I dream of an infinite darkness
so impenetrable, it is like nothing
I have ever witnessed. I watch
as it sweeps across the surfaces
of my mind, leaving the corroded
charcoal of once good memories
in its wake, the black powder
billowing across all that has been
razed to the ground. I know now
without the need for confirmation
what this agony surely means;
the darkness inside me is winning.
The condition of my internal body
parts has contaminated every inch
of my foundations which can no
longer stand without the assistance
of another. But who alive would dare
commit to such a grievous endeavor?
My confidence was one such victim
of the nuclear haze that blurs the senses
of my fractured mind, belittled by
the pains of life, and where others
may see happiness, all I ever look
upon is a never ending damnation.
If only past lovers could see me
now, would they have ever really
loved me at all? Would they smile,
so graciously, knowing that they
jumped the flooding ocean liner
before it started sinking?
Nothingness has a hold over me,
much like a boa-constrictor, and if
the light does not shine through
before the dusk settles over
the horizon, I fear that when the
morning comes, I will awake no more.
It would be so much easier to end
the savage journey now, than live
with its continuation looming over
my shoulders, which falter as though
the weight of the universe is applied
to my body. I would exit the world
on the same day that I was entered
into it, for could it not be seen
as a mistake if I, a broken soul, am alive
in the first place?
If normality is not indeed my brethren,
do I not deserve to die? If not for me,
then for someone else, to submit a favor
upon the minds of others, because to
gaze upon such a wretched beast is surely
not good for one’s well-being. I would
strike my flesh with a razor, and strip away
my bruised exterior, to reveal unto
the world outside my own how red
the blood of a pained individual can be.
But what of the fingers of a famed heroine,
who gently caresses that which the razor
has not yet touched, and removes the jagged
metal from my fingertips before I can
ruin my body some more? Nobody would want
me if I were mutilated flesh, for many have
a problem with my suit of skin the way it is
already. My hope for invisibility is removed
in the instant that I am touched by gracefulness,
for in the end that is all I ever did want;
to be noticed by an affectionate hand.
What are dreams? What is the point
to viewing the screen within my mind?
Is it the truth I see – of the future
or the past, that makes me long to shine?
I hear you say I’m sexy; I’m a spunk;
that you are very interested, is this at all true?
Call it my desperate want to know.
But never do you remain in one location,
and you are impossible to find, and all I want
to say is how I love you; I have since
the moment your image was reflected
in my eyes. If I cannot be with you,
then what is the reason behind my feelings;
behind all of these dreams? If the fates
want something to be known to me,
I say they call all be damned;
why cannot they emphasise the truth
with words? I know I have a time constraint
before the woman I love leaves,
and if the answer is available, please tell me,
(I am a grown man after all) so that I may
pursue the beauty who has captivated
my heart so. If not, then leave me
in silence, for I cannot stand been toyed with
when I feel this way. Grant me happiness
or give me sadness, just do not provide
to me false hope, for the last thing I need
this night is the belief that the woman
I love so dear has but a single romantic
notion of me flickering within her mind.
Tonight, please, may I dream
of the answer that I seek, or may I dream
no more of this forever, to spare myself
the pain. I may deeply love this woman,
but I cannot ever love someone
who feels not anything for me.
Death be cold, death be quick, death be
instantaneous. Life is lost and loss is
life and I, the fair damsel, future
princess of this rich loved land am left
motherless. Loneliness becomes me, as
father finds love again in the arms of
another. Those arms that first felt warm
are as cold as the icy wind they came in
on. Barren damnation lurks within the
cold eyes of the future queen, who dares
to rule in a stead that never did belong to
her. I think vile thoughts about this vile
beast who steals the heart of my father
with the sharpened tip of her sword, an
action of such brutal brutality that only
Lucifer himself could applaud. I escape
the clutches of this sadist, I am lost in a
strange land. Exotic; alien; unknowable;
I am frightened and alone. This is not my
warm bed; this is not my humble abode;
this is no longer my fairytale never more.
My heart be but broken and the queen
wishes to break it more. My beauty; my
intellect; my passion; it rivals all that she
is evil; her rooted sin unable to take hold
in the Garden of Eden that is mine. She
consults her mirror; her cold mirror of
fallen souls, which dictates to her the
actions that must be taken, to ensure that
I be forsaken. A hunter, lone and cunning,
is called upon to serve. On bended knee he
pleads before her, to be released of the
burden that she commands. But she be but
so wicked in her words that she threatens
him to his core, and not even a warm heart
like mine could dare live against her malice
cruelty. He comes through the forest; I hear
him wandering like a giant, cutting through
the trees. The foliage falls beneath his feet as
he comes to grab my life from me. But my
fair beauty is beyond reason and it captures
him without a doubt. He stumbles upon his
axe, unable to sustain his feelings as he
gazes upon the ravishing impressions that I
was given at birth. Like a seductress, I
have him round my finger, my rosy lips
he longs to pluck; but that is not want I
want from him, for he will help me make
the fate of this world unstuck. He returns
to the hag that hatched his orders and says
that I be dead and with these words the
queen drops her guard; for I be but very
much alive. The lies he tells in my
defence however are soon revealed as the
slanderous masquerade that they are by
the terrible mirror, that shan’t remain
blinded for long. Ravaged by her hatred
to see me struck down dead, the furious
queen, betrayed by her own instruments,
devises a plan of sweet ecstasy. The bitter
dread of her frozen foul heart is poured
into an apple seed, that upon taking root
within the soil births a delicious death. As
I unknowingly take into me the crisp flesh
of the forbidden fruit, the moistness of its
texture hides its killer plan. Like the steel of
her sword, I am crushed beneath this legacy
stolen from me by a woman who sits upon
a throne of deceit; this perilous pile of blood
and gore that the wretched witch has
institutionalised to see me fall from grace.
Like the tree the evil was birthed from, I
am fallen and I ought never to return, for
I know all too well that death is death and
there be no cure to stifle this tragedy. Like
falling into a dream, one of utmost pitch,
I notice nothing of my old existence with
the strength to awaken me. Death may
have stolen my reflection, but the queen
has revealed, unbeknownst to her it would
seem, her Achilles heel. What hubris on her
part to believe that fruit could dare deflower
the petals of my perfect person and like a
bird free from its cage I unexplainably rise
again. My rebirth may be but something I
ought to ponder, however, I’ve a country
that needs my spirit and my aggressive
vengeance is the power this land needs
to be revived. The queen may have her
harlot parlour tricks and her seethed
sword, but in contrast the land has me
and I am all she shall ever need to blossom.
I march with all my fury and charge into the
grounds I once called my own and humbly
take the head of heresy that dared to rule
in stead. Her mirror is but broken with the
touch of my hand, for purity is the strongest
device against wickedness and the last thing
the bastard mirror felt was the unconditional
love of this virgin’s still beating heart. As for
the malice queen, well, we shall not speak
of her again, for upon setting her rancid flesh
upon me, I triumphantly cut her down to size.
Her death signals the end of tyranny and it is
now that my reign shall begin; all shall fall
before my love and never be but broken again.
The moral of this story? That in itself is hard
to tell, but I am certain you know of the
resolved conflict and the conclusion because
you too have fallen under my spell. My
passion shall embrace you and none in
my blood line shall escape such birthright
and from now until time no longer ticks,
everyone will know the story of I, Snow White.
La Douleur Exquise: (French) The heart wrenching pain of wanting someone you can’t have
Was there ever a more perfect human being than the gorgeous Alexia,
who is the single most beautiful young woman in all of Australia.
Her evocative appearance is something saucy out from a dazzling wet dream,
her smooth, silky, rich skin, milky in appearance is as delectable as whipped cream,
her deliciously red, kissable lips are so marvellously unattainable
and one could become lost in her ravishing brown eyes which are just so delectable
to behold. Her dark hair, like a body of water, gently moves whenever the wind blows
and her body, shaped like an hour glass, could inspire an infinite amount of prose.
Her intelligence is beyond impressive and her personality is fabulous
and that riveting accent of hers is so sexy and so unfathomably gorgeous.
There is another special something about Alexia, I guess you could say it’s her aurora,
a powerful energy which inevitably makes her so unbelievably popular,
and like so many people before me, I have been drawn towards her too,
my reason being because ‘Alexia, I am deeply in love with you,’
and to have but one opportunity to confess these feelings, I’ll collapse to the floor, pray to God and ask him ‘please,
may you grant me a minute of Alexia’s time so I might admit to her my feelings of La Douleur Exquise.’
Inside her eyes rolls an endless ocean of great darkness, which is as resilient as the embers of a burning flame.
I can see it powerfully glowing behind her mask of happiness because like her, inside my heart I feel the same.
I understand she doesn’t want anyone to know her secret, and for its discovery I take the blame,
however, my darkness would come to an end the moment she acknowledges my existence and says my name
in that uniquely untraceable, riveting accent of hers; in her sumptuously high pitched voice.
Out of all the women in the world, Alexia is the one I give my heart to, she is my heart’s choice
and I wonder, if she can save me from my eternal darkness, could I perhaps be her cure?
My heart may be a twisted and depraved vessel, but my intentions are entirely pure.
For if she be broken, even a little, maybe Alexia can understand the pain in my heart,
for if it exists in hers, maybe she can put me back together rather than further tear me apart,
and perhaps I too can do the same for her and we can become symbiotically joined as one
and together we can brave the unrelenting darkness and never again shall we come undone,
for I want to see Alexia for who she is, from her impeccable strengths to her fatal flaws,
because I long to be her heart’s hero, just as I can no longer wait ‘to be entirely yours,’
and with these few words said to Alexia’s face, suddenly the truth she shall be shown,
that being she is the single most amazing young woman my loving heart has ever known.
However, soon Alexia will have to leave and return to the country where she originally did reside
for if somebody said Alexia was completely Australian, then I’m afraid someone heinously lied.
The opportunity to confess my feelings is all but slowly being depleted
and soon there’ll be no time left in the world for my heart to be successfully treated,
for then a great travesty of a depression will inevitably befall me heart and whole;
Alexia has become a part of my bloodstream; a part of my spirit; a part of my soul.
What I wouldn’t give for Alexia to see me, for her to come up to me and say
‘young man, I have seen you staring endlessly at my person almost every single day,
and I would very much like to know, is there something you want me to do; is there anything you want from me?’
‘if you do not know by now what it is that I want, I am certain you never will’ I would reply sadly.
From the moment I first saw Alexia, I have constantly without end thought, dreamed and fantasised of no one else,
and if she still be left unaware, then obviously she is not destined to be my partner, my lover, my spouse.
I have tried not thinking about her, but the horribly difficult task is almost unimaginable
and it is unfortunate I cannot move on either because my heart has become uninhabitable
to any other woman but her. I’m in love with a woman who could never love me and for this I ask to be put to death
because what is the point of being alive if every thought of mine is consumed by Alexia, from now until my dying breath.
Due to these romantic feelings, I fear there must be something terribly wrong with me for I am concerned for my heart’s health,
and I just know that I can’t let Alexia find out because if she did, she would hate me almost as much as I hate myself,
for no woman would ever wish to discover she is a pathetically weak, little man’s muse
and no matter how hard I try to keep my strong feelings in check I know I am destined to lose,
because I have already tried everything; remedies, potions and prayer
to stop the beautiful woman of my dreams from becoming my nightmare.
During these dreams I play a broken, weeping man who collapses to his knees
upon realising his only company during his death is La Douleur Exquise.
I’d rather these dreadful dreams of mine remain fictitious, for I would not survive if they were real.
The painful truth is they already are, for Alexia could never understand how I feel.
For I am a horrid monster; hideous and hated by all. Unwanted, unloved, emotionally crippled to the core,
and if Alexia even managed to look at me on but one occasion, I am certain she could look again no more
for one look at my physical appearance would without a doubt fill her with an unrelenting dread,
and if she had a Djinn I am almost certain that at least one wish would be reserved to have me dead.
If this be true, as pathetic as it may sound, my feelings for her will continue to have an indefinite longevity,
because ‘I will always love you more than anything Alexia, even life itself, and I am forever yours my lady.’
SYNOPSIS: A piece that takes a negative look at the feeling that so many of us wish to endlessly treasure due to its adoringly heartfelt properties, yet possibly dangerous and heart wrenching consequences.
Sometimes the darkness is too much and I feel a little blue.
Do not shed a tear for me cuz I died when I first saw you
after I realised such a young beauty could never love a man like me
and just like that, you and I we came together and we crushed my fantasy
and we also crushed my still red beating heart
that now be but broken and falling apart
from the trauma that it hath terribly sustained –
I only wish that day a lover I had gained.
God, I wish a relationship had come to fruition.
Sometimes I do not even know why I bother livin’
a life that ain’t lovely or romantic
in a world that is so cold and plastic
where the faces of all the living peoples always look the same,
and those I truly love cannot even recognise my true name
because they are blinded by the beauty of other more handsome men.
If given the choice, I would not ever live this life of mine again.
Is it really living, if I frequently feel like death?
Am I really breathing if I am all run out of breath?
I feel like I have run several hundred thousand miles
due to my stubborn bleeding heart and the constant trials
that present themselves every single hour.
Tell me, am I but a man if I cower
away, for I have this fear of my heart been again broken.
‘I love you’ are the three little words I have not yet spoken.
Been in love is like banging your head against a brick wall.
Inevitably, everything you try to love will fall
down, like rain, and will forever disappear,
and those sweet three words I have so longed to hear
I will unfortunately never bear witness to once more
as I find my cold cadaver lying hapless on the floor
of Hell’s horrific barren wasteland for the hundredth time in one day.
Anyone who dreams of getting close to me, I urge you ‘stay away.’
SYNOPSIS: About wishing to be a young woman’s very own personal superhero, and the hypothetical powers one might have and the things one could do if such was indeed not a fantasy, but a reality, and the brutal harshness of what happens when reality eventually does indeed bite.
The weatherman concludes the news by saying goodnight.
The mayor closes the city by turning off its lights.
All the stars come out and begin to fill up the magnificent sky;
and the civilian’s, they dream, of all the people who are destined to die.
Out on the street, a car begins to triumphantly break down
and cries of regret ring out all through this hollow, ghostly town.
You walk down the street hoping to be rescued by your white knight,
whilst I sit at home wishing to be your superman tonight.
What if every hero were to spontaneously disappear
and there was not a soul around to wipe away your precious tears?
What if every hero was to surprisingly resign
and there was no one around to tell you, ‘you look so fine’?
Would you open up your heart and soul if you were to hear my plea;
every time our eyes meet your ravishing beauty overwhelms me.
For if I were your hero, everything would always be alright
and when you go to bed you would finally sleep soundly tonight.
Even heroes such as I can dream of a lovers kiss,
especially when it’s from your lusciously gorgeous lips.
Without you by my side I could never times infinity be whole,
you are the answer that is constantly needed inside of my soul.
Whenever I see you, my knees begin to grow weak
and I instantly find it so difficult to speak.
In reality however no hero would ever act like this
but the inconvenient truth is; no hero really does exist.
In reality I am, unfortunately, not much to look at
which is why I wear this magnificent cape and matching cowboy hat.
I may be disturbed, or I may even be completely insane
and my concepts on superheroes may seem totally inane.
But such ideologies are what I have, cherish and believe,
no matter if they always sound so incredibly naïve.
If I am the hero there is no doubt you are the plane,
you are the only young woman who drives my heart insane.
It is said that each and every superhero has a unique power
one which is used religiously at the chime of each and every hour.
If that be true, then I wish I had the ability to fly
which is a power that no superhero could ever deny.
With these invisible wings, through the clouds I would soar,
to find that special someone I have been searching for.
I cannot help falling head over heels in love with you,
without you by my side my heart is lost for what to do.
If I was your true hero we would never be apart;
for it’s you who touches every place in this hero’s heart.
Choosing to live without you would be this man’s biggest mistake,
which would inevitably cause this young hero’s heart to break.
I need you to survive because you are the better part of me
and by proving my love to you, my heart would finally be free;
for no one else in this world does to me what you do
and the hero inside me will help with your rescue.
Every night I lie awake in bed and dream of your deliciously moist kiss,
never in my wildest dreams did I believe I could feel anything like this.
Even hero’s such as myself and others have the continued right to dream;
for in reality heroes such as I could not exist, so it would seem.
I would sell my soul to ultimately become your hero,
whenever I think of you this heart reaches a crescendo.
I do not know what it could be that you inevitably do
but you have this hero madly and forever in love with you.
I swear to you I will love you until this body grows weary and old
if I am represented as silver, then you, my love, are solid gold.
To prove my love eternal I’d gratefully sweat, burn and bleed,
to have you as my one true love I promise I will succeed.
I feel you in my skin and in my bones which are so hollow,
to have you in these arms tonight I would beg, steal and borrow.
Every hero has a weakness and you are, I swear to you, my Kryptonite,
and although this is truth I speak I still wish to be your superman tonight.