Paige Nielsen

The fear is absolute:
faces pale as the milk of death,
the inverse of the milk of human kindness.
A haunting sorrow binds the wounds,
...

I went to your funeral
dressed in my favorite pair of jeans.
The mourners whispered sharply, even though
I dyed them to make them extra black.
...

There's no way to be ready
for what life will give you.
They say love is blind,
but it has 20/20,
...

...

Forgive of me my poison pen
Venomous and bitter
You and I now poison friends
So much to consider
...

We're stuck in a quagmire of broken wishes and crushed dreams.
Despite all metamorphosis, or maybe because of, nothing's as it seems.
The standoffish are afraid of showing dishabille.
The entropy accelerates, and we're all too numb to feel.
...

Life bites like a vampire bat,
and changeling is my middle name.
The old blind man plays the blues,
shades of cerulean, sky, navy, and charcoal.
...

Math class boredom enumerates;
arc angles, release me.
Oh my, I’m mistaken!
This secret tryst of x, i, and pi
...

I am a coffeemaker.
Thoughts bubble and percolate,
steam pours from my ears.
Constantly caffeinated, a little fragile,
...

I can’t say it.
Those three words you long for.
Don’t make me.
If I say it, the bond will hurt worse
...

Burning on the outside,
burning within.
Flame replaces ice and is thrust
animalistically
...

exordium:
H.P. Lovecraft’s heretic pride.
She is suffering,
a girl disappearing into the thorns
...

Circular orbs feverish with glint,
blesséd blue and a pinprick of black,
Small details across from me
over the coffin in which she lies.
...

I’m without a name,
faceless, faithless,
a myth unremembered through
the dawning sands of time—
...

Writing these words,
Ever so quietly,
While a war goes on
In my head.
...

Don’t trust me; I’m a fox
Raised in hate by a cold father
And I can’t seem to get a grip
Can I kill, take innocent human life?
...

My heart has run away.
I think you stole it.
There’s some raw hole in my chest that
I can’t seem to mend,
...

Sinuously sloshing in a crystal chalice,
This green venom resembles unholy lust.
Pours into a golden cup, (aurum est potestas)
She’s beckoning me, now.
...

Sitting cross-legged in the bathtub,
I commune.
My inner nature? Or some arcane
Goddess of the moon?
...

Fragmentary soul,
Expressed in poetic form.
An express love letter,
A call to arms—
...