#poem

It's 11:11, a time for a wish as nightly thoughts dip into the dark abyss... Nightly Thoughts are wishes and dreams written with a dark red ink... Nightly Thoughts are poems left to rot, during the moonlit night... Nightly Thoughts are stories no one reads during the morning light... Nightly Thoughts is our artwork made with ink and dried rose petals... It's 12:12, a time for a wish, to dream of far-off lands and space that no one dares to face....

Red, true as crimson stones.... December is here, with snowflakes and mistletoes of winter white.... 6 days left, with sugar cookies and hot chocolate: happiness.... Of Holly berries and bells of golden rings.... 5 days left, with long nights and shadows that watch you in the darkness of night... Of Holly berries, red and true... 4 days left, with eyes of amber glow and icy cold stares watching you as you sleep with care... Of Holly, covered in crimson hue, dark and true....

Silences are louder than the music on the radio.... Quiet, is the noise of white and light... The silences can be loud too, when the quiet gets noisy, and your mind starts to hurt.... When your mind starts to see danger wherever you go... Anxiety, dressed up in the hidden depths of your mind.... And it will never let you go... Depression, forms of smiles, and 'I'm Fine'.... Where your mind is your worst enemy, that another person can't hurt you with words...

I stand at your window and watch you sleep. The whole night long I make no peep. You do not know that I am there. Just know that I could get you anytime anywhere. I open the window and in I crawl. I don’t want a drop I want it all. Up on the ceiling is where I shall hang. The thought of your skin soon pierced by my fang. The taste of your blood will be a treat. The feeling of my teeth ripping through your meat. Closer and closer here I come. Into your ear is where I hum. You open your eyes and…

Annabella was a Witch, She lived in a house made of sticks. Through the woods, and over a stream Where very few people are ever seen. ~ In the village, she loved a man. Jeremiah, as he stands. But no matter how hard Annabella tried... She could never catch Jeremiah's eye. ~ In her House of Sticks, she cried. Feeling her heart slowly die. But soon a vile plan was born, To get Jeremiah, this, Annabella had sworn. ~ For the toxin of love: an ingredient was needed.

In shadows of October dawn Was when the sickness came Foul breath of death wanton Denizens plagued in blain . I saw from high window As death drew nigh in tow Courier sent afar Then close my door ajar . As the leaves grew redder And the days grew dire My flock grew fettered Flayed upon the pyre . Cast in glow of dying wick I, too, could feel the sick Solitude in this shadowy hour Locked away inside this tower . Rolling past autumn plains Haze of grey sinks low

Sacred Spirit came to me and reached out for my hand, whispered words of comfort so I could understand. Birth, Death Rebirth, Cycles of a whole never ending just eclipsed the cycles of the soul.

It sits. It waits. It calculates. Watching your every move. Waiting, impatiently. It fumes. It hates. It salivates. Dreaming its terrible dreams. Scheming, contentiously. It strikes. It takes. It dominates. Doing what it does best. Feasting, voraciously. It lures. It baits. It escalates. Mauling a helpless victim. Laughing, fiendishly. It hides. It shakes. It regulates. Changing into something new. Shedding, relentlessly. It sleeps. It breaks. It elevates.