I stayed behind to pick up the pieces
Right before I left for you to tell the tale.

Sand Sparkled On The Shore
Waves Crashed Against The Rocks
It Is Just A Dream
Held A Bird On The Palm Of My Hand
I Danced With A Fairy At Night
Sprinkled Fairy Dust With Pure Delight
It Was Just A Dream
I Saw The Mighty Hand Of Time
Threw Hourglasses On The Shore
Emptied The Sand In The Waves
Time Is Just A Dream
I Swung On The Swing
High Up Into The Bright Blue Sky
Felt As Light As A Bird In Flight
It Was Just A Lovely Dream
Picked Some Flowers And Put Them
Into A Flower Basket On My Arm
It Was Just A Surreal Dream
I Clasped Onto Life
As If It Would End Soon
Cherished Each Day As Forever
For Time Is Just As Sand Flying
Through The Salty Breeze On The Shore
I Spoke To The Flowers And Animals
Called Each One By Name
Made Friends With Porcelain Dolls
And Fairies, They Were My Sisters
And The Gnomes And Elves Were My Brothers
They All Welcomed Me As Their Princess Fairy Sister
It Was Just A Fantasy Dream
I Kissed The Rain And It Stuck To My Face
I Embraced The Snowflakes With Love
I Danced With Sunshine
And Lived With The Moon
Who Took Me To See The Landscapes In The World
All The Beauty We Saw
We Captured And Remembered It
Which Treasured It In Our Hearts
Oh, It Was Such A Lovely Dream
The Mist Kissed My Face
And The Wind Caressed My Soul
I Found Healing In Flying With Fairies And Birds
Found Pleasure In Talking To The Stars
That Twinkled In The Milky Way, Silky Way
It Was Just Another World
I Slept In A Bed Of Ferns
Lived In The Clouds
And Jumped Over Colorful Rainbows
I Drew Pictures In The Sky Just For You
Though They Remained Unseen By Your Mortal Eyes
That Cannot See The Things Of Fantasy
That I Created Only For You
It Was A Moment I Never Forgot
I Rode Upon Unicorns
Befriended The Proud But Sweet And Beautiful Night
Evening And Twilight Came To See Me
And Crowned My As Their Own
Until The Day I Die, I Will Never Forget It

*~Marian~

In the broken kitchen chair he sits
Weeping the tears of a killer
Face buried into the palms of his grisly hands
He sobs uncontrollably for he knows what these hands have done
He cries as a child might having seen his parents murdered
Gasping and struggling to draw in a full breath
Snot running from his nose, curling over the stubble of his upper lip
With a clenched fist he wipes this away
Rage building in his veins, hatred, and remorse
His face grows red as he shakes uncontrollably with anger
Unsure of what to do with himself he rises quickly to his feet
His chair crashing back to the floor behind him
He paces the kitchen back and forth
Feet padding monotonously over checkered linoleum
Suddenly, abruptly, he stops, his gaze drifting to the counter top
As he catches sight of the skinless corpse he screams
A blood curdling scream that chills to the bone
Unable to bare the sight of his disembodied victim any longer
He barrels out of the kitchen
Crashing through doors, splinters of wood marking his trail
In the bathroom he now stands
Sulking in shame before a ***** mirror, staring down at his bare feet
Slowly, he raises his head, eyes squeezed shut
Fearing to find what he might see when he opens them
He pauses here for several moments, collecting his thoughts
Breathing deeply, hoarsely, sporadically huffing
Mustering all of his courage, he makes this final leap, opening his eyes
In the mirror before him he sees all too clearly himself
Wearing a skin that is not his own
Face, hands, feet, all that are exposed
His own pale skin standing out in bold contradiction
To the beautifully bronzed hollow man that he wears
His pale and bony knuckles crash repeatedly into the face of the mirror
Over and over again the thud and the crunch
Broken skin and shattered glass
Blood now smeared across what little reflective surface remains
At last he can see himself no more
Slumping down into a ball on the floor
He sits alone and rocks
The mere shell of a man remains
With dripping hands he tears away a patch of flesh from his thigh
Groping the floor blindly his hand closes over a shard of glass
He is now far too numb to feel pain, dead inside
Gripping tightly to the broken glass this broken man begins to write
Carving his apology into his thigh

In the broken kitchen chair he sits
Running his filet knife across the grindstone
The blade mustn't be dull for what he’s about to do
Across the kitchen hangs his days catch
Dangling from one large meat hook
Dripping, warm, fresh, and glassy eyed
Running the blade across his thumb
A future scar in his one of a kind prints
With bulging biceps his prey is lifted from its loft
Tossed carelessly onto the granite counter top
A dangling arm falls into the kitchen sink
The subtle sound of a ring is heard
As it hits the stainless steel basin
This jewelry is soon removed and set aside
With a felt tipped pen he outlines his procedure
Like a world class surgeon preparing to operate
He makes each incision with great care
A soft touch and a steady hand
Experience shows this isn't his first rodeo
Every cut running long and shallow
He grins like a child as warm blood flows over his digits
Setting down the tools of his trade
He takes a moment to admire his handiwork
The body before him lies ravaged
Professionally massacred, filleted is his trophy ****
Having fully enjoyed this beautiful sight
He reaches down gripping tightly onto two ***** of skin
By either side of the shoulders his fingers burrow under flesh
He begins to peel away
Within minutes the body is bare
On the counter lies nothing but muscle and bones
Tendons, sinew, organs that will never again function
Like a cadaver to be donated for medical research
He holds the hollow man up to the light for a better look
A perfect skin suit, warm, tanned, tinged in red
Cuddling it as a toddler might carry his blankey for comfort
He walks to the room adjacent the kitchen
At the tug of a blood soaked hand
The washing machines door swings open
Gingerly he sets the skin inside
Adding just a dash of fabric softener for good measure
He shuts the door and starts the cycle
Back to the kitchen he drudges
Washing the blood from his hands, his arms
Cleaning his knife, polishing the blade until it gleams in the light
Leaving the corpse where it lies he sits patiently and waits
As the wash is finished he removes the suit from the machine
Now clean, dripping, wet, marker gone
He places it in the dryer
Turning the **** to low heat, careful not to shrink his new outfit
He sets the dial to permanent press and pushes start

tracing my veins
wondering
which side of this brain
is chemically imbalanced
which side houses talents
I haven't trained
people praise my writing
and some songs
that I have made
but none of it seems
all that great
they haven't gotten me
less poor
or less bored
just a little less
ignored
but when I trace
my veins
I think that
is
enough