Some Freaky, Awesome, Awful Poetry

This is what happens to me in windstorms....


I think too much honey.
I'm pretty sure my mind is blown.
My brain feels kinda runny
Especially when I'm all alone.

In the darkness I do tinker
With springs and levers and spidery, ghostly things.
In the darkness I'm a thinker.
A Daedalus with clockwork wings.

Please don't think me a sham,
A spinner of inventions wild and untrue.
If you just looked behind as you ran,
I'm sure you would catch a glimpse of the real you.
----------------------------
Lurking in the darkness
Beneath your bathroom sink
There lives something cold, blind, and heartless-
Just dying for a drink.

If you were to give him your eyes my dear, then he would surely see.
If you were to give him your blood my dear, then he would surely be.
With a rasp then a breath, He'd be up and abreast.
But give him your heart dear; Your birth and your name.
Give him your life and you'll never be the same.
---------------------------
My bouts of passing inspiration
Never quite give me their name.
They flicker and wink, a vague illustration;
Like deadlights or a flame.

Hi!! -^.^-
I wrote a strange piece a few days ago, and I thought that I should put it on here....

This is the translation to words of the feeling I get whenever I look at John Howe's (my favorite artist's) painting "Cernunnos" (here's a link to it on his site, although it looks better in his book! You're welcome, John Howe.. http://www.john-howe.com/portfolio/gallery/details.php?image_id=4468 )

We would dance and stalk among the trees, her wide breasts supporting our wildest bounds.
Always she caught us, never let us fall.

The moss that grew within her was as green and wild as our hearts.

We leaped through the shadows, toyed with the darkness, and laughed in the face of physics and gravity.

It was we, with our hearts of shadow and moss, that drowned in her atmosphere, burned in her heart, and festered in her secrets.

Neither stones, sunlight, or earth could turn us away from this wild ecstacy.

This world was an everlasting Twilight.
Neither the Sun nor the Moon could call us from our feverish wanderings.
We were children of the in-betweens. We drowned out all thought and danced in the margins. There was no there and then. Nor was there a here and now. It was. And we jumped for it.

And she never let us fall.