Writings by
Arlyn Maria Beal


Once I knew a little girl who was a lot like me.
She skipped and sang and read outdoors and smiled happily.
Her distant glee
Replaced her reality.
She too trustfully
Gave her love, loyally
To a powerful tapestry
Unravelled by a symphony of society
Sluggishly, she proceeded, almost reluctantly
Her gaze was no more sunnily
She lies in a coma, soundlessly
Is me.


Lilac's lovely bloom
Like a wave, embraces the room
The scent of death
Surrounds me
And I am overwhelmed
By it's beauty.


As I ride the moonless sky
I realize that I should die.
So again for help I call
Because my end I want to stall
Underneath the starlight
Magic on a moonless night
Moth's wing and ant's bit
Two claps save my life tonight.

Guardian angel in my seat
Send me chills, give me heat
Protect me from death's embrace,
Companion without a face
Underneath the owl's sight
Magic on a moonless night
Moth's wing and ant's bite
two claps saved my life tonight.

Then I felt the smooth egress
Like a butterfly's caress
So I sigh a silent moan
And I wonder if I am alone.

Underneath the stars, bright
Magic on a moonless night
Moth's wing and ant's bite
Two claps save my life tonight,
As Diana sleeps.


(July 1995)

You. You walk around dancing, singing.
You flirt with those who, you know,
do not want you like I do.
Those of us who crave you,
of course, we only get teased.
We watch as others undulate in your intense presence,
falling at your knees,

You and your erotic strut madden me.
Knowing that this is sheer torture,
you enjoy the game.
Jacking up your price,
you spread yourself around,
but never near me.

And if I approached you and failed,
then you would relish
in the consequential torture
I would endure;
damn your ego.

Before my eyes,
you swim like a butterfly,
begging to be caught,
or to not catch me,
but you won't.
No, not yet.
Not until I grow tired
of the unrelenting satisfaction.

I ache for you,
and you know --- no, enjoy --- it.
If only your sweet kisses would touch my lips
--- take my breath away;
fall on my breast and still my heart;
if only you would simply enter me,
you know my ecstasy would please you,
but you only tease.

You won't come to me
because I worship you too much ---
I wonder if you could handle my passion.
But I am beginning to understand your game.
You know how much I want you
in every cell of my body,
so you wait,
just watching me watch you go to everybody else;
that is, everybody except the others like me
who desire your caressing essence.

When we grow tired of your flirting, though,
and our eyes dull a bit;
when our passionate infatuation with you
begins to shrivel,
you tease us even more,
with a harder force than ever;
you glide in and out of my mind
until I am insane,
which I am.

You keep it up,
teasing and then leaving,
until I get worn out.
You wait until I disown you,
until I don't want you at all,
until I hate you
and try to drop you stone cold.

But only then,
do you rape me,
come inside me,
drop me stone cold.
And then all the others like me
see you possess me after I have sworn you off;
with voyeuristic eyes they watch you penetrate me
after I don't want you any more;
you use me to tease them,
to torture them,
just like you did me.

But I won't have it any more ---
I am through with you, Death;
your charming smile does not entice me
like it used to.
Go find a new victim.
(Or have you?)

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