[dreamer's suicide]
my dream self stood under the cherry tree--
frail blossoms dark pink in the blood red moon--
the wind was cold.
a demon in white,
sanguine light.
my body began to burn
under his elegant hands.
he saw me, i was marked.
he caressed me, i struggled,
frail blossoms tangled in my hair.
blood red moon stared--
blank eyes--
the wind was cold.
the dream self wept.
he was indulgent.
he burned magic into my soul--
blood like ink,
runes on the dirt,
his darkness spread
and i the dream self
did not know
if i would ever stop screaming.
i could not lie
to silver eyes
that laughed at my
pathetic cries.
yes,
i am terrified of you,
please do not smile,
please do not kill me,
please do not hurt me,
please... please.
i have lost all my meaning,
all i can think of is how
very cold i am,
how very bright the moon is,
how the wind whispers along my trembling body
like his ghostly fingers.
why am i so helpless?
why didn't the dream self fight?
those weak throes
do not constitute a battle,
you young thing,
touched so cruelly,
sobbing.
can i pity you
or should i submit to hate?
he cradles the pale form as it bleeds,
croons to it,
holds it against his wounded coat,
and the pale form is mute,
green eyes liquidly shattered--
brittle soul.
why the demon so gentle now
after he has
cursed
me--
he lays me in my bed--
kisses my forehead,
a cool touch,
pulls the blanket up to my chin--
i turn my face into my pillow
to hide from the face of the moon.
the wind has never been so cold.
i am wracked with silence--
what you know, you know--
from this time forth I never will speak word.
in the end,
i watch
as my dream self dies under the cherry tree,
frail blossoms dark pink in the blood red moon.
my dream self stood under the cherry tree--
frail blossoms dark pink in the blood red moon--
the wind was cold.
a demon in white,
sanguine light.
my body began to burn
under his elegant hands.
he saw me, i was marked.
he caressed me, i struggled,
frail blossoms tangled in my hair.
blood red moon stared--
blank eyes--
the wind was cold.
the dream self wept.
he was indulgent.
he burned magic into my soul--
blood like ink,
runes on the dirt,
his darkness spread
and i the dream self
did not know
if i would ever stop screaming.
i could not lie
to silver eyes
that laughed at my
pathetic cries.
yes,
i am terrified of you,
please do not smile,
please do not kill me,
please do not hurt me,
please... please.
i have lost all my meaning,
all i can think of is how
very cold i am,
how very bright the moon is,
how the wind whispers along my trembling body
like his ghostly fingers.
why am i so helpless?
why didn't the dream self fight?
those weak throes
do not constitute a battle,
you young thing,
touched so cruelly,
sobbing.
can i pity you
or should i submit to hate?
he cradles the pale form as it bleeds,
croons to it,
holds it against his wounded coat,
and the pale form is mute,
green eyes liquidly shattered--
brittle soul.
why the demon so gentle now
after he has
cursed
me--
he lays me in my bed--
kisses my forehead,
a cool touch,
pulls the blanket up to my chin--
i turn my face into my pillow
to hide from the face of the moon.
the wind has never been so cold.
i am wracked with silence--
what you know, you know--
from this time forth I never will speak word.
in the end,
i watch
as my dream self dies under the cherry tree,
frail blossoms dark pink in the blood red moon.