Poetry through the Seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Man is made of blood, a child merely bones.
If the earth shakes beneath us, do we feel less alone?
Doomed is our connection, tired of fighting in the dark.
Protect my heart from bleeding, always falling apart.
Though on fire when I’m with you, I must send you away,
throw myself upon your sword. Love hurts, as they say.
My coat, it is the color of my oft broken heart,
bleeding secrets between us, always falling apart.
Shadows
in the clock tower,
frightened girls
who cannot scream.
Without voice,
intimacy becomes language.
Hideous
is the face of silence.
One noise,
a volcano
in the quiet of a mind.
The clock strikes one
and steals our hearts,
cutting them
from the chest
with knives so sharp
that, though we die,
the pain remains.
Only a song
can save us.
If hate could kiss,
would it be beautiful?
If love would last,
could it be kind?
* * *
Scent of past love lingers,
clinging like lace against my skin,
tattoos of pain no one can see,
intimate like a friend, like a torturer,
intimate like a friend, like a kidnapper,
intimate like a friend, like an executioner.
The scent of love lingers.