looked across the subway.  She couldn't help but look away, trying not to smile.  She also couldn't help looking back.  The handsome man before her was too busy with his phone to notice her attentions. 

It would be a shame if he was texting his girlfriend, she thought.  But a man like that has to have one.

She noticed another.  She noticed lots of men.  But this one wasn't usually someone she would remember.  He was okay, average.  He saw had noticed him watching her and smiled.  It was a polite sort of smile.  Body, smile, face, clothes, he was average and easily blended in to the crowd.

Not to meet courtesy with rudeness, she smiled back, slightly awkward.  Their eye contact broke as he looked down and she looked back.  The subway stopped and to Era's disappointment her infatuation of the minute got off.

Just once I'd like for someone to stay until my stop.  For someone to be disappointed as I left before them, a chance not taken.

The next stop was hers anyways.

"Hello.  Samail Viteri, but please call me Sam.  You have such pretty eyes.  I couldn't help but notice."  This was the average, polite man.  He had dark hair and green-blue eyes.  Uninvited, he sat next to her.

"Era Sokol," she said.  "And I highly disagree.  They're just brown and hardly even that.  Now yours, their something.  It's like they haven't decided to be blue or green yet."  His eyes were different, but so diminished in his air of normality.

"Yes, but yours are different too.  I haven't seen anything like them before.  They're brown, but not brown.  More like a gold or yellow brown.  No one has yellow eyes," he said.

Era smiled and looked away. She didn't blush like some, but she always acted like she did.  "Well, it's sweet of you to say, regardless of the truth."

"Oh?  I didn't know lies could be considered sweet."

"Please.  Lies are always sweet.  They're just as bad for you as a double hot fudge sundae with cookies on top.  Too much sweetness, not enough substance,"  she told him.

He nodded, like he believed her but was still unsure, like he believed her because her argument was logical.  "I see."  There was a pause, the digestion of information.  "You're a rather pessimistic person, aren't you?"

Era looked him in the eye.  "What?  No more compliments?  No more sweet lies?"  He didn't answer, not letting her distract him.  So, she continued the conversation.  "I don't see myself that way.  I think I'm rather... realistic.  Nothing but the facts."

He smiled.  A much more amused smile this time.  He reached in his pocket.  He handed Era a ring.  It was a dark-looking silver, like the years hadn't been too kind.  The silver twisted up and separated like the branches of a tree ending in a claw-like grasp on an oval black stone.  "Here.  I'd like you to borrow this for a while.  It might improve your mood."

Era looked from him to the ring.  It was sort of pretty.  She didn't think it was her style, but it was kind of mysterious, alluring.  Era shook her head.  "I don't borrow things, especially from strangers."

"Fine, then consider it a gift.  Keep it if you like.  Please."  He held the ring out to her, his wrist twitched, repeating the offer." 

Era's hand moved toward it, but returned to her lap.  "I couldn't.  Why would you give me something like this?"

"I think you would do well with it.  Please.  Take it."

"It's not stolen, is it?"

"No."  Sam's eyes never moved from hers.  She felt that he was testing her, assessing her, but she believed him.

Era Sokol reached out and took the ring.

Doubt and Desolation

Doubt is doubt...
I faced a shock today
Not that it was any of my business
But as friends we talk.
I don't mean to judge
But I don't know what to say.

This adds to the rain cloud growing.
What is truth?
What is true?
I don't know what to believe.
I don't want to believe my own convictions.
The tears rain down.

I walk and I walked.
I said my reasons for the path,
but I can't trust them any longer.
My own mind analyzes and mocks
What I wish to truly believe.
And I want.

The Lord is my Shepherd
And I should not want
But I don't feel
And don't know if I believe
I do want
And it consumes my heart.

I've forever lived
Knowing the world as just
Knowing my life and soul
Was in the hands of others
Merciful and cruel
Never my own self

But will I always be unhappy,
Will I always suffer at their hands?
I want the warm sun
Beheld in my heart
A fire of hope
A fire of life

In this darkness
There is only the souless.


I could write thousands upon thousands of poems about the darkness of shadows, the silver of moonlight, and the entrapment of night. I could describe endlessly the pure feeling of brokenheartedness, of hatred, of pain, and of chained hearts.

But I can't find the words to make you understand. I can't relate to you in words that will speak to your analyzing mind.  I can only speak in colors and metaphors, I can only speak in my feeling experiencing way, and not in the cold hard factual meaning that you find.

Our arguments are not arguments, but debates.  We don't speak in passion, but in statistics.  And then, the numbers are never high enough, the reasons are never truly enough for you to see any wishes as reasonable.

I can only try to hold back the flood gates.  I can only try to hold back my anger, my frustration, my sorrow, and my pain.  I can not make you feel the unfairness and injustice that I feel.  I can not make you see through my eyes.  I can only pray.

I can only retreat, and fall to this authority's sword.

There is always an escape: an escape from the borders of a country, a freedom found in pills and bullets and darkness, or even a break in sanity that leads to an escape of the mind.

You say we must leave, because your health is in danger, your very life hangs in the battle.  If handed the gun, I would pull the trigger, drive in the sword. 

I ran and ran, only to return to bars.  They were everywhere I turned.  They pushed me back and pushed me farther.  You saw me run, but never saw me turn the gun towards my own temple.  You told others to check up on me, but never believed you had anything to do with it.

I still try.  I still play by the house rules, and pay my time, but hey, plenty of people get out early because of good behavior, right?  Maybe I'll get lucky.  Maybe, life will hand me my one shot to freedom.  I still try because there will be a day I won't have to try any more.


Sometimes love comes not our way
Having our regrets to lay
Apart from Heaven's wings
Down to depth dark things
Our own truths we say
Wishing life away
Laughing at our own mistake
In form of silent pact
Gave up our heartache
Here is the last act
That our hearts can ever make

Dear 黒本,

In four days, it will have been a year.

My own mind finds comfort within itself.  Are people the source of all problems?  In content shadows of apathy, I am reminded not to trust.  I am reminded that there is no one to trust.

And yet, I want to be trusted.  I want to trust.

On both roads, there is betrayal.  Paths of betrayal lead to hate.

I had a dream about a white fawn.  In attempts to show off this gift, I had to get around those who wanted to protect it.  What path leads to forgiveness?  What leads to the motivation and desire for difference?