The Happy Death
My eyes lie there, right next to your beautiful form,
and they lay open in awe of your glorious aura,
waiting for perfection to cease, for fantasy to end,
yet it doesnt.
The faithful clouds come together, and begin to let go of their lovely drops,
one by one they fall, and the thunder puts its hands together in harmony,
for both forces know that such is the only way to wet the eyes of the admirer,
for his eyes refuse to close, for his eyes would rather endure a thousand whippings than
lose sight of this breathtaking entity.
A ball of light is emitted from my chest,
it purely waves with a peaceful smile and floats into your warm body,
your lust filled satin body,
and I only gaze with surprise screaming within my senses.
I fall.
Drop to my knees, and smile suddenly,
for I know I am crossing over, but I am happy;
the last thought within my soul will be my love for you.
Angel, my love is yours, take it and do it justice,
for you are the only one who deserves to abuse it.
and they lay open in awe of your glorious aura,
waiting for perfection to cease, for fantasy to end,
yet it doesnt.
The faithful clouds come together, and begin to let go of their lovely drops,
one by one they fall, and the thunder puts its hands together in harmony,
for both forces know that such is the only way to wet the eyes of the admirer,
for his eyes refuse to close, for his eyes would rather endure a thousand whippings than
lose sight of this breathtaking entity.
A ball of light is emitted from my chest,
it purely waves with a peaceful smile and floats into your warm body,
your lust filled satin body,
and I only gaze with surprise screaming within my senses.
I fall.
Drop to my knees, and smile suddenly,
for I know I am crossing over, but I am happy;
the last thought within my soul will be my love for you.
Angel, my love is yours, take it and do it justice,
for you are the only one who deserves to abuse it.
The Beautiful GirlI’m wet and haze wraps around me,
She removes the mist only to reveal a blurry version of herself, I hate that I am always forced to see her this way. Tears roll down her cheeks as she sees the face staring back at her, She sobs, screams, and wails, while I sit here, wishing I could offer her a hand, I wish she could see the beauty in herself that I see everyday. Wishing one could show her the true greatness of her inner radiance, But alas, I cannot do anything for this petite angel. Forced to sit here and watch her weep, I keep my heart true and silently weep, Not with her, but for her. |
The Stolen BrideT’was the way we said it’d be,
Ten thousand ships would sail the sea, For the young and beautiful maiden, Who had – from her home – been taken. “T’was late in the night that the prince had crept,” yelled the king of Sparta, and in jealous rage he wept, “Quiet your concern brother, the kings of Greece will avenge you,” said the commander, in a soothing voice, and prepared to sail the ocean blue. The fleet attacked with he whose heel was weak, Each Trojan shrieked as his soul fell victim to the brave sword of the Greek, For ten years, swords clashed and shields collided, Till the fateful hero, came up with a plan, that to his leader he confided. Those who came with purpose crowded into the great horse, That was then presented as a gift to the opposing force, They welcomed it with open arms and celebrated their victory, Enemies watched the naïve festivities from inside, waiting to fulfill their trickery. Night wrapped itself around Troy, as a blanket would around a sleeping baby, Soldiers stole into the dark, and attacked as soon as they were ready, The inner animal took over as their swords gleamed with fresh slaughter, Citizens died and the city burned, the innocents’ blood flowed like a stream of water. And so the war came to a foreseen end, Immortals fulfilled their fate within history and some continued writing their story, But no one forgot the tale of those who left their homes and died, For the one and sole Spartan bride. |
I BelieveI believe in the power of love
the friendships that never end the importance of family the dedication to loved ones the healing powers of indecipherable concepts eating, crying, napping But the belief that you can live happily, Completely alone, is absurd I believe in the vigor of numbers I believe in the virtue of morality I believe in kindness within the human heart, plant, animal, object And I believe in the saying, the present is a gift so you must cherish it. |
The Home of DarknessUpon the dull, dreary grass fields I wait,
I wait for them to come collect my broken parts, To lead my lost soul back to its home of darkness, The home in which my heart grew up in, you. Here I lie, without a bit of cosmetic aid, My dress treads its lace in the mud, My hair hasn’t been cleansed in days, Here I lie in my original form, no mask to cover my faults. Irony, knocks on my soft, guilt-filled mind, Ironic, that my faults were my perfection in your eyes, Humorous that, because of you I lay here, in this form once again, One simple phrase: I will never make it right without you. |
One Love, One LifeWe only have one perfect life to live,
There are no second chances to give, It’s our right to make the most of it now, The clay in our soft hands is ours to mold, So stand up and stop doing what you’re told, We only have one perfect life to live. We have mistakes that we’ll share with next of kin, Errors that some may consider sin, It’s our right to make the most of it now, We are the tortoise and life is our shell, We are the chapel and living is our bell, We only have one perfect life to live. Don’t listen to the pessimistic fools, There is no reason to follow the rules, It’s our right to make the most of it now. So stop complaining about the boring life, Get off your bums and join the massive strife, We only have one perfect life to live, It’s our right to make the most of it now. |
AngelLife is truly a large abyss of mystery. A soul may be angelic within appearance yet demonic within the spirit. A life may be a game, and the heart an amusement, but to that mans optics, its pain. Pain. Fair hair, and beautiful eyes, both weapons within a war of love. A war, a war with battles. And all battles are lost my dear. The white flag has been raised. Victory for you.
|
FreedomThe key to the great freedom,
the ticket to the withdrawl, from this cruel reality, is the vision of unique perceptibility. The treasure of imagination, the beauty of chimera, are our horse drawn carriages, our light shown passage, to wonder and happiness. |
A night of wonderEach ray penetrates my iris and your knives flutter,
your memory is filthy with the vivid colors of our night of onus and susceptibility. The orange sky greets our souls with poise, the moisture filters our lust filled lungs and fresh air conquers; it hits me. The beautiful and exotic scent, simply radiating off your body, its luminosity, majestic, its passion, apparent. I realize that this is real. Pinch me and I wont wake. Forever is just around the corner my dear. New LifeEvery sensation penetrates my nerves,
Every color the iris of my eye absorbs, every tune that perforates its way to my encephalon, bores through the deep pores of my imagination, and awakens my soul. I hear the calling, and I hear it clear, the melody of life, the harmony of existence, it has arrived. And for the first time, I am born, out of the omnipotent womb of the universe, and for once I feel, I feel the cold knife piercing, my impenetrable skin. And I absorb the truth, I bleed. |
Fantasy Is SheThere is something that you can’t quite explain,
When your core erupts in celebration, And this feeling simply makes you insane, A simple glimpse gives you this sensation. The angel pierces with her deep dark eyes, Your stunned soul starts to bleed with emotions, And she feasts as your guard meets its demise, Your heart switches fealty with her potions. The brush of her skin is like heaven’s touch, And her smile gives off a radiant glow, Days pass and she strengthens her rabid clutch, Love has arrived and the ground is way too low. One must return to earth and realize, Fantasy is truth and not a few lies The Gentle BeastTis Amazing the way this gentle beast
engulfs it’s targets by using its targets. Through the heart it pierces, of it’s ally, and welcomes it’s enemy into its warmth. But in the end either ally can betray it’s friend or enemy can turn to ally, either way the creature must move on to it’s next victim. This monster is inside our souls from the first moment we begin breathing as human beings. This threatening beast, goes by the name of love. |
Short Story: The Coffin
As his eyes fluttered open, the darkness was even sharper than it had been when he was deep in his drug influenced sleep. He tried opening his eyes again and as the darkness persisted, panic overcame him as he attempted to raise his arms. A hard surface blocked his arms and in his hateful confusion he tried to get up, only to be knocked back by the same cold surface that obstructed his hands from being able to rub his eyes out of the reality that he was now facing as a fantasy. He could not remember how he got to this terrifying place or even what had happened the previous week. All he could remember was saying, “I do” at his wedding and nothing else. He was stuck in some kind of space which for all he could know was air-tight and his suffocation was imminent.
He had no sense of time, and the blanket of panic was covering every inch of his chilled skin as his mind got a firmer grasp on the inevitable fact: that he was helpless. He tried screaming but no response from the outer world, if there was one that could respond to his unheard cries. After a while, he realized he really was helpless, so all he did was feel around the space, try to see whether there was something else he could do. All he found was that the space was not air tight, but his breathing was getting harsher and harsher. Another thing that he found was that although he couldn’t move much, the padding inside the space was awfully comfortable, almost as if it was the inside of a coffin that had been sealed … and buried….
Laura woke up to a wonderful morning in suburbia, inside a room that had barely been touched by her lovely husband, but she did not know that. She woke up worry free with no reason to try to remember anything, only basking in the happiness of her most recent memory: her wedding; more precisely hearing her husband say I do. She slowly maneuvered her way out the satin sheets, which slowly caressed her skin as if it was a baby’s soft bottom. By now she had noticed that she was alone in the room with the only company being the distant zoom of all the cars passing on the freeway.
There was a large collection of blood red rose petals contrasting beautifully with the sheep white sheets on the bed. The rose petals were on the ground as well, leading into the hallway, so Laura decided to follow them. She exited the bedroom and followed the smell of the flowers out into the hall, but suddenly something struck her as very strange. The path led into the bathroom on the other side of the hall but there was no movement inside. This absence of life on the other side of the bathroom door lost her interest and the smell of fresh made breakfast downstairs captured it. She made her way downstairs and didn’t find any source of life. She wasted some of her breath calling for anyone who might have heard her inside the house, but no response followed. She entered the kitchen and found a full blown breakfast waiting for her on the counter with a small note on the side. It was heart shaped and when she opened it, there was no message inside.
That was when Laura started becoming a little shaky. She exited the house and went to knock on her neighbor Jim’s door. Jim promptly opened the door, and she asked whether he had seen her husband. Suddenly Jim burst into tears and grabbed her in a strong embrace keeping her in his arms for some time until she pulled away and asked what was wrong. His deep brown eyes, only conveyed a shocked misery when they looked at her, almost as if they were hurt by the question she had just asked, or was it the one right before that. She became impatient with his lack of response so she went down the steps from his patio and began to cross his yard when she suddenly stopped and turned around. He was still there and she yelled a simple inquiry to him, this one he was able to answer. She asked him for the day’s date, and he responded, “the thirteenth.” That’s when a cold drop of sweat dripped from the tip of the back of her neck all the way to the tip of her waist. It had been 12 days since her wedding and she couldn’t remember anything that had happened these past couple weeks.
She reentered her house and went to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. As soon as her tender lips touched the freezing rounded edge of the custom shaped glass, her pocket vibrated. Out of shock she dropped the glass and it shattered into a million pieces. Ignoring the mess, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. There was a newly received text message. It was from her husband. She opened it eager to see where he was, only to be hit by another wave of weird thoughts prompted just by the simple six worded question in the text message: “why didn’t you follow the petals?”
With this, she slowly made her way up to the second floor and into the cold white marble-floored bathroom. The petal path ended abruptly in front of a basket filled with magazines and newspapers. She reached in and took out the first one on the pile. It was the day’s paper turned to the obituaries. The first column displayed in big bolded text the death of Theodore Jackman, the name of her husband. She covered her mouth in shock, dropping the newspaper into the trashcan.
She turned to run downstairs to call the police, the funeral home, someone who would be able to explain to her what had happened. Making her way around the bend in the hallway leading to the house’s stairway, she slipped on one of the rose petals tumbling down the stairs into the kitchen. There was a loud thud that split the silence at the end of her fall. No movement echoed the incident, nor was there any scream of pain, just a fresh warm essence of blood in the air.
If only Laura had kept herself composed for a bit longer, she would have seen the next name in the obituaries: hers.
He had no sense of time, and the blanket of panic was covering every inch of his chilled skin as his mind got a firmer grasp on the inevitable fact: that he was helpless. He tried screaming but no response from the outer world, if there was one that could respond to his unheard cries. After a while, he realized he really was helpless, so all he did was feel around the space, try to see whether there was something else he could do. All he found was that the space was not air tight, but his breathing was getting harsher and harsher. Another thing that he found was that although he couldn’t move much, the padding inside the space was awfully comfortable, almost as if it was the inside of a coffin that had been sealed … and buried….
Laura woke up to a wonderful morning in suburbia, inside a room that had barely been touched by her lovely husband, but she did not know that. She woke up worry free with no reason to try to remember anything, only basking in the happiness of her most recent memory: her wedding; more precisely hearing her husband say I do. She slowly maneuvered her way out the satin sheets, which slowly caressed her skin as if it was a baby’s soft bottom. By now she had noticed that she was alone in the room with the only company being the distant zoom of all the cars passing on the freeway.
There was a large collection of blood red rose petals contrasting beautifully with the sheep white sheets on the bed. The rose petals were on the ground as well, leading into the hallway, so Laura decided to follow them. She exited the bedroom and followed the smell of the flowers out into the hall, but suddenly something struck her as very strange. The path led into the bathroom on the other side of the hall but there was no movement inside. This absence of life on the other side of the bathroom door lost her interest and the smell of fresh made breakfast downstairs captured it. She made her way downstairs and didn’t find any source of life. She wasted some of her breath calling for anyone who might have heard her inside the house, but no response followed. She entered the kitchen and found a full blown breakfast waiting for her on the counter with a small note on the side. It was heart shaped and when she opened it, there was no message inside.
That was when Laura started becoming a little shaky. She exited the house and went to knock on her neighbor Jim’s door. Jim promptly opened the door, and she asked whether he had seen her husband. Suddenly Jim burst into tears and grabbed her in a strong embrace keeping her in his arms for some time until she pulled away and asked what was wrong. His deep brown eyes, only conveyed a shocked misery when they looked at her, almost as if they were hurt by the question she had just asked, or was it the one right before that. She became impatient with his lack of response so she went down the steps from his patio and began to cross his yard when she suddenly stopped and turned around. He was still there and she yelled a simple inquiry to him, this one he was able to answer. She asked him for the day’s date, and he responded, “the thirteenth.” That’s when a cold drop of sweat dripped from the tip of the back of her neck all the way to the tip of her waist. It had been 12 days since her wedding and she couldn’t remember anything that had happened these past couple weeks.
She reentered her house and went to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. As soon as her tender lips touched the freezing rounded edge of the custom shaped glass, her pocket vibrated. Out of shock she dropped the glass and it shattered into a million pieces. Ignoring the mess, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. There was a newly received text message. It was from her husband. She opened it eager to see where he was, only to be hit by another wave of weird thoughts prompted just by the simple six worded question in the text message: “why didn’t you follow the petals?”
With this, she slowly made her way up to the second floor and into the cold white marble-floored bathroom. The petal path ended abruptly in front of a basket filled with magazines and newspapers. She reached in and took out the first one on the pile. It was the day’s paper turned to the obituaries. The first column displayed in big bolded text the death of Theodore Jackman, the name of her husband. She covered her mouth in shock, dropping the newspaper into the trashcan.
She turned to run downstairs to call the police, the funeral home, someone who would be able to explain to her what had happened. Making her way around the bend in the hallway leading to the house’s stairway, she slipped on one of the rose petals tumbling down the stairs into the kitchen. There was a loud thud that split the silence at the end of her fall. No movement echoed the incident, nor was there any scream of pain, just a fresh warm essence of blood in the air.
If only Laura had kept herself composed for a bit longer, she would have seen the next name in the obituaries: hers.