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Death...death...like a cold, distant fog
it looms over these beings
these frail human beings, myself included
attacking their defenseless, quarrelsome - filled minds
like ravenous carnivores sprinting upon their prey
I've counted three, thrice has death sent for the reaper
to bombard the people I depend for my source of sanity
It's a process by association
those very people bring forth their sickening issues and ideals
in written form to my presence on my brightest days
while I'm in the mix of my own reconstruction period
In the mix of my own reconstruction period
I'd wondered what really killed Shakespeare and Poe
Shakespeare always wrote about the roses of love and deaths 
in a fatal tragedy
but did his rose turn into a thorn
piercing his side completely 
or did it turn into a sword and behead him
Poe's demise, I've already reached my conclusion
It was the blame, the hurt, the failure he embraced
along with his compelled and justified insanity
at the loss of his beloved Annabelle Lee
The pain is relate-able although no one can really understand
the symptoms of his tragedy has become
the disease of my emotional one
...If only I didn't see the look in her eyes...
Belle (sigh)  she's come around again with her usual incentives
her unknown determination to spin her web of uncertainty
these encounters leave feeling less like a man
and more like a fly in the mouth of a black widow
Belle, she finds high spirits in allowing me to believe her stories
leaving in a dead web of my pathetic funeral to dream
of a love between her and myself
but when I believe her to be real
she takes Poseidon's trident, piercing my chest
and laughs in my face, still impaling me deeper and deeper
only to whisper later how much she loves me, so deceiving
Why toy with me as if I'm the favorite of a 3 year old
stop playing with food and just finish it already
so I can avoid the look in her eyes
her cold, evasive, alluring, icy blue, crystal eyes
What is the reason for my swift returns to her
She's lifeless to me and I wear doubt like a shield
but I still remain loyal like an undying servant 
who has forsaken freedom
Every time I back away, she's willing to stay
my resilience is forfeit for the taste of her lips
the touch of her skin
(sigh)  I believed myself to be truly invincible for a change
a hero in my own right
but I crash back down from my thousand star flight
back into the fact, love has clipped me for the hundredth time
Here's the summary for my mess of December
I suffered ambulance anxiety courtesy of Anastasia
and now I'm a fly helplessly trapped in the contents
of the web of Belle, the black widow
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