Knives and Thieves

I thought that by now this would leave
You're like a thousand knives held by thieves
Just let me die quickly or please
Come and take me away with you
Where I can breathe

The beautiful shape of those eyes
Play over like print on my mind
They color me so sweetly tonight
The walls around us fall in
Just in time

So let us burn it all down and see
Us lying on the cold ground floor
Let us burn it all down and see
I pictured us something more

Run in Rain.

I wish to run and never stop.
I wish the slaughter of the rain would
Whisper secrets I have almost lost.
I hate to look upon the skin I'm in.
In hopes of dying I resolve to
run and never stop.
I will run in rain until I'm not.

Sophia Ashworth

He Makes the Intricate Seem Straight...

'Lead then,' said Eve.
He, leading swiftly rowld in tangles,
And made intricate seem strait,
To mischief swift. Hope elevates, and joy bright'ns his
Crest, as when a wandring fire
Compact of unctuous vapor, which the Night
Condenses, and the cold invirons round,
Kindl'd through agitation to a Flame,
Which oft, they say, some evil Spirit attends
Hovering and blazing with delusive Light,
Misleads th' amaz'd Night-wanderer from his way
To Boggs and Mires, and oft through Pond or Poole,
There swallow'd up and lost, from succour farr.
So glister'd the dire Snake, and into fraud
Led Eve our credulous Mother, to the Tree
Of prohibition, root of all our woe..."

John Milton, Paradise Lost book IX

Starvation After Fill.

I was hungry, but not starved. Walking through the forest, my legs were tired, but I could go on. The air was chilly but not freezing.

Then I passed a house with broken shutters
And would have kept on going but--

A boy outside with brilliant eyes played thoughtfully with nature's toys.
Curiosity slowed me, I thought the colors interesting
Then in stillness, surrounding me, were memories of a million joys.

Stopping let my body feel its longing to rest.
The sweeping scent of food was one I knew that I could not forget.
The air seemed colder now for thought
of the spell a crackling fire brought
Years ago.

I didn't want to be trapped, I had places to see.
What if stopping there meant that I would never leave?
Fingers rested on the knob, debating what to do...

Then vidid flash of poverty, freezing in the snow
Thrown out from inside, the nights of resting warm
When that gnawing pain of hunger made me
Vomit--but never could I die from it--
Only wait in it.

That is why I started moving.

I will not forfeit motion, my saving grace from hell
I've learned to love the chill of morning, fatigue that keeps my legs from stopping.
I'd rather have hunger unrealized than starvation after fill.

Laugh.

Unconscious.

I live unconscious until the daylight fades
And night brings these merciless moments to haunt me, I know that no matter what I choose, how often I move, who I love, or how deeply I sleep, I can't remove this life, this soul, this presence.
So I document each night's consciousness from year to year, in a little book with blank ink script. When the scent is strong enough to be caught, my eyes flutter closed and drink of scenes:
Things I know and always forget.
Things I love that make me regret all daylight motion.
Here I lie in consciousness,
Until I am unconscious again.