our thoughts are part of
life's molding now you know it
what you gonna do

As I stand — in the stillness of the night, buried in
contemplation, a tombstone looms above my head piercing
into an idea, with these horns; to charge directly at vivid
imagination. Shrouded in the night’s dead darkness; the
only colours that dance around are the deep, dark hues
that cling to my black horns – tainted.

Formless creatures haunting the silhouettes of all dreams
their fragmented forms concealing hidden depths and
buried truths — echoes of old traumas from the days of
youth, a troubled youth, long neglected – abused.

The more these horns are trimmed, the longer they seem
to stretch – spiralling directly into my vision; all I
perceive is darkness.

bags under my eyes
glitter on my nails
impulsive thoughts
and my room is gross
I'm a star rock star?
well, not so far
but if I get the chance
I will be one, I guess

Programmed ideas, words begin to echo AI — quiet intelligent;
in a realm where outsmarting will take you out; once you
outshine those above you; you define the term of being so Anti.

Anti the world, where courage is deemed too bold — keep those
ideas to yourself, shave off the top – be bald. Even as you try to
say things so daring, that if feels like a bold choice; speaking your
mind won't be so clear without an influential voice.

Your existence seems tangled and wild; so out of order —I question
if a miracle isn’t served, would I question an angel for missing
the order. And if to not adhere to good people's orders, this very
breathing would feel like a crime — every moment caught up in
life would just be a show of Law and order.

But I doubt you’d excuse my aura for being so out of order –
we often craft justifications to the world’s chaos, as a service
to uphold a semblance of some order.

It’s time for the people to form a decision
Just see how they struggle to hold a position
With lines in the sand
They can all take a stand
In a loose coalition of bold opposition

A phantom cast where living once dwelled,  
a figure moves under a tight-lipped spell,  
with eyes like stars,
yet veiled in the night,  
an enigma wrapped in soft twilight.  
They whisper in riddles
and breathe in your dreams,  
replaying a moment cracked at the seams,  
each smile is a puzzle,
each laugh a clue,  
leaving a labyrinth of thoughts
to mull over and review.  
As I wonder,
What lies hidden in their empty gaze
and what stories linger in their ethereal haze?  
It is a mystery unsolved,
a moment truly bizarre,  
as they offer a brief glimpse of what they are.

©️Lizzie Bevis