Why do I write?
A question often asked...

I came to you fully packaged,
filled with preservatives...

Scratches, nails to wood
upon the backs of dead...

She wore scarlet,
draped in velvety...

Harsh winters smother
realization of the caged ones...

Hearing the echos
along the corridor...

Wicked iris's lurking,
dungeons smolder in...

By creating the one who creates you
To fashion while you are being fashioned...

Exhausted outlines,
dipped in dying...

I can't stop my pen from writing
about you, and your unstoppable...

Eagle's spawn like
a nightingales last...

Frigid air, frostbites the tip of my
whispers to you...