Can I fit into the little box?
Can I be what I believe I must?
Can I just discard the thoughts:
The greed, the pride, the anger, lust?

Can I cut off inconveniences
And still say that I am whole
Or will I, in my running, find
That I can’t outrun them all?

In Sheep’s Clothing

“Be wary of devils, little angel;
Watch out for the thorns.
There are always those who will try and show you hell;
Manipulators who will use you for their own needs and nothing more.

Don’t let them take your innocence;
Don’t let them bend your principles.
Be careful of the hypocrites
Who care not for your precious soul!”

But I am not an angel;
I am, for sure, a rose.
There’s a place Down There I know quite well…
And the best manipulation is the one where no one knows.


I wonder if you can understand,
That I kill pieces of myself
Just to prove I can;
Just to see if you can bring them back again.

I wonder if you can understand,
That when I said what I said
I wasn’t saying “go away,”
I was saying “come back another day.”

I wonder if you can understand,
That I’ll hide beneath every rock
Just to see how many you’re willing to turn;
And if you aren’t at all — then you’ll never get to see how much I yearn.

In the Midst of Darkness

Where do the stars find rest
When all the world is restless?
When all is black and what was best
Is lost to what’s relentless;
When the next step in the quest
Seems to be continuing on questless?

When you are lost to darkness
And you can’t remember sunshine,
When even stars’ gentle brightness
Seems gone for all of time —
Ask yourself where their rest is…
And realize you’ll be fine.


I don’t want to see the sun;
For then I’ll have to watch it set.
And I don’t want to climb the mountain;
Because I’m not ready to slip down just yet.

I don’t want to see the sky;
Because then I’ll realize I’m still here.
And I don’t want to choose to live or die;
Because I exist somewhere between, in fear.

I don’t want to spread my wings:
For feathers are a gentle down;
And if I fall I shan’t recall
Why first I sought out such a gown.

Another Day


Keep it for another day:
Keep it until you do not know
If such a day will ever be
Where you might finally show,
And do, and see,
And be there for me
As you always wanted to,
But as for “how,” never knew;
And so you simply let it fade away,
To be kept until another day.

A Black Hole by a Dark Heart In a Cold World at Midnight

Thunk; the shovel has its say:
Thunk! An accusation.
Chink will bring the light of day
Into this dark damnation.
Thunk! another shovel full;
Thunk! it’s getting deeper.
Thunk! A sin that such a hole
Is where he chose to keep her.
Thunk! He’s getting closer now
Thunk! Into the past
Chink! It’s almost over now;
He’ll have his peace at last.
Clunk — The shovel hits the earth;
He must have lost his mind!
A coffin in a state of dearth;
“Did you miss me?” From behind.

The Internal Conflict of an Optimistic Cynic

All of man is selfish;
All of man is cruel.
All of man seek for themselves,
From the king down to the fool.
Some lie and just pretend;
Some truly believe.
Some are so conflicted
That they can only really grieve.
I suppose it doesn’t matter;
I suppose it doesn’t change a thing.
I suppose it doesn’t mean the good
Doesn’t have any real meaning.
But how can you be sure of it?
How can you tell what’s false or real?
How can you claim to do what’s right
If it might just be to make you feel?