My world is made of paper

My world is made of paper, A drop of ink for a soul, An ocean lies within my heart; Waves of words to make me whole.

Some Old Lover’s Ghost

Oh, I long to talk to some old lover’s ghost, To learn a little bit of what it’s like to fly with angels, So in love you think you see Heaven. Oh, how I wish to see looks of love and malice- So twisted and rotten that I can no longer tell the difference- Hatred…

Dove-Feathered Raven

You’d be a fool to think Heaven and I are close. I may be one Hell of an angel, But don’t let these white wings fool you- I am but a dove-feathered raven Flying far from grace.

Pleasantly Haunting

This place is full of ghosts. They exist in the gloomy light of Corpse-coloured candles In those dark cottage walls, Lingering with a ghoulish fondness. I find myself drawn to remain also. Perhaps these melancholy ruins offer More than fear; They invite somber reflections- Reflections of the living as well as the dead- And I…

I prefer that to whiskey and ghosts.

Does the storyteller aways have a Spirit in hand, Alone in the dark While spinning his tale? Or can it be a wish? Maybe a child? A lover? A hope? A thought? A feeling? One that isn’t failure, I mean. Or maybe just a cup of tea- I prefer that to whiskey and ghosts.