Poetry through the Seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Shards of glass dangle.
Walking through memories,
everything fades.
I am your fountain.
Take what you need,
leave the spiders to feed.
The cat’s all alone,
counting miles
before dawn.
Some will be bitten.
Some will be brave.
In the mist, I must exit,
not saying goodbye;
just the slightest
flow of coat behind me.
And though we’ll meet again,
it’s twenty years ‘til then,
and many, oh so many,
snowy evenings.
A vision:
Daddy’s little girl,
barefoot and beautiful;
but damaged on the inside,
burned beyond recognition.
If we are to die,
I want to lie with you,
poisoned and fevered
until we find our way;
bound together in battle,
holding your hand until the end.
I will kill to save you.
You will die to protect me.
As the glass shatters,
the blade penetrates,
deep, like the blood of family,
and we part like sisters,
silent, but sure
to speak again,
at least in anger.
If we could watch life
ticking away in red
countdown numbers,
would we be content
knowing how many ticks
we have left?
Or would we rue each second,
too visibly aware
of how much is already lost?
Would fear overtake us,
gluing our feet to the very spot
on the floor where we stand
staring,
unable to live our lives,
unable to remove our gaze
from the numbers?
Or,
as they tick down
slowly,
one by one,
are we finally fearless,
having witnessed
the face of time?
On fire
with hatred,
danger camps
on every doorstep.
They burn witches,
don’t they,
to cleanse the ills
of society?
Trouble stirred
into caldrons of chaos
while the accusers
hide under their beds.
Symbols tattooed
on the skin of the tortured
remind us
something’s always out there.
Can’t fear be teacher,
sewn from scraps of sorrow,
guiding us with knowledge
rather than arming us for battle?
Dressed in red,
blood still wet
on your wounds,
you are the only color
in this dreary world
of wishes.
Your betrayers
don the black
of sorrow.
A thousand slivers
slide beneath
your laughter.
You’re beautiful
like splinters
of stained glass
seeking solace
in a new religion.
she chances
to see them together
bile
what was once love
rises up
into her throat
she runs away
slipping on deceit
and falls to her death
her heart impaled
on betrayal’s sword
* * *
Love,
my disease
most desperate,
ripped from the vine
like raspberries,
red ripe and squashed
beneath my feet.
Love has me
shattered
into bitty pieces,
has left me smoldering.
Violet dark
and brooding,
love promises
to destroy us all.
Pain deeper
than a stake
through love’s
bitten heart,
so deep
is the river
I might
drown.
You leave me in pink,
no one to dance with.
My song won’t play anymore.
So beautiful in black,
too close to kiss,
we battle for beauty
leaning into each other,
just to be pretty,
just to be loved.
The party’s over.
I’ve soiled my dress.
Please, won’t you please,
take me home.
you’re just another
fish in the sea
and you look great
in your suit
with the legs
and the abs
and the oh baby
you’re inside me
swimming about
skinny dipping
and the tides are
crashing
teaching me to swim
when all i want to do
is drown
if love is obsession
aren’t we merely rodents
lusting after cheese
* * *
If everybody
loved me
it would be,
well,
odd,
potentially dangerous,
and
would take
all the fun
out of feeling
unwanted
and
invisible.
And who
would want that?
It’s too quiet.
Hooded men chase me
through graveyards.
I fall into an open grave,
feel lonely when I think of kissing you.
Broken glass, flying horses,
think I’ve had too much to drink.
I see shadows on the stairwell,
boys in lipstick, girls in chains.
Long legs, black dress,
think I’ve had too much to drink.
Little girls, all in a row,
sweet offerings.
Boys can be such snakes.