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 Jun 2014 Anna
Masque De Moriaty
She is a miasma of regret and gin
My resurrection Mary bound by sin

We all have white mice and black dogs
We all have white mice and black dogs

We all have songs we cannot sing
Burdens to bare upon our wings
She is a gilded crown one cannot wear
A ghostly smile, a forbidden stare

Dancing graveyard tangos before mother lune
She swirls and cascades and flies up to the moon
Her smile the jagged blade that ripped her wrist


And yet her shadow still persists


A spectre of memory upon my pealing wall
A heartbeat echoing from beneath the floor
A happiness known only to be ******
Inundated by **** and sand


She comes to me with wailing moans
The intolerable moments I am alone
She comes to me with obscene plans


And how I long to take her hand
To take the claw, take the blade
Bid adieu to sweat and shade
Oh bells and flame and an absence of pain
That endless slumber, oblivion, peace
Where broken girls find sweet relief
To be judged by lord on high, to be saved
To find the comfort I forever crave
To hug once more that girl I loved
Who visits me from far above

But she is a spectre of my dreams
My ignoble suffering, my pain and though it seems
She offers paradise she offers nothing but
She is an absence, a fissure, an empty plot


Where does that ****** maiden dwell?
There is no heaven, there is no hell


There is but this moment now, this moment now


For she is gone, and take note how
She cannot suffer, but nor delight
In warm winds nor the sordid ballet of night
In songs that come from god’s own choir
Or the devils dance of deep desire


Where live your smiles, if not on my own lips?
What persistence have you, if I did not exist?


She is dead
She has ceased to be
While every moment moves in me
Her waters still, mine swarm and flow
Onwards and upwards with any dream to know


So yes I dream of death, for she is sweet
To remember why my life I keep
A toast, a cavalcade of praise and love
I send to thee up high above


But understand why, my darling friend, I cannot follow
For I still long to taste tomorrow
 Jun 2014 Anna
lost girl
Lost
 Jun 2014 Anna
lost girl
I've been having a hard time lately
I'm sorry about that baby.
I close my eyes
And thoughts of what would have been flows by.
I squeeze my eyes to keep from crying.
I've been doing that a lot lately.
I just haven't been the same since I lost the baby.


(a.d)
Not about me.
 Jun 2014 Anna
Kairee F
Deja vu
 Jun 2014 Anna
Kairee F
Erasing me
and replacing me
are two entirely
different ideas.

One
has been proven very easy.

The other
cannot be done.
 Jun 2014 Anna
Kairee F
In my mind
 Jun 2014 Anna
Kairee F
I don't care
how many times
you reassure,
I will still think
there's something
wrong
with me.

Words are trivial.
Sweet sixteen.
The summer of '14.
I should be happy, should I?
Who told you that, some guy?

I imagined a Charlie life.
A good life.
I imagined The Great Perhaps
And so I was told.

But yet again it was awful.
And I was surprised.
I hate my birthday.
No one seemed to care.

No HAPPY BIRTHDAY.
Great. Like I care.
You don't like me.
You like the idea of me.
You like the idea
That someone who is
Suicidally depressed
Can make you
Extraordinarily happy.

You like the idea
That my deep
Cynicism and scepticism
Can fuel your
Overjoyed optimism.

You like the idea
That I'm  the
Wonderful, beautiful
Intelligent, nerdy girl
You thought I was.

I am nothing.
I am empty.
I am not an idea.

Ideas are dangerous
Exciting, giggly.
They fill the idealist
With roaring delight.
Such a fantasy
Couldn't be real but in
The mind of a
Surrealist, Idealist
Socialist, Capitalist  
Fascist.

I am not an idea.
Ideas are fun.
I am not an idea.
Ideas get things done.
I am not an idea.
Ideas are good.
Ideas aren't real.

I am real.
I wish I was only
Your idea of me.
I wish I wasn't real.
Written 14th May.
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