Her Dreams Float Into Barbed Wire

The  belt of Orion’s blood-studded rosebuds blooms

Melting ginger rhinestones into a pool of carmine plumes

Vintage is this intricate lace of smeared eyeliner

A crystal ball, her glass monocle, I am the designer.

With each daisy inhaled her black moon lifts

And her psychedelic string of pastel clouds drifts

Spelling tales of forged embroidery on her shredded curtains

Drowning out her broken screams ,her midnight blurtings.

Smashed bottles lie in their ankh-shaped constellations

Scraping her heart with their graveyard revelations

Dreamcatchers twist into crowns of Southern Lakes

Dawn knits smiles over the mess dusk  makes.

She injects black frost into her cashmere stream

Infecting her lungs with ash and  charred dreams

Wisps of bleached horrors escape with the incense

Stamping withered lilies on her imaginary fence.

In the end all it brings is a glimpse of the beast

On whose table she shares her heart’s last feast

Rented Labyrinth(burgundy myth)

Dark memories of grey fade in a flowy haze,
As I awaken entranced in a midnight maze,
A crimson labyrinth whose shameless secrets remain,
And whose serpentine alleys twist beyond age’s train.

A flash of death flutters before my eyes,
And in Death’s vision I fumble for my disguise :
My unsightly mask I wear beneath my face,
As upon my countenance it adds an air of grace.

Ominous blue skeletons claw through my spine,
And leave a scent of vermillion,so dark yet divine
Black beads of steel crawl out of my skull,
And a scream like Lucifer’s kiss echoes hollow and dull.

Engulfed in a mist of dread that surges from within,
I watch the burgundy walls peel off my plastic skin
A barrage of butterflies sails down with strands of glass
Within their reflection I know this maze will come to pass.

And the roses burn

And she sits still

Emblazoned in pastel coloured smoke.

Mauled by the grappling claws of the strokes

of rust that gently strangle her throat , crush her skull, bludgeon her spine…

Painting over the new blooms and full moons with blows of black and slaps of grey,

Whispering of torn curses and ripped jeans,

Mangled by the depths of her blaring thoughts ,

Tangled around his smoky thoughts, drowning in purple rain,

Angled between the devil’s snare and the sun’s glare,

Drinking down the day, singing hymns to the night.

She stays in her weathered dream, tethered to the seam of the mist that haunts her.

The beast must feed but the beast is within her.

Where Dreamcatchers meet Stars and Golden Butterflies float

And if tonight

The moon won’t let you sleep

We can melt into the smoke

Of our burning incense

And slip

In and out of their dreamcatchers

Until they can fall asleep

Or day has become a distant memory

Until midnight dries up

And dawn stains the night with 29 shades of wilted dreams

My Garland

Upon my head reposes a dream-invading garland,
Whose enchanting intricacy is grasped even from a far land,
My dream-like halo woven from the finest of vines,
Soaked in golden light,and in roses intertwined.
Reflecting my soul’s musings in its blinding light,
A light whose heavenly fluorescence sweeps away the night.
They regard it in awe and do not blink,
My garland of light,or so they think.

Upon my head rests my nightmares’ ghastly garland,
Whose entrancing darkness only I can understand.
My jet-black nimbus embroidered from a serpentine thread,
A thread whose constricting evil brings nothing but dread.
It asphyxiates my being in its flesh-ripping black thorn,
Seeking the night,from whose darkness I was born.
They fail to behold it and instead flee from it,
My garland of darkness I shamelessly exhibit.

Moody Headdress

She’s a venom-infused flower child

She’s a wilted vine left to grow wild

Her forgotten dream, her one last petal

A shroud of darkness engulfs in black metal

Her head holds captive these barless dungeons

Her ideas are murder, her thoughts the bludgeons.