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TransformationMany times I have wished
I was a swallowtail butterfly
Away from unwanted "friends"
and useless lovers
And most of all
away from the memory of you.
I hoped for my own blue sky
even if it only lasted a few moments
-'cause in the end, life is short isn't it?-
what I have turned into
is an insect without wings
What is your sin?"Can you see it? What is your sin?"
That part of you.
I always hated it.
saying it's unfair
for you to be punished this way
You mean to tell me you don't realise it?
You can't feel it burning in your veins?
Can you not hear it's voice?
"Think harder and tell me. What is your sin?"
It was my fault -you say-
I tricked you into this mess.
I wish that was the case.
Then I would burn in your place..
So you intend to continue with this stupidity..
Let me tell you now
I am nothing like the creatures you created
for your peace of mind
and I refuse to be your scapegoat.
Why do you still so stubornly
refuse to face your responsibility?
"An error cannot be corrected if not realised.
Which is it?Poetry's an open door
or so you say
The Truth is always simple
that's what few of them claim
Then what's the problem with us?
Standing infront of the Door
Could it be that we are too blind
to see what is behind,
Or that we simply do not wish to do so?
Which is it?
CircusWithin a tent of red and blue
In the heart of the carnival
A funny circus hosts it shows,
They've sent invites to all.
It is a one-man lonely show
given by a wind-up clown.
The crowd there cannot see him play
But it doesn't bring him down.
He juggles with his knives all day
-That silly little clown-
For children without eyes
that can no longer laugh or frown.
He wants to please and make them laugh.
But no one's left alive.
Still he just plays and hopes and waits
for some one to arrive.
Oh, foolish clown, why can't you see?
Your efforts are in vain.
Or could it be you're so alone
you cannot bear the pain..
But I know your secret -I'm you,
you're me- my funny pierrot.
You killed them all and now
you're left here rotting all alone.
Within a tent of red and blue
The sight in so grotesque.
And insane circus host it's shows
avoiding it, is for the best..
Didn't we start from Wonderland?
See? I jumped down the Rabbit Hole
I had promised you, hadn't I?
But I still have a question..
When did we switch Fairy Tales?
Without thinking, I find myself
Following the same path
as Hansel and Gretel.
The witche's Gingerbread house
sure looks tempting!
Yet, I don't waste my time here
with the others.
I don't want to. I'm aiming too high
to do so. My goal is you.
I say that, but,
though I still follow you,
You're so ahead of me
I can't even hear your watch's ticking
And all this time, I cannot help
but feel alone, so alone.
Much like the frog in the well.
All that's left for me is to look
at that tiny piece of blue sky
And dream of the outside
And hope to someday catch you.
..even if I don't know what you look like
Yet no matter how much I wish
for this foolish dream of you.
No matter how hard I try to climb out
into the warm light.
I always end up falling.
And when the pain from falling
that is when I begin to wond
So many things on my mind.
So little time
My heart wishes to write.
My hand cannot obey my desire.
And what to write about
in the first place?
About sadness and melancholy
engraved in one's heart
as he struggles his way through life?
A deranged mind
twisting fairy tales into nightmares
having lost all contact with reality?
Should I talk about the people?
Lonely, insane, hatefull, disgusting
crawling their way aroung the city.
Or maybe a war, a product of greed
Leaving in it's wake a sorrowful nomansland.
The maimed corpses, the mad ghosts, the
cries of the innocent.
It ought to be a poem
about pitiful people
with pitiful problems
leading to great disaster.
I wish to write.
But I wouldn't know were to begin.
The inner darkness
or outer darkness
I need to write.
But what difference would it make?
And yet, I wonder.
If we give up on talking
about this mess we're in.
Who will be left mourn for
Follow the White Rabbit
Lost in Wondelrland
I want to follow you
little white rabbit,
I really do.
But, Mr. White, you scare me so
Will you leave me?
Will you hurt me?
Should I trust you?
I don't mind playing croquet with the Queen.
Tea parties with the Hatter? Sounds like fun.
I can put up with Dee & Dum's company.
But they are all mad, little rabbit.
If you leave me alone here...
..won't I go mad too?..
don't toy with me, wicked little rabbit
An answer is all that I need.
Just one word from you, my dear
And I too will jump down the Rabbit Hole
Don't look at me with those eyes.
Your games drive me insane.
But, even so, be careful white rabbit.
The clock is ticking backwards..
..and I grow bored so easily..
Ahh, my little white rabbit
I see through your deceptive ways.
All your promises are lies
And I'll be left alone in the Rose Garden..
And even though it's obvious
you are only playing with me
I'll close my eyes, Mr. White,
and like the fool I am..
..I'll follow the White Rabbit..
(Boku no S
The House of AlwaysJust beyond the wall of mist
All your dreams come true.
There it stand in all it's glory
The House of Always
Full of wonders, laughs and joy
it's everything you've ever dreamed of
All four seasons are born
and die within a day.
Nights of Halloween and Christmas.
Days of games an summer.
Everything here is so happy,
so unlike the Gray Beast of February
that you have left behind.
Caught up in the miracle
You are too blind to see..
..The food and treats
are nothing more than dust..
..The wooden walls
are eaten away by worms..
..The sound of laughter
was never there...
Nothing is ever what it seems
in this unchanging place
The House of Always
After all the toys you got.
All the food you ate.
all the games we played.
After all that I have given you.
Is it not fair
that you give something back?
Ah, don't worry now, child,
don't look at me like that.
I will not ask for much,
I am reasonable.
.. you see, my little thief..
doesn't have..a soul o
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
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