The Poison of Mine

Through the skin sweet poison seeps,

Malevolent malice has yet to sleep,

Mocking, taunting, awaken the beast,

On the last breaths; the darkness feasts.

Moan and thrash as life is taken,

Body panics; it shall not awaken,

Mind oblivious to the needles slice,

Silence, they cannot do this twice.

13th hour; suspended hallucination,

Rotting in the hell of this creation,

So far gone; it could never accuse,

The shadows are what cover the ruse.

As evil unknown and shadows roam,

Embodied angel enters your home,

Takes you away; no revenge can be shown,

And the murderer of I shall never be known.

Where the WInd Blows

The wind sees all. Like a thread, it weaves. Around the fortune, the gilded gold, the fine layer of beauty which frames secrets. Dirty, dusty secrets.

The wind has never liked those secrets. To brush off that layer of dust, to expose what is true, is it's wish. The wind isn't volatile by nurture, yet it is ever-moving. Everchanging. The wind cannot do as it pleases, by nature.

Passed the mansions, filled with false laughter, served with alcohol and a side of growing greed, to the slums of societies servants. Blue-collar workers, still at toil. Their fruits of their labor, not even theirs. When did a man not own what he worked for. When did man not have his land? Providing enough for himself and his family, when did work change from giving you what you needed to giving you enough to survive?

When did the thread of life rip at the seams.

The wind sees all, but cannot call. And the cycle is but the same.

Criminal Logic

So, I admit it. It was my fault. Everything. Your almost death. Your pain. Your captivity.

But you must understand my reasoning.

He is obsessed with you. He will do anything to get to you. I am his son. I guess he thinks blood relation is equal to servitude. But with power and obsession, and even desperation, holds a knife over his head. While his hand holds the rope that slowly chokes my life away, at a gentle tug.

And think, that your presentation is equal to my freedom. It's mind rattling. I know, I am a horrid person. I'm not above thinking that. I'm not going to deny the truth. But I am a selfish creature by nature. No, not nature, but nurture. If the tables were flipped, you wouldn't do this to me.

But this is why I'm in my position. You can't run. I won't let you hide. Think of it as making you a stronger person. If I turn you in, you'll fight to get out. If you succeed, you deserve it. If you don't, then, you're just not worthy.

Simple.

I have a family. I have a wife and child. You are an orphan. You have nothing. I do. And this is the thought that will help me sleep at night. You have nothing to live for, and I do.

If you get out, don't find me. I don't think you deserve to die. I only think I'm more worthy to live.

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Song: Missing by Evanescense

What You've Made

Nobody likes you. No one wants you. You're mocked, threatened, resented. So out of society that you are avoided like a leper.

So you go the other way.

Into the bad you sink. Drugs and alcohol. Cigarettes and stolen cash. Scars and wounds mark your skin, blood like water. It pours, seemingly infinite. The scars on your mind though, those are what stay. The fact that you have a gang, and yet not one friend, hurts.

But the fact that your so empty, and you can't even feel the hurt, is what scares me.

Life of a rebel, life of mine.

And the people who spurned you mock you. Now your bad. Now your wrong.

But the hypocrites don't see how they made me this way.

Blood Ties and Hidden Lies

Unknown to me, until my seventeenth year, I was someone I never thought I could be. History lied, and said I couldn't exist. But being the ancestor of the ridiculed, hidden bastard child of Russian Royalty throws off everything that you ever planned for your life.

Grand Duchess Maria Nikolaevna, a supposedly childless duchess, was a very wanted woman.

Power, money, title, and a beauty which surpassed most attracted many suitors, and yes, she succumbed to one with sweet words and a reputation. A Russian soldier. Child before marriage, dead love in the war, for she lived in the time of World War 1, husbandless and childbearing, she hid her shame and sent the child away. Unfettered. She was later held in captivity and killed by a secret revolution organization, which still exist today.

Line after line of healthy boys carried the name, hunted and stalked, but never found. One of the boys, to escape, fled to America. The family name was "Americanized" and Nikolaevna became Lavena. The variation was kept until then.

Until me.

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St. Xenia's School for the Orthodox; 7:55 a.m. New York, New York

"I'm screwed!"

Alexander Lavena, idiot extraordinaire, was late to his first day of school. For the eleventh year in a row. Only this time it was high school. "Damn alarm clock. Damn summer party. Damn..." He hated everything in sight. Cursing, muttering, running as fast as he could, he reached the school gates with about a half minute to spare. Sprinting now, the former captain of a middle school track team, made it into the room and into the open desk next to his best friends as the bell rang. Relived to have made it on time, he calms down and turns to his friends.

"Sasha, Mika, how the hell are you guys never late?"

Unanimously, the duo reply, "Dude, we don't stay out until three."

"It wasn't three!"

"Four?"

"No!"

"Did you even fall asleep"

"Uh... for, um, about thirty minutes..."

"And there is your answer, genius."

Alexander grimaced."Okay, so, I'm not exactly the most responsible person... but I set my alarm! Doesn't it count for something?"

His friends start snickering.

"Guess not."

The teacher enters, class starts, and Alexander thinks it will be a normal day.

Hardly.

Thirteen Years

Author's Note: Going back to a little bit of teenage angst here, poem style.

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Thirteen Years

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Thirteen years have passed you by,

Shameful memories make you sigh.

Things you did, things you said,

Regret goes straight through your head.

Thirteen years of hurting others,

Hypocrite! You're now uncovered.

Spoken taunts, mocking looks,

Self esteem that you greedily took.

Thirteen years of denying your actions,

Look back and cry; a worthy reaction.

You see what you did, and you regret,

But are you finished yet?

To all my fans of horror and hatred...

sadly, my mind has been filled with nothing but happy fluff. I guess I cannot keep myself to a single genre, seeing as I have spread myself about romance, horror, mystery, dry comedy, and other types. I promise, I will continue to write the miserable stories like you are accustomed to. I only hope you can have a mind open enough to take the insane and the cheerful together.

Love,

Rebel