The Samara FeelingThat deep, hard hunger from somewhere inside.Water-logged fingers and devilish pride.In darkness the demon will do as it will, butNow in the light, she closes in on her kill.Walking on glass, broken and cracked,Little by little, it's all coming back.A scared little girl whose cries were unheard.Drowned in a well; left for the birds.
MuseMuse:Hiding in my cavernous unconscious;Some forlorn child alone and muted in this frightful darkness,Perhaps a spectre sent to whisper of forgotten wrongs I've yet to right?You are all that I can ever aspire to, and still you ask for nothing but life through expression.In your taciturn gaze, all things are but a fevered dream and yet binding reality.All harshness and undoings are absolved into my undone workings and creations of a bitter mind.My muse, you speak to me in pictures undeveloped and ribbons of music unmemorized.At night you give me thoughts that never seem to wait until morning.My hand is your puppet; my head is your garden.I leave to you the rest, open to decision.
Manipulate MeI close my eyes and let you yank the strings of my fragile mind.Teetering off the edge, so weary of these fleeting shadowy glimpses of reality;I allow you to control me. You may do as you wish, as is known you shall one day,But still yet you view the final shattering of this brokeness as a tresspassThat you dare not tread, that still you view with a sympathetic amusement.Am I to you a puppet? A jester? Perhaps some coin-controlled doll of your whims.I feel your grip on me lightening; you grow bored of these questions. You tire of me.With a shove into this eternal darkened void, this blissful madness, you free me.