alohomora me

behind these hundreds of closed doors

there i am

there is that one door

somebody opens that and i am free

beyond that one door is the real me

i can not tell you how to open it

because it's never been open before

i can not tell you what it looks like

because i've never been to the other side

i do not know how it came about

i only know it's been there for a long time

what's behind it

has never left

has never come out

everything seeps in

but never leaves

eve

she came to me last night. like she always does. whispering truths i already knew from the beginning. she comes when i refuse to believe anymore. when i'm too caught up in my own world. when i couldn't see the lines that separate them from the lies i sometimes weave. she always comes as she only knew when. and she pulls me up and out of all the chaos i surround myself. she comes to free me. oh she comes. she always does. and when she won't...

just this

if i could be here right now
and not wish to be somewhere else
if i could go right through this
and not wish to go back
to be here and not be
walk with me
hold my hand
maybe i can make it
but you don't need to save me
talk to me
and blind me
maybe i'll be happy
by now you have to go and leave me
you have to
or you'll drown me
either that or i'm gonna hafta burn you
most of the choices are yours
if i could i'll choose for you
don't i wish they were up to me?
like don't you wish you never knew me?

mou roux mou

the feel of your cool cool hands in mine
the feathery sensation of your sweet face
upon my fingertips
your eyes that drowns me
your smile that obliterates everything
and i had wished i could've stopped
the world from turning
everything could've blurred into nothingness
and i wouldn't have cared
but it must have been enough though
no matter how fleeting
no matter how insubstantial
the transient bliss you have brought with you
for there goes my heart
you have set it on fire
you were mine
truly mine even for a while
you were real. i know you are
because these fingers still burn
they can still remember how it felt
to trace the delicate lines
that make up your beautiful face
that little scar that crinkles
everytime you smile
and i miss those things
how i miss every little thing

is it still the twelfth?

my haikus don't come as haikus
and they can't be called sonnets
my muses have deserted me
i can't write gedemmit...