the tired and tumultuous.

we’re caught out of orbit,

swept up in this

downpour of

d e s t r u c t i o n

(can you taste the chaos)

we are

itchy fingers on a

quick-trigger-hand-grenade,

minds dancing with delight

at the cold, dark danger,

mouths filled with yesterday’s ghosts

isn’t it

masterful,

the way madness

befalls the weary

– ashley jane

this love is more than hallmark cards.

i don’t celebrate

v a l e n t i n e ‘ s day

it’s all overpriced roses

and cards filled with words

that should be said

every

damn

day

i don’t celebrate

commercialized love

and boxed chocolates

(i always choose the gross ones anyway)

i don’t celebrate

pretty heart shaped things

or expensive stuffed animals

(nothing can replace

the crook of your neck

or the brush of your hands)

i don’t celebrate

v a l e n t i n e ‘ s day

but, i celebrate you and me

and every single day

where i get to call you mine

– ashley jane

garden of heartache.

wilted,

like funeral roses,

black and crumbling

from the weight of your ghost

they sit in stagnant denial,

thoughts swirling

and dreams drowning

in their desolation,

petals plucked

and seeds strewn

perhaps,

they’ll create

a garden of heartache

for all the lonely people

to water

– ashley jane

darkness lives there.

he wears shades

of brimstone and damnation,

never raven black,

all burnished gold, falu and feuillemort

his eyes are home to an hidden world

made of ancient shadows and sunlight

they welcome you into the fire,

but you will not survive their invitation

to explore new depths

(darkness lives within the flames)

– ashley jane

lessons.

she had wise eyes,

but she wasn’t one for sharing wisdom,

so certain that it was vital

you make your own mistakes

she gave birth, not life,

a house, but never a home

and so you learned

how to burn

when it’s cold and you’re alone

and you learned about starting over

when all you want to do is quit

you learned when to remember

and when to forget

and how to hold on when you want to let go

(I think that was the most important lesson of all)

– ashley jane

some questions have more than one answer.

you asked me who i am,

wanted to know the phases of my soul

i. slow mornings, an amethyst aubade played

just outside a secret window where a crow

waits on the ledge

ii. restless want, connected energies

impatiently waiting for inspiration to strike

iii. lightning crash sea glass secretly hidden

between quartz and crystals and igneous rock

iv. a twist of gothic red splattered across

the innocence of a snow moon shimmer

v. a violet goodnight, an aura of shadows

and purple lace skies decorated in poetry

vi. a journey, the path between body and mind,

between the known and the unknown

vi. beginnings and endings placed like bookends,

displaying the wonder of it all

i insisted that some things cannot be

singularly defined

she’ll devour you whole.

she runs with wolves

in wildflower gardens,

dresses up your pretty petals

in her favorite shades of black

(she’s addicted to the way the night bends)

she has no use for shallow souls

who play masquerade to hide their poisoned roots

she is power and strength,

blossom and bone,

a lioness in eden with magic in her eyes

and war on her tongue

– ashley jane

this museum isn’t open to the public.

i steep fading memories

in wildflower tea,

walk through vacant rooms

where stale air clings to my skin,

the smell of moths and medicine,

reminders

suspended above,

empty frames on amber walls

in a house filled with little more than silence

you made saying goodbye an art form,

vases full of fallen petal promises,

masterpieces inside every room,

and me, with my own private viewing

– ashley jane

she’s heading for a downfall.

crystallized drops
in a soft-pause-halt
before they melt and seep,
the red flower blooming
in floating maroon
down mean streets,
gravity aims and pulls,
tracing the pathway
of veins made victim
while garnet stains unfurl
over pale white
(she chases a free fall feeling)
– ashley jane

let’s drink to getting lost.

we moved between crossed fates,
your feather-light feet
trespassing into my distant black hole world
you sang your song of the sea
to the dark heart in me made for
sinking
and left the dreamer in me exposed
I don’t regret it though, dear poet 
you were the last sip of freedom in a dying glass,
and I was thirsty to explore

– ashley jane