I used to have a puppy,
I rang a bell once before I fed him, every day,
I knew he loved me even if he bit me every night,
Until I couldn't raise him any longer.
The puppy grew larger and larger and ate more.
More.
I rang the bell two times.
More. More.
Three times.
More. More. More.
I never rang the bell again.
I lost everything and couldn't afford any more food.
Then one night I abandoned him.

Years later he came back home.
A bony old stray dog.
He looked at me with puppy eyes and I,
I couldn't resist and fed him once more.
Just one time before sending him out into the cold again.
I held out my hand and he bit off my fingers.
A starving animal will always feed.
And I had nothing.
He ate parts of me.

I didn't let him leave.
I cut the dog apart.
And ate him.


I felt alive.

I'm young and obliviously unworldly,
I cry and plead on my knees,

There's a black cloud up in my air,
But I smile, despite all this despair,

I've been shattered and knocked down,
But I still walk -with a halo being my crown,

"It's not about happiness but the worst days" they said,
"When you will learn to fly and not mourn instead."

I'm a secret you're strangely thrilled for,
The old mystery which could never go forth,

They pulled me to the ground but I rose higher,
Whenever I walked out of my shelter, my eyes were drier,

I keep a scabbord which you can't see,
Filled with sobs, words and vengeful dreams

A flitting, spotted butterfly was spotted by a netter
Who grabbed his trusty, fine-meshed net and set about to get her.
She lit upon a lupine new and opened her wings slowly,
He stole up very stealthily, focused upon her solely.
When he came within her reach, he swished out with his net,
But she took off to the sky and filled him with regret.
She flew behind the lilac bush, where he could not see,
And when he spotted her again, she headed for a tree.
She fluttered high above the lawn with him in hot pursuit,
Waving his net wildly, efforts not bearing fruit.
He kept his eyes fixed on her flight as he chased his quarry.
Then something happened suddenly that left him rather sorry:
For on the grass early that morn, the dog had left a pile,
And when I think what happened next, well, I just have to smile.

I've never been one for burning bridges.
Every time I've tried,
I rebuild to watch it crumple again.

The ashes aren't as strong as the cinder
used the very first time.
But, if I'm honest,

the fragility makes the spiral
much more meaningful.

January blues are bittersweet,
Red berries stand resistant to the mourning frost.
death lingers amongst the trees, reigning over a white paradise.
A delicate green **** blows like a flag in the snow, refusing to surrender.

A paradise lays amongst the remains for those willing to see.
cradled in the arms of a great oak, under a blanket of a thousand stars.