"Empress Athena"
       Words worked in morbid prose*
       Hath forgotten thee and thine
       Aspects of play an' forbid those
       words left to thee an' thine
       
       Empress o' ghosted things lost
       to a primeval unfull behavior
       voicing overturned things cost
       to be "queenliest" rightful savior
       
       will thou inter us in
       such frigid shallow tide
       under those fraught with sin
       of making thee not thy bride
       
       in shape and form Victorian dress
       lo, wounds not cured by time
       in searching for the aged empress
       o' words yet caught in rhyme
       
       When a lonly star burns out
        It was the time, there
       could be many in-crowds doubt
        her throne the rhyme, Lair
*she usually uses current american language/words

          "Emotional Antigone"
       Bloody crumpets an' my cup of tea
       Bright, blurry pictures no one takes
       There are X's and A's, alas no me
       Vitals buried 'neath thine lakes
       
       And it was glory, day light
       As to glass looked through
       And it was gory, dark night
       As black pennies, e'er true

       Dark forested song, solemn
       It's caged morbid boluders
       The long backed column
       Era aged forbid shoulders

       In shape an' form Victorian dress
       Lo, wounds not cured by time
       In searching for the Old Empress
       O, words yet caught in rhyme

       On a day the sun burnt out
       At a time, there
       Could be many in-crowds doubt
       Our light and heiress*
*just forget it

      "I'm not sorry I burnt your mother with a candle"

       Fell offened if I ignore you
       I being a loser
       doth not know what to do
       begging to be a chooser
       
       I'm sorry if you thought
       I was trainning you
       your worry hath been taught
       this what not to do
       
       I being at a loss
       for what all haven't heard
       you and the boss
       of me and that learnt word
       
       this thing you pass around
       hides in darkness, opression
       tho' thy voice abound
       doth not drown new obssesion
       
       How could I know
       your just keeping me down
       take to the show
       "My dear you play the clown"*
       
       I'm not sorry I burnt your mother with a candle
       And I know it was just too much to handle

*"the Clown" Switchblade Symphony


(untitled)
I fell my wings
the ones I lost eons past
I pull them close to my shell
they serve as my armor
As slow death spreads thru
their slutish caste
I breath deep their sin*
I feel it, so close
 God's mercy I did not touch it
alas it still teems here,
there, where you are so far
from me, stopped now, but not
ever, like the new'st paper it
moves without end
thru' these negatives, I only
feel an ox's burden and life's water
strangly, tho' the stones should
bring me down, I float as if
I still had my wings,
wings long gone, wings long gone

* to dwell upon

         "Fun time with alliteration"
     Manic Metal Maniac, Merrily Misfortunate, Massivly Murdering Meantime, Mundane Maybe far away


"Den Dwellers Dancing Dazily Down"
Thru the maps and cracks
of cities so close to the end
of plastic bags and sacks
of gold meant for a thing to be sent

This pressing to be done
and over with by every check
into how many and hours begun
so early yet to life a speck

How it is after so many
trips and hours lost under
pavement, morals, and any
reasons to live, torn asunder

As life's willingness goes away
from those who dwell
in such darkened dens and say
tis not a hollowed shell