Lost lambs of this world, I am a sinner.
I shall waltz within the Fire of Hell,
Till all my bruishes and scars turn dimmer.
My heart is enchanted by devil’s spell.
I lived in my sleep of corrupted visions.
I sing in tainted light of waking dreams
And dance in darkness’ mad delusion,
To destroy all my senses and just scream.
My paradise is with oblivion,
Where only my hate shone ebony bright,
Yet darkest night would gain dominion.
I forsake Heaven’s gate and gods of light
Where madness shall torment me with my shame
In hell where only demons learn my name.
-Tsukiko Tokoyami
Staff
writing
Corner
To take that which is precious to so many,
And shatter it like glass.
As easy as some would spend a penny,
They treat it as if it's second class.
The thing about glass is how it shatters,
It breaks into a million pieces,
Even though every single piece matters,
We'll never find the ones that fit in the creases.
The shards of glass are sharp,
They'll make your fingers bleed,
But it's better then covering it up with a tarp,
And never doing the deed.
Because one day you'll realize,
It was worth the blood spilled,
That with your attempted demise,
Your life would've never been filled.
You are precious to so many,
Just look around you to see.
Just ask Aunt Suzy , Uncle Lenny or... me.
-TheaDesiree
Be brave
Wear your glasses
Don't sleep while you eat
Or you will have to repeat
The story from the beginning
So that you won't start nagging
I will not stop sending
Yes
That's the way it is
I am sure you will know what it is
Someday that is
Thank you
I know you
I became family with you
I studied with you
And then I no longer studied with you
Oh you
Oh you, my friend
This is not the end
I know I never owe you
But it has not to end
Which is lately becoming the latest trend
Oh I dont know anymore
Am I becoming insane more and more?
Oh that must be it I know no more
I know and not what I am living for
I hate the number four
Which is why I never opened the door
Now i'm a crazy poet
Who lost her sanity and meaningful point
I think I've reached the boiling point
And now I have to write
So that I can wipe
The tears from my beautiful eyes which are too white
Sigh...
The life of a poet is too rough
But bear with it until I've had enough
-Solara