This section gathers verses written between the mid‑1990s and mid‑2000s — a time of quiet ache, shadowed memory, and poetic unrest. Each piece carries the weight of its era, sealed in ink and sorrow.
These are not just poems.
They are remnants. Echoes.
Fragments of a darker voice that still remembers.
Talking, shouting, yelling, taunting—
running through my mind like a Manchester haunting.
Screaming at my peak, and somehow that made me look weak.
Petty, cruel intentions circling;
I’m the master of my own devices and inventions.
Chaos, anguish, blood—
and still people treat me like shoe crud.
Plan the pain.
Let it rain.
Keep the bloodstain.
It’s a battle scar, not a shame.
See me how I am, not how I was.
You look at me like a slaughtered lamb—
a thousand reasons, but only one because.
So many sighs,
and no replies.
Urges rising, going unfulfilled,
and somehow I’m the one being billed.
“Ramblings of a mad lady?”
That’s too damn shady.
Let me vent, let me scream—
I’m tired of living in a bad dream.
No escape for the weak and weary,
only a peak into the insane and dreary.
As I lie here in my bed,
all I wonder is—am I dead?
Is this the end I never tried,
a silent drift like carbon‑stained skies?
Pale and ghostly flush,
blood‑red lips still lush.
Shadows gather on the floor,
echoed laughter behind a door.
In a room so dark and damp,
a light flickers in an antique lamp.
Something cold becomes my clamp—
I am lost without my champ.
A whisper grazes through my skin,
a phantom blade, impossibly thin.
All my unheard, muffled screams
circle through these darkened dreams.
Vampire Confessions
Laying in my crypt,
My life was ripped.
Waiting for the sun to set,
So my lips can be blood wet.
Hypocritical in this life,
Use to be a mortal wife.
Now just the Queen of night,
Oh what a delight.
I love the villager’s plight,
Sets my mood to flight.
Blood lust,
Death crust.
Decay is a bust,
I see every thing rust.
No more tears,
I live through the years.
I lived with sin,
I watched the death of kin.
Misery has no place,
No emotions on this face.
My eyes are grey and red,
I wish to be dead.
No more lessons,
This is Vampire Confessions.
Winter’s Doom
Once upon a midnight, in cold and frosted air,
I lay awake and wondered, staring into nowhere.
Nothing could compare to that bleak and starless night—
and who am I to question when the world snuffs out its light.
Once upon a midnight, I felt my breath grow thin,
loneliness like winter pressing heavy on my skin.
I thought I’d seen enough of fate’s unholy schemes,
yet still I wandered haunted through these cursed dreams.
Once upon a midnight, I heard a sudden crash—
I bolted from my slumber, to the window in a flash.
A burst of light, an echo sharp and bright—
and there he was before me, my once‑shining knight.
Once upon a midnight, I reached him where he lay,
fearing that the shadows meant to steal his soul away.
His car against the pole, his thoughts still fixed on me—
the foolish, tender worries of love’s own misery.
Once upon a midnight, I thought I’d lost my heart,
but whispered thanks to every god that kept him from the dark.
Yet still I feel the question coil beneath the gloom—
for winter always carries whispers of its doom.
