When dreaming, you enter a world that is entirely your own.
But what lies beneath the surface is something completely unknown.
A playground of wishes and dreams,
So happy it may seem.
But too happy too late
None recognize the fate that is buried beneath the shone.
Mystical thoughts that are buried within,
Haunt and terrorize the tender young kin.
A place of peace and sleep,
That one struggles to keep
Is swept from them all too fast.
At last! The fiends have their way,
To destroy and demolish the dreams of play.
Beasts unleashed in these little minds
and are pleased at what they might find.
Terror and horror and all the above
This is what they do and what they love.
Innocent minds try to break free,
But what help will that bring for you or for me?

My brother brushes past me in the kitchen.
I find myself offended, not for his rudeness nor the brash way he attempts to apologize.
But because on my own flesh and blood I smell him.
It has been years but the odor of his cologne still sends me spiraling.

Memory is a haunting thing.

How am I supposed to move on when every wide eyed, bro-tank wearing beef cake smells like my worst nightmare,
It feels like I am just trying to escape,
but was forced into Stockholm's syndrome via perfumed air and this sense of helplessness that I cannot bear.

This is what it feels like to drown all over again,
but this time I am perpetually a scared 14 year old girl, and it is arms surrounding me not lake water.
I could find irony in using that brand of cologne to light myself on fire,
or to inhale the aerosol into my already full lungs for a short high
Either way it would be the same as killing myself all over again.

Half of me is still on that mattress somewhere,
I don't know how to get her back, or why I want her so bad.
But, how can I make this little girl inside stop crying if I'm not there to comfort her?
How could I ever be there to comfort her?

I am so broken and bruised,
I still flinch when hit in spaces once blackened by hands I thought I knew.

There is a ghost in my house,
Scaring me everytime I see her in the mirror,
Short red bown hair,
Black clothes,
An ugly fake mile and dead  eyes,
I know who this ghost is,
She dyed many years ago,
Her name is Natasja Raven,
Her name is mine,
I turned in a ghost a long time ago.

There's a candle burning nightly
In the window, on the right
The house has long been empty
But, the candle's there each night
The house in old and ancient
I'm sure it has tales it needs to tell
Like, why the candle's burning
And why the house won't sell

The candle shows up daily
As soon as dusk begins to fall
The drapes are drawn so closely
In each room along the hall
But, in that lonely window
Burns a candle all can see
It's been burning there each evening
Since nineteen forty three

They say the house is haunted
After all, the candle is a clue
Someone lights it nightly
The question asked is who?
The house has been abandoned
No one lives there any more
They say the last survivor
Left in nineteen forty four

The story is as follows
If I get my rumours straight
The house was built around
The year eighteen eighty eight
The family that did own it
When the candle came to light
Were wealthy, and reclusive
And they all kept out of sight

The story goes, their oldest son
Signed up and went to war
He was a pilot in the air force
He shot down 15 planes or more
He was shot down on a mission
But  his plane was never found
They never found the wreckage
Where it crashed into the ground

The candle started burning
The day the message came
It's always burning in the window
It's always lit, it's all the same
The candle shows when it is dusk
It goes out just past three
No one knows who lights it
There's no one there to see

Is the candle lit by spirits
Waiting for a missing son
Is it lit to help pass over
To make his journey done
No one knows the exact story
If the plane crashed and he died
But, even in the daylight
People don't pass by on this side

The house is an enigma
Is a ghost there waiting for
A son to come home to them
Marching through the old front door
All I know is that the candle
Has been lit for 60 years
And there's a ghost up there just waiting
Crying quiet , ghostly tears

My body hollow
The house haunted
You locked the door
And took the key.
I do not know
Why those ghosts
Do shriek
Or why the echo carries
To the depths of my soul.
Sometimes I think
That I'm heading now
To a safer place
But my feet will carry me
On the path they know.
The worn old road will greet me
And the trees beckon me home.

your face is in profile, and i
can see your thoughts
etched across the skin

cold,
pale,
posterity

Your eyeliner dr
                             i
                               p
                                 s

down your eyes in

S H A D O W S

and the profile is screaming

inside and

nothing

outside.

you made me

shiver.


Girls and dolls
and red ****** rain
train

tracks

silver in
the light
sparrows with
mohawks

****** tears and

guns you promised


never to give.


You made me afraid

of the dark

I just want to let go
And forget about you.
But those kinds of things aren't easy to do.
When you meant so much
And then hurt me so bad,
I just want to let you go,
But I can't forget about that.
You're everywhere.
You won't let me be.
You're physically gone,
But you're haunting my dreams.