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Your eyes haunted me at the end of that hallway;
Avalon brown with remnants of Al Cielo and
sparkling with indecision; oh boy, did you know
how deadly they were, even against the gray
backdrop of Ellis High School?
A locker slams as you retreat, angrily
after my unfinished goodbye-song.
Well, I'm sorry I'm not as easy to forget
as you thought, my spoiled Halloween-night.
Half-moonbeam, now you know it feels..

Yeah, I hope you know that for me, it never was a joke.
I hope you understand now that you're cold and thirsty;
sitting up in your room, without the chords from
my ukelele playing in your head, without my cream-soda
vintage lips tracing patterns along your brass-toned
abdomen, your hollow oak-stomach, that you see that
love isn't a dart-board you can shoot poison arrows at.

No, it's not even a silly concept;
a note passed around in class,
wilting daisies on your doorstep.
I know you care about me but
you're going about this the wrong way, boy.
You're expecting too much from a girl who
had to move all her life, watch mountains and
rivers; oceans and golf courses pass by
in hot-wire blue-green flashes through
the window of her dad's moving truck.
You think I'm just like all the other girls
who flip carelessly through their yearbooks
at the end of the autumn-semester,
trying not-so-hard to remember the crushes
they had on pretty fools they ogled at once
upon a time in a free-verse lullaby.
But I'm not like them, just so you know..

I stay longer; I'm like the summer,
stubborn and bright-eyed.
I never want to fade, not even when
the last gold leaf falls; crinkles
like paper, becomes a rotten apple
for all the squirrels in these tea-tree woods.
“But I never thought you were!” you claim, boy.
“I always knew you were different, a keeper.”
Oh is that right?
Is that why you strung up the moon
on a silver chain,
wrapped it around my wrist?
Boy, is that why you whispered Spanish prayers
in my ears when I couldn't
fall asleep that horrible time I fought with
my father,  all because of you?

Do you remember?
You made me feel so safe,
then you took it all away..
Now I'm like a ship with no anchor.
Now I need a little more
time to see you differently; not as
the boy who broke my heart,
tore all the sheet music inside
my rib-cage but as a human who
I couldn't be more than friends with.

“Is it okay with you if
I hide that photo of us at the winter festival
at the bottom of my sock drawer?
Boy, can you try not to call me
every time you hear one of my favorite Blues
melodies on the radio?
And please stop cruising around my neighborhood;
slouching in your jeep, thinking,
“Maybe she'll answer the door”?
Because I won't, just so you know..
And no, I'm not being cruel.
I'm just returning the favor.
You think maybe I'd need some space, time away
from the sound of your James Dean voice, your
Antonio Banderas type of charm;
all arresting mystery in a southwestern hoodie,
Apache native drum..
Yeah, I'm talking about your heartbeat, boy;
the memory of it beneath my fingers, see,
I could use some time away from it all.

Daisy tombstones; oh tonight
I'm paying my respects to all the girls you scorned,
even my best friend; that
dazzling, charismatic redhead.
Oh what was wrong with her, with any of us?
“Nothing!” you insist.
So tell me; was it the fear of getting close,
the ageless worry that if one of us did touch
your sun-bleached desert skin,
you'd shatter under the genuine
weight of concern?
Did you think, boy; that everyone would know
that beneath all those layers of martyr cloth,
you're just as clueless about life
as the rest of us?

Oh but we all grow up..
Maybe I was prepared to help you along the way,
see that you figured it out a bit more smoothly.
But you thought I'd never be able to handle all
your secrets, family history of waiting in vain
for a father who took off when you were eight
and never returned.
It's so tragic how you assumed the worst of me,
boy; that I was weak and couldn't see past your
April fool's masquerade.
Oh what a shame because I did and now you only
have yourself to blame.

Oh yes, you can blame it on anything you'd like;
the icy March rain, so uncommon in the southern
part of this red-state;
on the last good day we had together before
the storm, the inevitable earthquake.
Darling, you can blame
your estranged sadness
on the fact that you're not a superhero, that
you can't save everybody in this town from
disease; cancer of the lungs, from the sun
or just plain bad luck and
somewhere along the way
between traffic-jams, skidding tires on
the lone-star ghost bridge,
you've convinced yourself that it's all your fault.
Oh how naïve, boy..
And here you were, thinking I was the angel brought
down from above.

But if I am, as you say; all
innocent and golden against the backdrop of
a Navajo sunset, in my salmon-pink dress;
then, you should know that even angels fall.
Yes, if there's no chance for a recovery
just yet; a reconciliation on that bridge
in the red-woods, where we played hooky
that time, overlooking the river with all
of its silver-toned secrets, rushing
downstream; becoming invisible, then
please keep in mind, Saratoga native,
that your citrine eyes can't win every time.

Turn me over, strip off the sleeves of
my hunter's sweater just like you did
that night I let you sneak inside my bedroom.
Do you remember; the window was
open, I was ready to surrender,
accept your urgent lips on my neck,
your warm hands around my waist,
your whole body guiding mine towards the bed.
A rush of firelight, rose-wood exposure; boy,
it was exhilarating, but now
you see the damage is done,
pieces of me on the floor; chipped seashells
and I'm no angel.
Boy, I'm only human.
Lena, tell me you still remember those sun-streaked days..
Now old ladies; we wear paisley, sitting on the porch swing,
holding hands, sipping summer berry tea.
Now we're together, finally, though I never thought I'd be alive
and kicking pale-cotton caution to the wind;
past apartheid storms, past suicide-snow, revolutionary rainbows.

Darling, do you remember all those pretty years ago?
I swear, Lena, your maple-leaf eyes are greener than ever before.
And “You're crazy,” you object, shaking your head.
“I'm old, sweetie; can't you tell?
I'm no longer your fire-proof rose.”
But c'mon, I'm not that shallow..
You're still the one; Lena, my only safe-harbor, lighthouse glow
in a world of segregation, a shadow-land of ghouls.
Both 25 when we met, we were wild in the age of dissonance.
Reaganomics, same-sex secrets; yeah,
we were living the high life, cruising in the past-lane,
cursing with those sailors; survivors of
Pearl Harbor and getting tipsy all night.
Lena, we were rosy-cheeked, remember; our hair not yet gray..
And I truly believe, even today; 25 years later,
that mustang-hearts like ours never die young, sweetie.

It's funny, isn't it; how we spent most of our youth
riding in cars with small-town boys, Midwest survivors
of extinction, El Dorado explorers?
Oh Valentine's Day candy, ain't it strange;
how we never kissed in public?
No, we had a thing; saving it for the milky-white rain..
At least that was before the 80s, Lena; when it was
still like that, hidden between
the tabloids tossed out with gutter-star trash.
Paper cranes, fiery wings;
your daddy lit a cigarette one June evening.
He glanced from you to me,
made us promise to be careful.
“You girls are cute together,
funny like Lucy and Ethel; charming, even
a little bit brave, Thelma-and-Louise style.
But remember; not everyone is as
free-spirited, open-minded as I am.”
Then he murmured quietly, “Not even your mother.
Lena, she wouldn't like this one little bit; this
fascination you have with a white judge's daughter.”

Oh but you didn't care.
“It's not a phase,” you told your parents
when they both finally found out about us,
when they forbade you from seeing me.
Oh you didn't give two cents about that
kind of judgment; separation of class,
skin-color, gender and
I love that about you but maybe you should
have thought it through.
Instead you said, “Nope.
Momma, Papa; I'm not apologizing for my heart,
this organ you call 'twisted', beating red
wine for her in the center of my rib-cage.
I'm not apologizing for being true and
you know what else; this Yankee darling
and I are running away together.”

And after that, we made history out on the open road;
across the U.S in a beat-up, burned-out Camarro.
Smoke signs in the desert, gorgeous night; all teal
and gold-rimmed, sea-glass, sand-dollar, baby.
You were my guide as I navigated our escape
from that solitary life, red-state limits.
Yeah, darling, it was funny; all that time, dancing
on the San Francisco boardwalk, sipping
Florida mojitos and listening to jazz outside
Cafe de Monde with the long-haired surfers,
with the biracial musicians and part-time
pilots, explorers of the western skies..
Nobody ever suspected we were more than
holiday partners; horoscope girlfriends.
No, we were more like Sappho and Bilitis.

Too smart to stay home, get married young,
raise ungrateful children; you told me, Lena,
“Someday I want to settle down in the mountains
somewhere in my native Taos.
I want a cabin with a stack of firewood on the porch;
bright marigolds in the windows and
a gray, green-eyed tabby curled up on a Navajo rug
in front of the fireplace.
But for now; sunny-haired,
fair-skinned morning glory, let's just have fun.”

Oh and I hoped we'd make it till then,
till you were ready to be my bride in
an unexpected lily-sky dress,
with orange blossoms tangled
neatly in your Haitian braids.
“Oh girl, give us the past,”
my parents said when I told them
20 years ago, that you were
the only future I was interested in.
They said, “Times were so much
cleaner, decent, easier then.
But now, daughter, what gives you the right
to shame us like this; so publicly, choosing
a half-breed girl over a hundred
possibilities of blue-collar, private school
boys driving around our town,
family values stamped on their foreheads?”

“Oh Mom and Dad,” I shot back, fearlessly,
unashamed of your hand in mine.
“You two are so ignorant when it comes to love;
I can't even justify your prejudice with a response,
your bigotry; it's not in my bones,
coursing through my veins, even
though I carry your name, your Scottish blood.”
And it was because of you, Lena;
that I said all that, that I refused
to surrender, for the first time in my life.

Oh lovely, caramel-toned tiny dancer
in the streets of Memphis; the home
of the King, do you think that maybe
all those boys we partied with in high school
knew the truth; that all the while,
we were daydreaming about each other,
driving around from one malt shop;
thrift store to another?
Lena, do you think that deep down,
they knew all along; that
they could never hold us down?
riding in cars with boys
inspired by Lana Del Rey's "Driving in Cars with Boys", with a lesbian twist ;)
March Marigold, around and around you spin
in a haze of bubblegum-surrender; Fourth of July
madness, berry-wine craze, tricking me with that
peppermint smile; so subtle, so carefree.
With a flutter of baby lashes, you make me think
of heaven; a carnival, sweet-and-tangy
kettle corn, carousel playground, even though
we live in a trailer-park.

And what would it be like to touch your skin,
I wonder; staring at the silver-dove necklace
you wear around your neck,
glinting in the damaged sunlight.
Oh I'm unworthy, I know..
But I still think it's amazing
how that vicious season; winter, tried and
failed to dry up your innocence.
Even summer; the one time we thought most
charming, burned your left shoulder
with an orange-flower tattoo.
Girl, but even under the jealous
wind's fingers; you remained
infinite, you stayed beautiful.

And it wasn't just me, I noticed;
I wasn't the only one in love with watching you.
Dancing to a 90s track, you didn't care
that the chords were passé, that nobody
remembered the artist, let alone; the beat,
the intention of the lyrics, to make people
nostalgic like dazed fireflies; hopping around,
trying to make their adolescence last an entire chorus.

Oh champagne poppers fill the stillness of
a colonial night with mayhem and that was
when something changed between us.
Oh dove-captor, do you think maybe we were
wrong from the very beginning?

Maybe we were headed towards a train-wreck
from the very first day of rebel-fall.
But darling, at the time; all we cared about was
pushing the limit, making fireworks dance out of
dead sparklers, paint graffiti butterflies all
over the cell-block walls of our ghetto neighborhood.
Yeah, back then; we were all about the teenage scream
revolution, all that flare-gun pride, a bronze fight
against domestic violence, against the public school
system, cops pushing us down on the sweet-tea grass,
telling us we were nothing but Wonder-bread rejects.

Oh Marigold, I'd never let anyone hurt you..
I swear on my young goddamned life,
on our mother's grave; her Inuit stone,
that no one will ever tear you down,
shoot an arrow through your fire-bird wings.
No, not on my watch, honey..
You can smile, amused by this big-talk grandeur.
You can even tell me I'm not
strong enough to stand up to that old drunk who
lives in the same house as us.
But don't underestimate me; not when it comes
to our bond, how much I care about your safety
in this monochrome city.
And you know I'm right;
I'm not just bluffing because if you had any
doubt in your mind that
I didn't love you at all,
you wouldn't be standing behind me as I gaze
sullenly at the bruises peppering my stomach,
reflected back in angry slashes
through a murky bathroom mirror.

Girl, you wouldn't be folding
your thin, gauzy-sleeved arms
around my middle, whispering in my ear,
“I'll always believe in you..”
If you honestly didn't think
that I was worth your time;
that I was forever-inferior
in a princess-would-never-kiss-a-frog
sort of way, then you wouldn't
be rubbing antiseptic over my wounds,
stitching up the whiskey bottle
cut running across my abdomen
like a bloody Hail Mary river.
Girl, you tell me, “Don't be mean..
I love you, just not in the way you want
to be ; craved between the pages of
a New York magazine, all that glitter
madness that makes golden-boys
want sex, dirty rose porn.”

Oh Marigold, what the hell are you talking about?
Girl, you know you're the only one..
You know I can't look at anyone else
with ripe Persephone lips, bright Greek eyes,
conquering the empires of shy schoolboys and
if I do; I'm just left with a sound-proof, bleak
dying-angel hole in my chest.
Oh sinking Atlantis, I'll always be yours;
it's time you knew the truth..
This sad truth about forever is that
it's not in the future, but in
a moment of subconscious sin.

You and I are linked; not our parents
or even my best friend, just you, girl.
You might not know this but one morning at around three;
I woke up thirsty, went into the kitchen
for a drink of stale tap water and found Dad there,
too wasted to even sit up in his wrecked chair.
Between gulps of paper-mill beer,
he told me I was worthless, said,
“You might consider yourself a hero just because
you keep your sister out of trouble
but the truth is; if I'm going to hell,
boy, then I'm dragging you down with me.”
And I don't know why because I was used to it but
those belligerent words made me
angrier, sadder than usual.
Marigold, I'll never leave you
alone here, in this tar-black world.

I'll do anything to make you see me
as your knight in shining fairy tale armor.
Girl, as ridiculous as it sounds; I swear
I'll be your last Pegasus dream
every night before falling asleep.
“Stop it,” you say as my thirsting lips
skim up and down your neck.
Oh but Hampton princess,
a minute passes before you whisper,
“This.. feels weird” and your eyes
roll back as my mouth scales
farther down your pixie frame.
The ghost inside me comes to life;
a poinsettia fire rises, shivers
streaking my skin as you gasp,
my name a broken syllable.
Now do you see why it's impossible
for me to go through a day;
no matter how dreary, without
thinking about warm skin, a somersaulting
dawn in an evening storm?

“You can't think of me like that,” you claim
but darling, it's far too late..
Morning slides down my spine;
your fingers, perfect half-moons make me want
this sky to fall as I thrust inside you..
Give me the best of these end-of-days, darling.
Give me the best of your sharp, little groans.
Headlights shine through the broken window
as mile-high trucks cruise by, making noise
and promising danger in the form of
dead-beat dads, crashes out on the open road.
But inside this firefly-lit bedroom,
the one we've shared for years without
thinking anything of it; anything of splayed
lace curtains cut to show a sliver
of moonlight, salamander wallpaper
and wrinkled Falcon Cove sheets,
but now something has changed.

And darling, I'll take things slow
if you promise to stop breaking mirrors
in an attempt to reverse the past.
If you stop hurting yourself with
shards of April storms; blue-glass
pricking your milkweed, amber flesh.
And promise you'll stop writing such
guilt-ridden, depressing riddles;
leaving them all over the bathroom
for me to find, throat-slitting
poetry hidden under the sink.
Oh I know you're trying to convince me
you're a lost-cause and that I should
go find the last Turn of the Century girl;
a pale-faced, strawberry-blond Gibson model.
But don't you get it by now; we're connected
like the moon, embracing that stubborn,
Proud Mary sun?
Girl, it makes sense to no one but us..

And that's great; that's just fine because
I don't need or want anyone sticking their nose
where it doesn't belong, trying to smell
the violet wildflowers I hid under your pillow.
No, girl, tell me I'm the only one who
can touch you; coming out of the shower,
dripping cold mill-bend water, droplets
that reflect your wide moss-green eyes..
Oh tell me this isn't just a phase;
puppy-love, a silly little crush,
withering like a sprig of hazel
in the middle of a California drought.

Oh 'cause I know I can't take
the image of you walking off,
holding hands with someone else.
Girl, I'm sick; I know what they say about me,
that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
But they're wrong, all those
teachers from middle school and
let's not forget, the neighbors.
They saw us growing up together; they thought,
“He's a daredevil, a little bastard spit-fire.
But that green-eyed girl; now, she's an angel..”
And you know something; they were
right about you, not me.
Yes, I took my chances;
falling for you, your long sandy hair
sliding through my fingers,
your sweet giggles killing
all the bad vibes in the air as we drove home.
But darling Marigold, I can
never make you feel like disappearing;
you're the reason why I'm still here..

And would you believe I picture you
in a white gown someday?
“You're crazy,” you say,
smacking my arm not-so-playfully.
“Don't joke about that.”
Oh but it's true; no matter how dark,
how sick my thoughts can get in
the dead of whimsical night, I still
think of you as my partner for life.

Set fire to the marigolds tonight..
You tell me you're sorry
for doubting my feelings,
my too-close-for-comfort
intentions out in an open party.
Darling, you caught me by surprise;
standing behind me as I dry my hair
with a brick red and bluebird towel
in the bathroom, the door carelessly unlocked.
Girl, a ghost-hand closes around my throat as
you step closer, your lashes
so long, your eyes hopeful.
“Do you forgive me, friend?
Would you believe me if I said that the fire
on your lips, scorching
cinnamon, scared me that night?
But it doesn't mean I don't want you back,
just not so fast, boy.."
But I can't hold back..

Like Virginia Creeper, your legs wind around
my waist, arms snaking about my neck
as my lips crash against yours, girl.
My snakebite tongue parts them and
enters your black-cherry mouth.
Our hands are roaming over each others' forms;
in the corner of my eye, in the mirror,
we're reflected as two neon ghosts
but I don't mind at all.
No, Marigold; I don't mind the carelessness,
the overall risky pleasure
in this moment because god,
I've been waiting so long to be this close
to your Sagittarian warmth.

And suddenly, I pull away;
for the first time, taking a breath.
Slowly my fingers tear open
the buttons on your silk Hollister tee.
I wait for you to nod yes before sliding
the sleeves from off your shoulders and
seeing all of you in the dim fluorescence;
a dream I've only touched once like a blind man,
feeling my way in a dark room.
“Oh girl, say no and I'll stop..”
But you don't and maybe this is
the biggest tragedy we've ever been through;
trying to resist the pull, the magnetic tug
of something besides lust, a connection,
a desire to belong and build
a home in each others' bones.

Oh like Virginia Creeper, girl;
you twist yourself around me,
rubbing shoulder-blades against the wall.
And then I'm dangerously pushing in,
pressing myself against your hip-bones.
You gasp; “I'm sorry if I'm bruising..”
But “No,” you say, twisting
your fingers in my wheat-blond hair.
“Don't stop.. Just this once, please let go.”

And maybe you shouldn't have said that.
Maybe you shouldn't have trusted me
to be your first because dear Marigold,
now I'm hooked on your moonlit fire.
Yeah, I'm drowning in the swing-low-sweet-chariot
sounds you make when I bury myself inside you.
And moving with all the self-control
of a wicked snowstorm, ice crystal wonderland;
this is a sharp, intense never-going-to-change fantasy ride.
Like Virginia Creeper, you wrap yourself
around my muscles; a vine, you whisper,
“Golden-boy, I'm glad it was you, my first apple-wood time.”
Saturn painted your eyelids a dull bronze.
You've been unconscious for awhile now,
and the servants are starting to talk:
“Will that boy ever wake up?”
Ever since Wednesday, I've been praying;
here on the floor by your bedside,
to a god I never knew existed; all red-rimmed,
staring down at me from a chipped teal ceiling.
Orion-born angel, I don't care who hears me
now; I'm your only sentinel.

But they say you can hear me; the nurses
in this non-traditional Catholic hospital.
So here goes, friend;
what I really think about what you did..
The cold-hard truth,
I strongly believe in my desert-heart is
that you chose the wrong
boy to risk your life for.
Oh yeah, if you were awake,
you'd deny everything;
everything sheltered for so long
in your spring-autumn chest.
But I know you better than anyone..
I've been the dead weight you've carried around
since you were twelve.
And maybe it's time you let go,
drop all pretense because maybe it's not good
for you to hate yourself; your
limited knowledge of poison-brewing,
cutting-edge conspiracy and
black-and-white street-fighting
just because you couldn't save me.
Maybe I'll never be the ghost
you're trying so hard to resurrect;
bring back to life, a reincarnated butterfly.

I know it's hard to accept
that you've lost this battle,
one you've been fighting your entire life.
I know it's frustrating;
watching the object of your affection,
midnight poolside dream,
trapped in a mirror of gilded gold,
Victorian sibling-rivalry,
painted all around a starry frame.
But what are you going to do;
hold your breath till the end of
your crashed-mermaid days?
It's time to blow out the candle,
boy; the one you're still holding
to my grotesque spilled-ink name,
a printed-page disappointment, friend.
Yeah, honey, I'm a cursed headline;
just another 1930s Depression,
you know it's inevitable..

You think maybe I can't give you this world
but “It doesn't matter,
my sandstone pirate,” you insist.
“Maybe I'd never fit in anywhere.”
Oh boy, don't sell yourself short..
In this bright carousel-world, you and I;
we're rebels and yet, not indestructible.
Foxfire, you know as well as I do that
picking our battles, choosing this Aquarius
sunlight is the only way to survive;
authentically, unafraid of anything
coated in sulfur.

So uncover your star-island eyes and
give yourself a chance to be the hero
you've always envisioned
in your sandpaper dreams;
someone worth remembering, even though
history is just a winter-rose, withering.
But when people no longer
speak of angels or even that Superman;
his broad shoulders, red-and-blue
American Odyssey-cape or even; yes,
all those Kryptonite mistakes, I'm sure
our names will still ring in their ears.
Boy, I think you'll be even better than him
because unlike that Clark Kent fellow,
you don't need to shake this earth;
move skyscrapers, to feel special.
No, little foxfire; if there's anyone
I know in this tiny New York hamlet
who's going to rise above everyone's expectations,
prejudice; it's you, my Sagittarian archer.

Friend, you've never lost, not even
in front of the most critical of judges;
the most narrow-minded of scholars,
bastards of this grim day and age.
Oh yeah, they learn early on
how to knock people down but
why would you care what they think?
Foxfire, if they take everything away,
strip off the layers that make up
your legacy here; the birthplace
of Lady Liberty, I know
you'll still have your individuality.
Boy, you'll still have that glowing
Alaskan blue-star in the center of your chest.
No one can take that away, trust me..
No one can voluntarily crush your spirit.

And I'll follow you till the end..
Even if heaven; its thorn garden-gates,
shut me out, I'll find a way in because
you mean more to me than just any teammate;
a constellation partner,
I was paired up with since high school.
Foxfire, it doesn't matter
if no one understands us.
Just don't leave me here
in this sinking Atlantis;
an imaginary but oh-so-cold limbo,
hanging on a rope, thinking,
“If he dies, I want to fall forever.
Oh I never want to hit the ground
where all those safe dandelions are
because the only thing that
can save me is his determined Celtic pride,
his never-going-to-leave-a-man-down lion's heart.”
Yes, Viking-prince, you may
have been cast off by your own tribe; your own
circle of blue-eyed, sword-wielding supporters;
even your own parents, ashamed
of their star-struck theater-loving,
boy-kissing son, but you know that
I; I will never abandon you.

And it doesn't take much to realize
we're all angels in the end, whether
pure sand-dollar white or ashen black.
Boy, we all have paper wings; we can
all fly, reaching higher than these steeples,
the caverns populated by chanting robed-men.
They can damn us with as many prayers
as they want; a list of commandments
that we're supposed to follow, even though
at the end of the day,
they're so eager to damn us, anyhow.
“But how is that fair?”
I question you silently.
A warrior stripped of all physical strength,
you lie as still as a statue.
But dove-captor, I know you're still breathing.
Bronze-haired archer, even though
your eyelids are painted shut;
this monarch butterfly's death wish,
a mark on your left shoulder,
I can still hear a faint fluttering
somewhere inside..

“You're crazy,” the doctors tell me.
“He hasn't moved all night.”
True, but they don't know anything.
Maybe they're whispering somewhere
down the hall that
I'm conceited, thinking I'm some
sort of genius in comparison.
But the truth is;
I don't need proof to know
you're still here.

Your tattoos still haven't faded away
with your Charlotte-town bones, into
pearl dust; if you were gone, slipping
into another dimension,
I'd feel it in my rib-cage, I'm sure..
So if you can hear me, promise
you'll keep fighting your way
out of this spider-web labyrinth because
if there's no angel to guide you with
an amber lantern; a glinting sword,
then I'll be your Eden-ghost shadow, boy.

"If Heaven and Hell decide
That they both are satisfied
Illuminate the No's on their vacancy signs
If there's no one beside you
When your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark"

- "I will follow you into the dark", Death Cab for Cutie


United States
Current Residence: Texas
Favourite genre of music: rock


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BlackBowfin Featured By Owner Jul 25, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Hello Sharon.  Thank you so very much for the fave and watch.  :)
autumn-spirit Featured By Owner Jul 26, 2015
you're welcome
Scarlettletters Featured By Owner Jul 21, 2015  Professional Writer
Thanks very much for faving my work - I appreciate it.
letmechooseaname Featured By Owner Jul 19, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
thank you very much for the favorite ^^!!
autumn-spirit Featured By Owner Jul 19, 2015
you're welcome
That-Random-Child Featured By Owner Jul 15, 2015  Student Writer
Hello! :) (Smile) I just want to let you to know that I really, really love your writing. I spent half this morning reading through your gallery and I can honestly say I loved every one of them. Your imagery and choice of words is so unique and I think very accessible, is that the word? I think a lot of people can relate to your stories, and that's really beautiful. Plus long poems, I love long poems!
Keep up the great work! Heart 
autumn-spirit Featured By Owner Jul 16, 2015
aww thank you! I had a bad day yesterday so reading this really makes smile :D I appreciate you taking the time to comment. so glad you like my poems cuz most people are thrown off by the length haha
irishimo Featured By Owner Jul 14, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you for the fave on-> Hate You.. by irishimo
autumn-spirit Featured By Owner Jul 14, 2015
you're welcome
irishimo Featured By Owner Jul 14, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Have a great day! :iconbatglompplz:
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