If the Devil did do voodoo

He'd play dolls just like you do.

Have eyes just like you do.

So completely dark,

you think you're concealing your deceit

with a glass ceiling.

Don't think I don't see your

continual ritual.

Worshipping at the wrong cathedral.

Go ahead, light your candles

kneeling to your knees

stabbing needles through my eyes.

"Are they too blue for you?"

Or mad I wasn't your equal?

So thirsty for blood

you flood your mind

creating this prism,

your 'hidden' prison.

You thought you were so tough

but I called your bluff...

You are poison in the air

every breath,

every step,

every word.

You trapped yourself

inside this nightmare...

Eyes closed

Behind lashes, she sees a wonderland

And she lives

For the magic

Wings of butterflies

Calm her heartbeat

And she smiles at the sunset

Welcoming the moon

Night falls around her

And she sleeps soundly

Without worry

Magic makes her believe in the things

She fears the most.

You

Don't know

How much

Of an impact

it can do to you

Until you

See the wreck

right infront of you...

On a night in November for sixty-odd years

An old man would come and order two beers

He'd only drink one, left the other alone

Then he'd quietly leave and make his way home

The barman was watching, he was new to the place

But he could clearly see pain on the old mans face

He couldn't help wondering who he was, what he'd done

And why he took two beers but drank only one

The following year was the same again

The old man arrived at a quarter to ten

With no hint of a smile but a heartfelt 'cheers'

He sat in the corner with his couple of beers

The barman, now the manager, had a thought

Turned to his barman and said 'Hold the fort'

He looked over to where the old man would go

And said to himself 'I really must know'

'Good evening sir. Can I take a pew?

If you don't mind, I've a question for you.

You order for two, and yet I've never known

Why you only drink one and leave the other alone.'

The old man sighed; he didn't look up

'You wouldn't understand, you're barely a pup

But if you really insist on hearing my tale

Come close, for sometimes my words may fail'

'I always drink one but leave the other

To the gallant memory of my dear brother

Twins we were, and just twenty four

When we answered the call with our country at war

Luckily posted in the same regiment

Straight into the fighting, to the fields we were sent

We cut through the hordes and thanked God we were well

Until we came across that mortar shell

It was the dead of night and I didn't see

The bringer of death that had been aimed at me

But my brother saw and he got in my way

And he, sir, is the reason I'm here today

So now you know why, each and every November

I will never forget and I drink to remember

My dear brother died at a quarter to ten

The other pint's to his memory ever since then

So now you know. Wasn't that your phone?

I'll ask you respectfully to leave us alone. '

The old man softly wiped away a tear

The manager brought up the phone to his ear

And said 'Call me back later will you?

I've got something more important to do'

He gently took the old mans' hand

And said 'Please don't think I don't understand

I had a brother, just like you

And he was killed in action too. '

The old man said quietly, 'I'm so sorry son

Forgive me for thinking I was the only one

Will you join me in drinking to our departed brothers?

I've bought two pints. Why not have the other?'

A friendship formed that November night

As they talked of their brothers, called up to the light

The old man then finished up his beer

Made a solemn pledge to return next year

The next year there was an empty seat

At the table where these bereaved brothers would meet

The news filtered through that the old man had died

And was laid to rest at his brothers side

The manager saluted and wiped away tears

Then sat at the table, and ordered two beers

Remembering his brother, he drank only one

That November a new tradition had begun

Years passed by, and he returned without fail

To the corner table where he first heard the tale

He left the one beer where the old man was not

Drank the other to remember, and he never forgot...

#remembrance

I write because I know no other way.

I write for the release.

My pen, my paper, my mind, my hatred and my love; I write because I must.

Take my sky.

Take my solid ground.

But please, I implore you, leave my words.

My writing is my worship.

My notebook is my chapel.

With every stroke I bend, I shift in my soul until the story on those pages is everything I yearn for, everything I despise.

Everything.

I write for grief, and joy, and mania.

I write to disappear.

I write to touch the pieces of myself I can't bear to look at.

I write to show you.

I write because I breathe.