Fiona-Demitto

If you were to ask what I believed I might tell you How I was raised a Roman Catholic And you might nod in agreement If you were someone else I might say that despite this I am an atheist And when we die There will be nothing We will fade away Into the silence we were born from If you were someone else I might tell you I am a good Catholic And I go to church on Sundays If you were someone else I might tell you of my wandering eye Of the shame and confusion That means my eyes linger on both genders And you might nod Knowing why I cannot believe If you were no one I would tell you of the sight of her The eerie emptiness Of the skin long

Let me tell you Of a mortal I know, She might as well Be Aesir, A Goddess. Her hair is Munin's feathers With Ymir's touch Dipped in Jotunheim's rivers. She is Hugin, The very sight of her Makes me forget How to think. My thoughts fly away, Surely, never to return As my words are stuttered. Her eyes are Yggdrasil, A swirl of endless roots I would hang myself on To unlock the knowledge And learn the runes To describe her beauty, Outside but mostly inside. She has a tongue like Surtr's sword Flaming, burning fire of Muspelheim, Resting in the Mead of Suttungr. She has the wit of Loki That could make anyone, Even Skaldi smile and laugh, Y

I am living in the future whilst standing in the present, Breathing borrowed air from a foreign world. I am living three rented years on my tenant of fifteen And I want to take out the mortgage, No, I want to buy the house. Each hour is extra time over the free trial, Without being charged the fee. Instead I watch time distort my life, Walls are painted white And old sofas are thrown in skips. Worn ornaments are broken and replaced, Discarded buildings are torn down And empty shops burnt to the ground, Leaving room for bigger and better homes. I laugh at new movies and stories, Dancing and singing to the latest and oldest songs alike. I st

She is falling, not crashing She is floating. Soaring and gliding, In a ecstasy of wonderment And thrill of exploration. Warmth is building, Flipping and spinning, Deep in her stomach. Burning and smouldering, Without her sparking it. Her mouth is dry And her lips chapped, But her face is sore From the smiling and laughter And the never-ending chatter. Her head is spinning And her arms reaching out, Only to fall through empty air. Not because it was imagined But because of the cruelty of distance. It has been years since she has felt it But now that it has come, She realises it never has before, Certainly not this strong, Or potent And n

It's happening again, He can feel it Boiling up inside of him, This white ice Freezing over his chest. His brain a spluttering engine In a winter storm. Yet his heart is pounding, Burning up, With his lungs too But they are freezing over. Each breath is shorter And his jaw locked. His eyes unfocused As he loses feeling. Starting in his hands And slowly raising up his legs, Frostbite gnawing at his knees. He becomes an avalanche, Falling, crashing, crumbling. His skin becomes snow, And his mind shattered ice. Each thought trips And falls across black ice. He is buried Under a grave of snow. No summer is coming, And the ice will never mel

Mirror, mirror on the wall Who is the fairest of them all? It would be the snow That explodes with one blow It would be the white Of the star light Mirror, mirror on the wall Which person is the fairest of them all? Talking of looks alone It would be you Your face is sharp stone Your eyes cut emeralds too Mirror, mirror on the wall Why only speak of my looks as all? Because like a rock You cannot bleed Your stone heart is a lock You lack passion's steed Mirror, mirror on the wall Why then do I bleed my all? You pricked your finger On your gifted rose You in your revenge did linger As if you could change Fate's prose Mirror, mirror on the

My tree bares plentiful fruit And I pluck their sweet gifts. I have finally done it, My blood has sown the seeds That grew so big. Yet a thorn has pricked me And torn into my skin, It has poisoned me. Pleasure has turned sour And there are no smiles Or laughter. "Look at your fruits!" They shout, But I just shake my head Throwing away the fruit. "Look at this thorn, Look at my tears," I cry. I want to smile at the fruit And to enjoy their taste But they taste bitter now, Despite them being so sweet And so beautiful. As one tree flourishes, Another withers. Every best moment in life Is overshadowed.   It doesn't make the fruit sour Just brui

Raised on a legend Taken to a building And sang all the songs The laws explained The punishments threatened Yet I stare at the sky A decade older And wish for the bliss That is blind faith.