All the darkness in the world stems from the darkness of our own heart - unknown

Why do thoughts, darkly hideous,
plague the midnight mind?
He did not want my heart, he wanted
the gore beneath its scarlet rind.
I hemorrhaged flashing visions of
my crimson blood dripping on
****** snow.
His sweet slashes
left my heart thrashing.
As he drank the fierce red ocean
that floats my soul below.
I smelled a rancid scent,
The mortal death's on his breath.
In a deep haunting whisper,
he revealed that I would cease to grow old.
If I drank from his slit vein,.
I'd be free of mortal pain.
Now with an insatiable thirst.
I shudder to think it can always be worse.

My screams, fiercely and recklessly,
****** themselves into the starless sky.
Howls of despair became an inviting try.
It is fearfully unknown who or what may answer
from the den of the lachrymose night.
It's a different world in the charged absence of light.

The ghosts of my cries reverberate in heaven's valley,
and long linger down hell's burnt alley's.

Long before I knew self love would heal my life.  
Annihilate my strife.
A dawning of hope now veins my soul with the missing light.

Cradle my cerebrum.
Fuse our hemispheres.
Wear the crown of my soul's kingdom.
To create droughts of tears.
Disappear the lonely years.
Your touch is,
necessity of nourishment,
for my groaning hungry skin.
Use the bark of my bones,
to build a castle we may dwell within.
Our souls of destiny entwine and collide.
You crash into my heart with every lunar tide
Unbreakable bliss,
from the prescious pierce of a single kiss.

The castle
said to be centuries old.
Was lodged between the bluff
and the motionless sea.
Where many have stood
clutching their need to flee.
The jetting black towers are severe
and stab the dense foggy sky.
The dark is watching with
her neon midnight blue eyes.
Something
Or someone who died
is half alive.
Haunting she will be the bride.

In the westward sky is a crow's clear caw.
A visceral proof of life.
That there joyously exists more than just our strife.  
It soared mystically deep into the baby blue
and fluffy white blissful unknown.  
In the north sky
gathers a small ****** of crows,
with their chaotic excitable moan.  
A folktale goes that the crows congregate
to hover and decide another crow's fate.
Place a scavenger of death in a vast cheerful sky.
You realize a great many days are void of a why  
They are just proof of life.  
So feel alive!

I'm back.
But the stream already knew that.
My eyes feast on the clear sunlit bronze stream.
The bottom scattered with pebbles
possessing deep desires and last hope dreams.
Glossed white rushing rapids
are sliced in two by protruding stone.
Sometimes the meaning is
simply no meaning flowing over the stream's bones.
Free from the prison of my mind,
I meander barefoot
in the bubbling, sparkling water divine.
This hidden remarkable, the secret stream,
turns tranquil peace into creative steam.

Every forest harbors secrets.
The bark and branches are the keepers.
The abandoned house towered,
in a paralysis of time.
The only thing alive
was the strangling of the vines.
It stood in dilapidation
with a menacing expression.
Inside the air thick with voiceless confessions.
Heard somewhere in my shaking soul.
Hollow window eyes
possess the shatters of time.
Who were the inhabitants?
And are they alive?
It's time to go inside.