Welcome, Lisa Jayne

Let rhyme become requiem, as the sky becomes light.
Let the sun's honest beams lay her crime in our sight,
See the bloodstains that cover the once-untouched earth,
Hear the shrill cry of laughter that carries no mirth.

The ground starts to shake as she gets to her feet,
For now, with your death, is her mission complete.
And now, without conflict, can her Chaos reign,
In her kingdom of madness, corruption and pain.

Her cup of malevolence shall never run dry,
And now you have drunk from it, othe… Continue

Follow her into a glade in the moonlight,
Where sins are committed and hidden from sight.
Gaze on her beauty, so calm and so cool,
A beauty so perfect, yet powerfully cruel.

Look in her eyes - see the light of her madness,
Push away all mortal feelings of sadness.
Journey now, into the darkness you crave,
Abandon your life, as you walk to your grave.

Look without fear, as she raises her knife,
To bring it down, crashing, to sever your life,
Feel its keen blade cut down without pain
And look de… Continue

Sing me this rhyme, and let darkness descend
And let all eternity become a firm friend.
Make fast the door, and strike up a fire.
And let yourself wallow in untold desire.

In music and starlight, let sleep overcome you,
And flounder in dreaming, where one can become two.
With a voice of pure silver, softly, she calls your name.
Do you sleep on or wake? - a pawn in her game.

And with the morning, the music is gone.
But the voice, like a memory, still lingers on.
Calling you - hauntingly - all t… Continue

This is not a love poem.

So I won't say that your eyes
are the deep, clear blue of a hazy summer sky.

This is not a love poem.

So I won't point out
that electrical tingles
run up and down my spine, when you brush my hand.

No, this isn't a love poem.

So it would be inappropriate to mention
that I get butterflies in my stomach
when I know I'm going to see you.
My palms get sweaty
and my heart rate increases.

No.

This is not a love poem.

It bubbles first, and then escapes.
a dribble now, a gush, a rush,
a ruby blot, a crimson wave.
It tickles, trickles, staining skins,
then floods forth in vivid cascade ,
a waterfall reflecting
some ever present sunset
in deep and dangerous red.
No fear of pain, no dream nor doubt:
any way to let the badness out.