Count to Ten

One day I’ll leave this cage, and leave nothing but

Two eyes lurking in the shadows, waiting for the clock to strike

Three, so that I might reenact this struggle of

Four lonely years locked in only my fear that

Five me’s would not be enough for you.


Six moons come and go before you commit sin

Seven, with little regard for the

Eight cries I’m holding in as I count crows of

Nine, that gather as the clock strikes



Hush, hush, quickly, before it begins again.


One more hallucination that the world is made up of just us

Two; you shove it down my throat with

Three wicked fingers that make me wince

Four times before I draw the line at Five.


Six senses take me over, if only in my imagination that houses

Seven realities in which you take

Eight wounds delivered with

Nine easy strikes that come from my very own

Ten fingers.


Hush, hush, quickly, it’s time to breathe again.


One happy ending I’m determined to find for the

Two of me’s that you’ve created in the hell of just us

Three, where Four thousand screams have never been heard and

Five thousand tears have never dropped.


Six emotions; constantly churning what feels as though must be

Seven stomachs, all in disgust that I’ve let the clock strike

Eight again, while plotting

Nine ways to never see your

Ten temperaments again.


Hush, hush, quickly, the moon is sneaking up again.


But they say all I have to do is count to Ten.

Shyla Fairfax-Owen ©

The Call

Under the guise of the sheep

You call to me, across worlds

The scent of your deception reeks

But still, I rouse for a peek


How fallible we are, after all

No costume, nor mask, can hide

Our weaknesses; outside us they reside

Assisting the sting of broken pride


So I came, as you intended

And I am reluctant to regret

The way I squirmed and smiled

Wrapped in your lies; no fret


I ignored the easy yellow glow

Beaming from your once kind eyes

And let you hunt me, willingly

Until there was only darkness and desire

Shyla Fairfax-Owen ©

Night From Within

Dusk was settling in; no escape.

In the distance, a wrangle echoed.

Her propinquity with night suddenly ignited.

Like the blackness of pupils fixated forward,

The night called out her name.

An opal moon peered down devotedly.

Transfixed, she glared back at it.

A snake-like sensation crawled through her.

The night; it felt so divine.

Frightening; tantalizing; misinterpreted – a warning unheeded.

Provoked by its charm, she transformed.

With morality shadowed; monstrosity shined through.

The darkness was always so inviting.

Edacity came from within, of course.

The night was not at fault.

Shyla Fairfax-Owen ©


A Penchant for Madness

I’m not quite right. Never have been.

Sometimes, I feel only partially human, as though I might be an Android from a distant world.

Sometimes, I feel only partially present, as though I might be a shadow of a fuller me.

If either of these things were true, I’d be less accountable.

I haven’t quite decided if that’s what I want yet.

And what I want, well, it changes day to day.

If I wasn’t made to be broken, I wasn’t made for anything at all.

Come the day’s end, I just know –

I’m not quite right. Never will be.

Shyla Fairfax-Owen ©

All Hallows’ Eve

‘Twas All Hallows’ Eve, when deep in the house

A creature was stirring, just waiting to pounce,

The stalkings had been happening here and there

In the hopes that the offerings would show they care;

The changelings were nestled all smug in their beds

While visions of skeletons spilled out their heads,

The shadows in the kitchen just waiting to snap

Their victims were fated for a long winter’s nap;

When up in the attic there sounded a clatter

And emerged a monster to make the teeth chatter,

Then through the window glaring eyes glow and flash

Tear open the shutters and come in with a clash;

The full moon scintillates the new-fallen snow

Giving a lustre to the swirling blood-flow,

When what to the following eyes should appear?

But a foolhardy prey upon which they might leer.

Shyla Fairfax-Owen ©