Killing Small Town Sunflowers 1.19.

1.19.

It’s been
thirty three days
since I had a my
last nightmare

I still have my
dreams of
realities
soon to come
What I see
there
is far more
frightening
then any
nightmare
you can dream of

This is why my
presence
has become so
haunting
When I speak of
the things
I have seen
Memories of
my voice engraved
forever in your
thoughts
Like silk tainted
with burn marks

I am the fire
that lives inside
you
When your soul has
become burnt out
I will call it my home
Try to defeat me
I will take you down
from within

All your bottled up
desires
I will turn into a exotic
perfume
That’s how I know
You’ll be back soon

My infections ways
Defective tapes
As I examined back
in time
I realized
I was my own saviour

It’s so hard
to be a Saint
when you’re
this good of a
Sinner
Yet a bad
Sinner trying to
become a
Saint
Neither black nor white
Neither light nor darkness
I am not the space either
But the space
between the space

A woman gone Grey

An rouge observer of what is to come

This is why
my beauty terrifies
You have seen me
before
Everywhere
In dreams and memories
of make believe
In magazines and
works of art
A timeless beauty
Flawed and adored
Boughten of the
shelves
of dusty stores

I have become a
bi product of
provocative thoughts
A alluring fantasy
of a collective humanity
That seduced you
into believing
I was something
I was not

That’s why my
words
you will put on your
grave

I am the first
to wake up
And the last
to fall asleep
Can anyone tell me
Who I have become?