View Full Version : Cruel Rain Makers

09-28-2012, 12:17 AM
There they were, scribbles and streaks across the sky. I was swallowed into the cloudy horizon, tracing the clouds with finger-painted raindrops. The only one who could influence things to come. And yet, they did not believe in me. They did not believe I was so.

I had been scorned too much, mocked too much for my witch-crafted ability. And so I dreamed of what it was to remember, as if each individual drop, counted, remembered, was accounted for before it dropped into oblivion. But they left me, screaming with my eyes on fire. They forget me. I forget me too.


I pinched the flesh into my clay voodoo doll. I breathed its life into a new me. A better me. A safer me. It's eyes were transfixed with the prima materia of all existence. I bled the soul of life into that doll. It wept with my magic and was soothed by the salt in my mind. The ocean called to me, from a distant shore. A place where all good things may be true for more than infinitesimal glimpses. When I thought of him, it came like

yellow sand, a sifted flower in my hand
swallowed pebbles from a day lost to the moon
I dream of a day when I can perceive the all of this
And never miss a word that can be said in mine
I am the vixen of time, the harlot of truth <3
I am a daughter of the sublime, and only
it may be true that love is my crime

I am walked down echoing dungeon stairs, into the chamber of shadows and skeletons. I see everyone and everything so much that I want to crawl inside a corner and feel like I'm more than a speck of dust in someone's eyes. I dream of being heard, every single word. To know true love and be held without surprise. I want to share my mind, my soul, my heart.

I want to draw a world, I want to be acknowledged for my art. I dream of living on the clouds, stairway to heaven. Steeping with pain and growing number seven. But eight in where It stops, and infinity is my choice, not only 22 but it's where my voice takes root. So forget me, I'm not special at all. Remember, I am just a wonderwall. A flower on the window pane, and no one remembers...no one could stop this rain, it was my rain.

10-10-2012, 07:46 AM
Busy Little Bee

Don't die until you're free
Let me wake up the sleeping bumble bees
Don't die until I'm awake
I pray the Lord my Soul to break
Don't leave me behind in the trees
I haven't lost a right to be free
I merely love the earth
And all of her eccentricities

Stripped into pieces
Flowers with diseases
I was withering away into his soul
Until it killed me, made me beautiful
And she told me, That I had died too many times
To remember what it means
To fly away. Poor bumble bee
Why are you always so busy?

Open your eyes and use your wings
Mother Nature's free for the beast still sings.