THE HOLLOW CYCLE

I blamed the system
I blamed the system
So I dove in hidden waters
I went to darker places
Made friends with the lost and hopeless
Made friends with fairies, devils
I shouted and cursed in wealthy places
Laughed of correctness, neglected bases
I hurt with knife the honored warriors
And kissed the lips of a thousand sailors
Danced in the spotlight free and naked
Built many smiles, untender, wicked
And still, there was no rest
Still I found no peace

Had to climb the highest mountain
To the top, where there’re no voices
Where the sun honestly burns
And no one begs for my return
Alone I was, as much as always
Just no crowd this time, no excuses
I found myself once, twice, three times
And read all in between my lines
Full understanding, full control
And knowledge came to give its glow
I saw the world as I looked down
No mysteries were left in town
But still, I cried, there was no rest
Still I found no peace at all

So I ran back to this uniform
Of lies and masks and fakeness
I kissed the preacher’s hands
I heard and said Amen
Jumped in holy water
Closed the door to squalor
A golden ring I wore
And said the words of love
Vows I made and not to break
In the pale moonlight at the lake
Dancing waltz with dad and smiling
Feeding little child and sailing
Away…cause there’s no rest
Still I found no peace

So I blamed the system
I blamed the system

gothic girl

She was pale as a stone image in a cemitery. The small creature, tossing and turning helpless in bed woke up scared. Her tiny hands grabbed the black setin sheets in despair as she realised she was surrounded by death. It was a very cold night. Her eyes rolled a bit, searching for a escape, but all she saw was the purple walls of her bedroom. On the little table, a book of Poe's tales was resting, half read, half neglected. She stood up and left the bed. With strong steps she walked to the radio and turned it off. For some reason, that night she didn't care for music at all. No more loud guitars, no more crazy drums and wild screams...just not now! She looked herself in the mirror. Eyes still blackened by the shadow of last night's make up. A tear rolled down her soft face. She noticed it, surprised. It had been a while...

Then the cat, Lestat, her only real friend passed by her, and went to hide under the bed. It was when she felt her heart beating fast. An overpowering pain taking over her chest slowly, as if to enjoy her fear of it becoming stronger. And it did. She knew it! It was it. Her heart condition had finally surprised her with an unexpected intensity.

She looked at her wrists. She saw the marks. And the girl remembered of all the times she seeked death. She remembered how much she adored it and all the poems she had written as an ode to death came to her mind. Vows she made to demons. Sweet songs for a vampire. The constant invitation to a killer to walk in and finished with a life she thought unworthy, meaningless. It was tonight! Tonight...all of her dreams, finally were coming true.

She knew she should have felt happy and complete. But she did not.

She knelt on the floor, submited to the hope of the supernatural. Not to invoke the dark creatures that had always fascinated her. But for light. She dreamt of angels of light, coming with their white swords to rescue her. And goodness. And God.

"Please forgive me, Lord. I beg you. Please come and save me tonight, God, dear Father." - she cried.

She survived that night. In the morning, she washed her face. And started to look for who she was, honestly.

SLAVE TO SLAVERY

I could kiss your ground
I could wash your feet
I could fool around
If you think bitter is sweet

I could dance for you
Be yours in the sand
you know that you rule
that my leash is in your hand

But the game is mine
I'm a slave to slavery
If I was really yours
you'd be able to deliver me

and don't deny, I know
you would love to see
how I'd let myself go
If I was for one night free

If I took the lead
If you knew my mind
Would you squirm and bleed
Or smile with pride?

Well, to hell with you!
I could be anyone's girl
I could be anyone's fool
as long as I BELONG TO

I WROTE THAT A GOOD WHILE AGO...BUT BACK THEN I'D NEVER HAVE THE COURAGE TO SHOW IT TO ANYONE... *SMILES*

So, a lil message to my dear friend Steven: When someone writes a poem, it doesn't mean they feel exactly that way... Usually they get inspiration on certain real feelings (their or of others, or even of the world around, colective impressions they have of the society) and they amplify it.
Hon, you're the best! =) Just don't take me tooooooo seriously.