DominaFideles

I. Your voice is a poison passing through me. Your touch is a knife shoved into me. II. You are the ocean and I am the moon, I want our cycles and motions to be in tune; Pulling and drawing the waves ever higher But with all of my strength I'm not closer to you. I'm borrowing the brighter, the star's fire And that is all that's reflecting through. III. You are golden in the distant sunlight, The foundation, the valley's, the mountain's height. IV. Why won't you smile when you look at me?

She is like a dream Ethereal and wandering With words to say to those who listen Abandonment and endless wishing She's missing some piece inside A thing I  can't replace, although I've tried She looks and takes and cries and wonders She hopes that somebody will trust her But those she chooses look inside They only want the things she hides An endless cycle of taking and leaving A paradox that she believes in Because only by giving something away Will the nothingness be replaced She walks inside and changes her face Puts on some laughter and beauty and grace An illusion for each and every one She hides behind empty masks and it's been too long

Only when its over will you ever know That you should've never let him go, That he was your only hope for home. Can you feel your fire waving low? Can you pick up when I call your phone? I can't stand to feel so alone. I was so wrong, this I know My emptiness and anger made me cold, Take me home? I don't know where to go, Don't let me go... I only love me when I'm drunk and when I'm stoned. When I show my spirit down to the bone. I hate me so much, my heart's beating slow I have to let go when you hate me so. But to kill me, would it take my soul? When I'm dying is when I feel home The end is a blessed thing to know. Can you

I am incredibly anxious and lonely, and I understand how it feels to be overwhelmed. But I also understand that while I will always end up alone, I will never be truly alone. We are all a part of the cycle.　 The earth is my mother and the sun is my life, and until the day I die I will take from them. In the last moments I exist, I will leave this place of beginnings and endings for a place of eternity, and my worldly form will feed the flowers and the fruits and the animals - And I will have paid my debt.

I'm in love with the girl in the mirror Yet as hard as I look, she never gets clearer. Which part of me is more real? Which side of reality can I truly feel? If the mirror shatters, which of me will die? What if my soul is on the other side? I stare into her blurry eyes, A testament to the mirrors lies. I reach out and see the mirror shatter Into pieces of me too small to even matter. But I see her in each piece An unmarred reminder of who I used to be. I gather the shards and try to fix me And I see that she was always with me. The girl that I had been Was in my eyes once again. It's been so long I can't tell the difference;

My world is in my own view. Within it I forget of you. It is my creation, my perfect circle. Life is abundant upon my lands; Shadowed beds lie beneath canopies, Each one a product of my hands. Dancing women embody the moonlight. Ancient evil threatens their revels. Diabolical angels with haloes of night Battle cunning fairies and painted devils. I am the Queen of the forsaken land. I am Creatrix, the maker of all. And each dead spirit sung into my hands Will never bear the haunting risk to fall. My angels dance in gowns of red With hair like night, and tangled curls. My story is sung into dangerous webs With each cadence and

I am the dust of forgotten stars and the emptiness in every atom. I am the flower that grows on the ruins. I am the cracked mirror that has yet to shatter and the distortion of the soul reflected. I am the murmured assent at the sound of uncaring voices, the uninterested gleam in the eyes you laugh with, and the smile that cracks a broken mind. I am the tears shed in the back of the classroom, so quickly wiped away at a teacher's glance. I am the momentary mistakes in a replayed masterpiece beneath the hands of a piano prodigy. I am the reflection of the setting sun, and the brief shadow before the dawn's light. I am the atheist

Hiding in the dust of the universe Beyond the dying stars and nebulae Past the clouds of particles and Evidence of light Through ethereal cathedrals and Unknown reaches, there lies my mind. Closed off to mortal stimuli In the darkness of eternal mist, That which existed aeons before This crowded world began My mind explores the pathways Here, and The wilderness of dreams and Imagination Among the dead stars and clouds Of the past.

I want to know every piece of you From the curve of your spine to the bridge of your nose The pores on your face to the tips of your toes Your biceps and triceps and skin and your hair To the sounds that you make when you exhale air I want to know each aspect of you From the skin on your surface to the blood underneath The joy in your smile to the shadows beneath And every hope, dream and wish that you've had while alive To the sheer stubborn nature that lets you survive I want you to know every part of me From my unlikely future to the pain in my past The voices inside that make night hard to last From each inch of my body to ea

Oh, who could imagine the sweet kiss of true love? Who could lead midnight in a sorry dance until morn? Oh, it is easy to laugh, easier to cry, and, Romeo, you’ll never, never know. See, love is fragile, a trial and a test, It is easy to hate, easier to loathe, But, oh, Romeo, you’ll never know. And the faery queen could swear by The moon and the stars, all the lives She lived, all the songs she’d danced, That the one she held dear was love itself, But what does she know of true love? Oh, sweet Romeo, you’ll never know. See, Bella Donna, the beautiful lady, Who kills all that she kisses? And, oh, dear Romeo, did she

I almost forgot The way your warm fingers tasted And felt on my skin, like a fever rag on a damp forehead A sunburn radiating into my core Effortlessly Swallows Other material things like flowers or weave-baskets This is sort of what makes up our moments I call them ours, because we are together But they are really only mine I know a lighthouse almost as statutory as you And he’s much more dependable But somehow it’s your name playing on my tongue at night in my sweet-bed I feel like pancakes drowned in syrup

This feeling like I need to smash glass shards all over every inch of my pathetically scarred self pity of a Seashell, the ocean called He told me it’s time to sing again

I have to admit that I've never much relished the irony. “Love child” was their polite euphemism. Though I rarely heard it, I knew that the phrase was used to describe me, when I wasn't close enough to listen. An improvement, you might think, on “bastard” ? Depending upon whether you prefer to be patronised or denounced. Either form of words confirmed my status. I had been pre-judged. Society had formed its consensus long before the time came for my mother to suffer the pangs of birth. Mother: such a resonant title! Yet what was my mother but a senseless scrap of a girl, who hadn't  had the wit to keep her legs cros

There were days Melissa measured her happiness in brightness, when she would hold her hands over her eyes and the cracks of sunlight, like old paint on drywall, would shine through to let her know exactly who it was that held her. Who is it? And at that moment of recognition Melissa felt… ...she felt okay. More than photons reflecting off of totem shells, humanity is conch-cradled in her dusk where light perception is limited to the moon, where blind is a swear word and an oath dependent on a circadian arcade: she is blind and going blinder. Lingering, she allows herself a curfew to blow out the lantern and sing without color fo

you are the songs i am afraid to sing, the cigarettes i won't ever smoke and i am all the records you won't get around to, every dangling thread glimmering in false hope. our days are fast and so surreal, our nights are wrapped in cold the midnight sky is laced with our breath, every story we've ever told. you hit me like a heart attack, a storm they couldn't forecast; you were a brick to the back of my head, our love was sudden, fast. you might as well be miles away, a face that i never would see. it's been a long time, i think about it a lot, a long time since you've talked to me. our ghosts still hover, nightly, beneath the lights tha

There is a time for colors,   a time for black and white. You can tell she is sad from the twisted trees she draws with her colorless pen.   She struggles to find a word who could define that universe she used to know so well. Only one thing is sure today, there is a time for colors     and it will come again. Now she sits by the window eyes fixed on the storm, slowly breathing in a time for black and white.   One single piece of paper empty as her mind glows in the dim light. Oh dear sun, even you can tell she is sad.     Some bittersweet melody she can't quite recognize fills the room for a moment and you'd believe it's coming from the

i am still caught up, somewhere in my head, in our delusions of grandeur; weaving daisy-chains and folding stars scraping our knees and acting like a bit of blood can make us tougher rolling joints and picking ourselves up off the concrete reciting lyrics and poetry like mantras, playing at being adults like we could actually see through all the smoke we're barely out of high school and still wandering like ghosts in a town that can't wait for us to pack up and leave. we're dead to them already, it's not home anymore we think we can make it on our own -- shit, you can't even read cursive.

White-gloved fingers follow wishes across the night; Nature's mime wears a crescent moon and a blaring sun in his eyes.

Come, drink your snow tea with me and realize that your soul fills more than bathtubs on comet-nights when the world’s too quiet and your head’s too loud. Come, sit by the window and drink the snow; have you lost feeling in your big toes yet? Don’t worry, little bird, next should be your mind… then, at last, silence can be yours. Come, sit in the ground and cough your snow and feel the freedom of icicle heats. You need not be bound to anything but the cold, and you need not feel anything at all. And at last, at last, that silence can be yours.