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Bad Vibes AgainI've stood on the railings of bridges
Realizing all I had to do was take one more step to reach my LSD oblivion
And wished I had a pack of Marlbolo lights
That I was the victor instead of the victim
That I’d faded away to nothing but a voice
Instead of the numb needle point nymph with pin pricks in her fingertips
I’ve broken gin bottles at the head and gripped the flesh taut over my switch blade hips with hands that tremble with every pop of the camera bulb cocaine flashes dancing in my eyes
But I’ll never understand the psychology of the devil’s head as he slips pomegranate seeds through the parted lips of my fanged skull while sliding his hand up my skirt
Or the need to rub my hands up and down my thighs in nervous fits, scarring the land with the fire of the roses drenched in my skin
All I know is that I’ve got bad vibes but love is pain and my wrists can’t seem to get enough of it
SickSome thrive in ivory
But my wounds fester
A deep ebony as my
Head begins to quake
My vitals throb as our
Cracked lips dance
Dear god I'm so sick
You're My SinDon’t resist the flames
Tonight we gonna just
Dance dance in the pale
Moon fleshed shadow
Of the the devil’s kick drum
And while the night remains
Young, I’ll turn every nightmare
Into a drip of alcoholic condensation
Haunting the rim of your strawberry
Passion glass and Darling, I'll make
This night a scarlet smooth sin
ControlI have a heart of puppet strings
And you have a handful of sticks
Every blink of your eyes is the
Shake of your manipulation on
The smudged lines of my veins
Sticky FingersDown peach cobbled stones
The juice of delectable sun
Kissed bodies flows into our
Sweet, sweet apple pie lips
As we entwine our limbs in
Warm weathered dances that
Will make the dead sing tonight
In the town, sticky fingers find
Their way through tangled seas
Of hair and cayenne peppered skin
Kiss, kisses spot the bodies of those
In the sugared caress of rosy flesh
All the way down; for tonight, in this
Moment, we shall make love shine
Where is LoveCould it be possible to find
A smile of spread wings and
Lit candles swooning under a
Pregnant breeze; a gaze of storm
Torn waves entwining with the
The salty skin of sun spiced skin;
The tangled serenade of tapped
Melodies telling stories of sweet
Rapture; I’ve had a certain craving
And I’ve searched far and wide, but
For now I wait for the juice to drip
From my chin and reach for another
Fruity song of what we call love
Fourth of July In this day of symbolism, she sits along with the faint wisps of grass with a lit sparkler blazing between her teeth and ponders upon questions quivering on paper mache wings. They flutter upon each other in frenzy in her head, so she decides to choose one. Will you ever be given the freedom to feel? She sits for a moment, savoring the silence panging for a response. She can feel the blades of grass press into her palms and feel the burning sensation of the sparkler on her lips. She can feel, but only externally. Inside there is nothing but the sensation of a burning numbness in her bones. Others around her feel with each pound of their hearts bleeding red, white and blue as they say for their affection for the soil beneath her feet, with each shower of vibrant sparks from the fireworks exploding in the sky overhead, with each touch from those returning home from a life of holding this American façade with strings of blood stained teeth of those who swam in the saltiest of waters,
VibratoEither swaying on the
Arms of a pregnant breeze
Or violently stroking the world
Of crimson thrill amidst swirling
Notes of melting midnight upon
The haunted frame of this violin
And her song to an immortal rose
These fingers vibrate her entire
Being and all she will do is part
Her lips to reveal the sapphire cold
Blood of a symphony for the night
His Name Is Cackle~
His Name Is Cackle~
A new clown is headed to town~
Wearing not a smile, but a frown~
Fettered wrists, and his mouth stitched closed~
But why this is, not a soul knows~
That is until his bonds break~
And he's free from chain and shackle~
Nightmares wrought throughout his wake~
His name is Cackle~
Creations Of The SoberA smirk crawls upon your face,
As the pretty bright blood leaks down your arm,
Part of you is whispering,
"what have I done..?"
But you can barely hear it over the demented laughter,
That is emerging from your throat.
Your whole body is shaking,
With fear or with excitement, still remains unknown,
You look down at the bodies around you,
Drowning within their own blood.
You clench your fist,
Digging your nails into your rough skin,
Until your royal blood starts to flow.
You begin to laugh louder,
Dragging your feet through the mixture of their blood,
You walk past them,
Leaving a murderous trail behind.
You simply pick up your weapon,
Licking off the remaining blood,
And tighten your grip around it,
Ready to attack,
Your best friend stands in the distance,
Eyes wide and mouth open,
He's too frightened to say a thing.
You flash a smile his way,
When you realize he's crying.
"T-Those w-were yo-ur f-friends.."
He trails off,
Silent tears rolling down his cheeks,
FearViewing the world with bleeding eyes,
The black windows to soulless oblivion.
How awful that such evil could be contained in one being.
Neck cocked to the side,
Waiting to strike when we're most disposed.
Wait till we quarrel.
Wait till we question our morals.
Wait till we've forgotten who we are.
Then rip us to pieces.
Break us in two.
Crush us underfoot till the only left are those to mourn.
The strong will be all that's left,
But the strong won't last.
All will be swallowed.
None will escape once fear has dug his claws deep into our minds.
As the Candle BurnsAs the Candle Burns
From Lovecraft's "Whisperer in the Darkness"
He sat at his desk in the parlor
Pouring over a volume of lore
The author of which was not mentioned
As the candle he had lit burnt low
For a moment, he looked from the corner of an eye
At the shadows thrown on the wall
Then he saw something move among them
Creeping slowly towards his desk
His ears pricked nervously
A whisper issued in the darkness
It foretold of a future
Worse than what anyone could expect
"The Old Ones will be your future. I have come to start."
Words on CrutchesI try to mold my lips to meaning,
But you've robbed me of my speech.
There's moss coating my brain, slowly greening.
It damps my thoughts in crust, skin of a peach.
Velvet of the vampire,
Coffin sharp, no inspire.
My words are left on crutches,
Grappling with crumbling bones.
And though it's tight my finger clutches,
I hear no living moans.
The wind blows in the valley of night,
Whistling its woes through no light.
You've broken the spine
For which I dearly pine.
My words are badly cast,
Actors of minor stance
Holding up the mast.
My words are in a trance.
I see your ghost with my ears
For it paints its portrait in fears
Of deadly pirate songs
And damsel distress wrongs.
Your prattle is medieval...
My silence concludes YOUR words evil.
My words may be a mummy,
But they hold a noble tummy
To gather in hush
Before they rush.
My words limp in my mute esophagus
But finally, I'm proud of my sarcophagus.
SkeletonsYou hear scratching in your closet,
but you don’t know what it is.
You hear moaning in your closet,
but you don’t know what it is.
Every night you hear these noises,
you feel regret.
Every night you hear these noises,
you feel heartbroken.
These are your skeletons coming for you.
And now you wish you weren’t such an awful person
to the people who weren’t up to your standards.
And now you wish you could take it all back
and be a better person.
But you can’t even look in a mirror
because there is a skeleton inside you.
And he’s pissed.
Cliches in DeathRoses are red,
Sweet and more
Like the blood
Violets are blue,
Shaded like ice
Like the blood
From Ulalume by Edgar Allen Poe
Far, far away
Where the eye cannot behold
There stretched a land of mystery
Now grown silent and old
Years ago when Bethmora was still young
The people danced, and sang and played
Life was good to all then
Nobody sighed in sorrow or dismay
One sullen night, a low wind blew in
Its air was hard and cold
So hard was it that not a soul would move
And it soon took its toll
By late December, hardly a soul was left upon the street
Those who felt it claimed they heard
A whisper, like the voice of Death
So until this time of which I spoke
Now Bethmora deserted lies
Death and Pupils of MolassesFallen leaves and broken bones sound the same
Underneath steps of stone
Golden irises and pupils of molasses haunt my hooded lids
The wind sings notes of ghostlike melodies; possessing my ringing ears
Past lives fall gently to the ground like leaves
The blood of the lost bringing colors to piles of ash
Death calls the cold wet earth home; crunching underneath our feet
The dead have come back to us in the bloody shades of autumn
ReflectionsVal's pursuit led him to the foul beast's domain. The hollowed-out cavern reeked of blood and rancid meat. The dim light he had seen as he charged through the tunnel after the monster could now be identified: torches. Rows of mysteriously lit torches lined the walls of the huge cave. At its center was a substantially large labyrinth of mirrors.
He spotted the beast entering.
He spun his silver broadsword in his hand and hurried in behind it.
His garb was a simple blue and white crusader's leather with thick armored pads and reinforcing steel studs. Lightweight and flexible, but quite effective defense against blunt blows and – in a pinch – the slashing claws of the unholy spawn of the earth. All monster-hunters wore a similar variety in Val's experience. It would serve him well in these close quarters of the mirrored maze.
Right, left, forward, left, right he turned, always catching a glimpse of the beast's tail as he wove his way through the corridors. Every so often he sp
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More