Hate me, despise me for I am naught

But a pedagogue whose methods unbeknown to you

Bring it on! I’ll bring out your worst.

I’ll usher you to your drawn-out display of flaws

Where your prideful ego stars the show

And hands smeared with avarice clap alone

Perhaps, your ass-kissed fellows can come along

To woo their cheers, unaware of your goals

Show them the glint of your eyes!

Like spotlights they loom! Over affluent others

Sing! With your voice so smooth, such power!

Empowering your slothfulness unto others

Dance! Dance! Like you did with hearts

For the sake of yourself and delight!

Fill the theater with a fete of cakes and booze!

That you’ll gobble up the second they arrive

Hate me! Despise me! Let out your wrath!

Thrash against the bars you’re caught in!

The exposed verdict has been called

And now the world judges you guilty!

Young man, can you see it now?

The darkness you’ve surround yourself with

The cage you’ve put yourself in

It’s only a matter of time

You’ll spark your own light!

You’ll make your own key!

Break out from the prison which you’ve caused

Come out anew and fight against my tyranny!

Hate me, despise me for I am naught

But a villain whose methods so cruel for you.

It is not like the stories.

It is not fire and brimstone

and burning flesh.

It is not cold, dank depths.

Endless darkness.

Endless terror.

It is not what you thought.

It is a warm room,

your favourite room.

You sit between all the ones you love,

touch their flesh

and they will touch back.

You can talk and laugh,

it is always light,

it is always warm

and you are never, ever tired.

It is not what you thought.

Time doesn’t move slowly,

or quickly,

or at all it seems.

You do not change.

Your lover never leaves.

Your mother always smiles.

But somewhere,

it could be years

or a few minutes

into that warmth,

somewhere you start to wonder.

It could be fast,

like blinking while the light changes.

It could be a like a stone hitting your back.

Or it could be like poison.

Slowly, so slowly you do not remember

when you first notice,

everyone begins to repeat themselves.

Not like playback, not like puppets,

but like a child who has not read past the first chapter

of a book you wrote.

And they are all agreeing with you,

all the time.

You may try to test this-

shout obscenities and curses-

but they will only smile.

It is not what you thought.

There is warmth here,

and you are never tired,

but those around you have no depth

and you cannot leave

or sleep

or hide.

A smile is a smile is a smile,

is now just lips pulled over teeth.

You may try slap it from their faces,

the faces you love,

but they will only laugh.

Finally, you are in a world

where everything is comfort and safety,

and a friend who always laughs,

and a lover who will never leave you,

and a mother who is always smiling

but are they happy?

Can it be love if they have no other option?

No option

no standard

no meaning.

It is not what you thought.

It is not hot iron,

burning flesh.

It is the ache of never knowing,

of endless doubt in those around you,

the ones you love most.

It is your fear,

and your love for them,

and the emptiness of their servitude.

It is not what you thought.

The room will always be warm,

they will always smile,

and you will spend forever wondering;

can it be real

can it be good

if it never ends?

#wetpetals

Axe on the head

Fourteen chops ahead

Walls in blood red

On the floor she bled.

Give it a good shout

Don’t keep it in doubt

Give it one more clout

Till her life goes out.

Hear the horns of hell

I heard him tell

This is what he sell

My soul and my cell.

Relief but defiled

I shalt be exiled

“Well done my child”

The Devil smiled.

I was working in my rose garden when I heard a faint voice say, "Thanks for the water and food."

"Who's there?" I exclaimed.

And the voice repeated, "Thanks for the water and food."

Even though I was 100 percent sure I was alone, I quickly turned around to scan my back yard for an intruder and, "Ouch!" I snagged my arm on a thorn drawing blood.

"We're sorry!" Said the same faint voice.

Unaware I was speaking aloud, I spoke back to the voice, "Huh? Who are you and why are you thanking me and saying you are sorry?"

"We are your roses. We know how much you love us, so we put all our roots and branches together and amassed the energy to speak your language. Sorry about the thorns. We wouldn't do anything to hurt you. Our thorns are just necessary to protect us from animal predators."

I knelt before them, loving all of them, the pinks, the reds, the whites, the oranges and the yellows, and breathed in their sweet scent. It was I that was grateful for them, for their beauty and the lesson they taught. Like a rose, love is beautiful and sometimes painful.

The sparse wind of weak breath exhales across the shoreline, as the breeze follows its path toward the unknown, leaping further into what lies ahead. The sky, a cornercopia of color streaked across the canvas, with each hue blending into another. Waves crash as they serenade all interested in listening; aiding in the pleasurable experience and encouraging a future return. As the clouds start to vanish, the light keeping this dream intact fades fast. Holding on remains an elusive challenge.