It's just darkness all the time,

It's just darkness all the time,

Find a reason or a rhyme,

But no, it's darkness all the time,

Do you remember red?

it coats my nails,

feeling smooth,

but texture pales,

with gaudy color,

covered scales.

It must be strange to see no one but to have everyone see you.

It's just darkness all the time,

It's just darkness all the time,

Find a reason or a rhyme,

But no, it's darkness all the time,

Do you remember light?

it comes with day,

scares the goons,

and thugs away,

but at the end,

heat will stay,

How often do you forget that others inhabit the space around you?

It's just darkness all the time,

It's just darkness all the time,

Find a reason or a rhyme,

But no, it's darkness all the time,

Do you remember line?

it defines the truth,

complex when old,

simple in youth,

and still it seems,

to be uncouth, 

It's not fair.

But know that though the dark remains,

Feeling, heat, and truth maintains. 

Note from the author: I hope this helps

’The name’s Pond,

Ruby Pond,

shaken not stirred’,

she said as my

iPhone

literally purred.

’I need a hero

and your own

story needs

a lift

so get out

your wand’

(god these lines

are a gift).

It seems

there’s an

urgency

involving

blood-thirsty

soul-suckers

and given

my record,

I’m qualified

to pucker.

Usually when it

comes to bravery,

here’s my

line in the sand:

not before

breakfast

and coffee

madam!

But as

you might

have guessed

this was Pond

the merciless

demanding

some magic

when I still

wasn’t dressed.

So that’s how

I got to the

Party at last

and saw the

dread truth

under poetry’s

mask.

To refashion fate

I knitted

white gloves

from stuffed

turtle doves

and borrowed

the curtains

to make up

a cape.

Now I know

it is said

(often with dread)

that my

deepest magic

is like

a warden

directing traffic

in bed.

This then,

the secret for

soothing

passionate

souls:

have an interesting

conversation

about the state

of your vowels.

Then when the

audience fails

to get the joke,

disappear

in a puff

just like

any other

bloke.

Image:chiba mamoru and tuxedo kamen (bishoujo senshi sailor moon) drawn by mohomen

If someone wants to be with you,

They'll make it happen.

Despite distance,

Temptation,

And fear.

Trust me.

She's a half empty bottle of whiskey; a thick label wrapped tightly around its fragile frame, obscuring the golden contents from the eyes of the public, but handing it directly into the hands of those most likely to abuse it. The whiskey is bitter at first, most would walk away at this point to find something more subtle. There are thick black lines cascading down the glass, tiny imperfections on an otherwise perfect facade, marking the precious centimeters each person has ingested then later thrown up on a strangers bathroom floor. People constantly chase the taste with a lighter, easier drink, unable to deal with the heavy tongue numbing sensation left behind. If drank enough it began to taste sweet, still bitter, but oddly familiar, leaving a tingling warmth on the lips of lovers to be. Alcohol is a sweet sedative to drift away on, and if listened to closely, will whisper its secrets while the rest of the world sleeps. Addiction begins to form, to manifest itself in the tranquil golden ocean. On particularly lonely nights strangers kiss the bottle and weep with it clutched tightly to their chests; one hundred percent dependent. When something's gone wrong, golden slumbers are only a sip away. Walking away at this point is nearly impossible. There's something about how the warmth seeps through the nerves of stressed bodies, how happy people have the potential to be, and just how easy it is to simply forget, that makes this poison so tempting. At the end of the night the bottle is almost empty, except for a few precious drops of sanity left in various cups around the room. The label is ripped and torn, no secrets to behold. The cap is missing and lipstick is smudged on the mouth of the bottle from those who couldn't resist a quick fix. It lays on its side every Friday night, drained of its resources, having fulfilled it's purpose; helping the addicts who dared to push past the bitter taste to reach the seductive heaven found only at the bottom of a bottle. Although it will never admit it, maybe, at the end of the night, the whiskey is addicted too.

We worshiped salt and sand, 

stars and smoke. 

We ran down dirty streets

and stumbled into daydreams. 

We found, for the night, 

purpose for our once aimless hope.

Popsicle dripping

Lemonade sipping

Tire swinging

Rock skipping

Burger flipping

Handlebar gripping

Lovers kissing

Ball kicking

Kids swimming

Song singing

Summer

Dark days turn into bright nights,

with the sky full of twinkling stars,

being full of bright dancing lights.

The wind dies down to a slight breeze,

makes you forget all your scars,

puts your state of mind at ease,

this world full of possibility is ours,

on these wonderful bright nights.

The storm continues with ferocity,

but your in the calm eye,

catching all your awe and curiosity,

staring around as disaster strikes all around,

but you don't feel the need to cry,

you know help will let them be found,

so you just calmly bid them good-bye,

without much generosity.

In the end you remain unharmed but alone,

with the loneliness haunting you in your sleep.

you begin to regret what limits you've never gone,

regret those you've never loved,

regret those thoughts you never got to keep,

but only your loneliness remains beloved,

and the regret is no longer hidden deep,

the regret for the never known.