Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Take My Hand

You take my hand,
But say your not ready,
You leave me confused,
Standing in worry,
Is this how you feel?
Or is this a joke?
These thoughts float in and out,
But then I see you,
Hear your voice,
Thats all I need,
My questions answer themselves,
My worries leave,
Because here you are,
Waiting for me,
Just as I waiting for you,
For way too long,
Finally, finally,
You see me,
Maybe you felt this all along,
Maybe I was sane,
To think of what is now reality,
All the others,
With whom it never worked,
You and me have something,
Something I can tell apart,
Your different I know,
Its because you mean so much more,
I can't let you go without a fight,
Stay with me forever,
And everything will be alright.

Thursday, November 3, 2011

The Collector

He met her for dinner
At the most exclusive place
She wore a white dress
With a trim of black lace
Her hair curled all around
Nicely shaping her face
She had looked the part
To be in this place

He let her talk most
Sipping his wine
He chuckled at her jokes
'Til he lost track of time
He paid the check
They took a walk outside
Their eyes were bright
In the moonshine

He leaned in for a kiss
It was simple and sweet
Then it grew more passionate
The kiss became deep
They got a little closer
Her, on the tips of her feet
His hand on her head
In her hair, his fingers weaved

Then he held her hair tightly
And pulled her head back
Her eyes opened wide
And she let out a gasp
He kissed down her throat
She seemed to relax
Then he pulled out his knife
Slit her throat with one slash

She chocked on her screams
On her cries and her pleas
No sounds escaped
As he watched her bleed
No one else was around
So she was unseen
He fought against her struggles
Until she no longer breathed

He gazed upon the new corpse
Her white dress drenched in red
He thought she looked so beautiful
And was his, now that she's dead
He carried her quickly to his car
Covered her body and her head
He told her they were going to his house
If she were alive, this she would dread

Inside his house
There were others too
Two young dead girls
Their skin cold and slightly blue
They both had stained dresses
And blood drops on their shoes
They had dry slits on their necks
Forever unable to move

They were seated on a couch
Their eyes open wide
Frozen in fear
As if giving silent cries
The man, the collector
sees them as art, as a prize
claiming that things are more valuable
after the artist dies

He sets up his newly collected "doll"
Sits her on the couch upright
After she's put by his other two dolls
He looks at his collection with delight
Then the TV, which was but background noise
Said that someone had caught sight
Of a man carrying a bloody body to his car
And it gave the witness such a fright

They read and reported his license plate
By now they would be on their way
Sirens would sound, red and blue would flash
Then he'd never see the light of day
He decided not to run from them
With his collection is where he wanted to stay
He put on new clothes to look his best
When they came to take him away

He sat on the couch and heard sirens coming
He knew that he had to act fast
Looking at the dolls beside him
He smiled, took out his knife, and slashed
The blood trickled down, all over his shirt
His words of pain were blocked by the gash
The sirens soon faded and his heartbeat slowed
The last thing he saw was the red and blue flash

They found him as a fresh corpse
The breath had already left his chest
Though the three young girls had not been saved
They were glad his collecting was at rest
As they placed him in his body bag
A piece of paper fell out of his vest
Stating now that the artist, himself, was dead
His collection was now at its best


He tried to run
He tried to hide
They said "It's useless"
And that he'd die
He screamed so loud to drown out the noise
Of the evil people's whispered voice

He knew they were coming
He sensed his own doom
He knew he had to leave
And he had to leave soon
He packed a few things, among them a gun
Not out of evil, just for protection

As he ran around town
He scanned through the crowds
They'd be in disguise
He had no doubt
So everyone was now an enemy
Trusting no one, for his own safety

He was crossing the bridge
When they whispered his name
He had been found
It was the end of their game
He looked all around, caught the evil ones staring
He shot them all down, gunshots flaring

But more came after him
He could see no escape
Put the gun to his head
And accepted his fate
He fell to the ground with a hole in his brain
Finally free from fear and pain

On the bridge that sorrowful day,
Four innocents were shot dead
The culprit, falsely viewed evil
Lay still in a puddle of red
No one understands, since no one knew
What the schizophrenic man went through

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Time's Assassin

Whether you go with the flow
Whether you're fast or you're slow
It keeps pushing you,
aging you,
crushing you,
caging you.
Time that never breaks,
time that never dies.
Time that always kills.
Time that always flies.
Time is only what you can perceive,
judged by the passing of events
and movement of the sun.
To him, the tensing muscles,
the pull of a trigger,
Time so small
not time to shout out
not time to call
not time for him to doubt
only time for time to let more slip away
no matter the hour or day
Reaper, receive your pay.
Time gives you it early
through this masked man.
Mask of white,
mask of lead,
mask of silver; crimson red.
Reaper, receive your pay,
your payment in dead.