My heart, a graveyard of lovers dead
My prayer mat is near the bedpost...

Spring:
A naïve youth...

Don’t hold my body made of warmth.
Don’t caress me with the hands that touched...

Wanton are the trees of bare
Slowly blooming its picture perfect flora...

Emotions spoken by my hands
Channelling chaste Hate...

Pink Cherry leaves calling the powder blue sky
Stepping out my protected empire...

I always wake up terrified at dawn
Dreaming I was a leaping doe-eyed fawn...

The eldest twin of the elements,
Wild yet reclaimed...

Dearest Laura, my goddess renowned
Muse of the arts, forever shackled and bound...

A run-away girl
Annabel is her name...

People screaming at
Soldiers raping and molesting...

Born out of Chaos’ night
like cracking eggs on a nest...