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Bloody wrists and High Hopes
Her pale fingers trace over fresh cuts as she said, “There
is something so appealing about scars, so attractive, the way they shine.” Her arms encircle me in a leading embrace.
She takes my hands into hers, holding them lightly, as I think how I’m never this lucky. She then looks to see if they
are healing well and wonders why the marks were made. That was beyond both our comprehensions. I had never felt so cared for
before, by someone I did not even know, but it will never be
Predictions of Tristan’s untitled
His despair haunts her beyond any repair. Her delicate heart
knows, it causes her woes…
When the blackest of Irish eyes met with a pair of Nordic
blue maelstroms. There was a coming together of so great power that it burned their hearts and cauterized lips. A source of
light is always salvation from the darker hours. No hearts can be spared from true love’s haunted wraith.
Pagan
Show me the godess, intangible purity. Let us see your higher self, bring us peace in your virginity and send
away the darkness, shift it to light, protect us from our fright. Bind all your negativity and I will show you my true faith.
Take you away from this miserable place. We’ll define your fate tonight. Look through your third eye. Hidden knowledge
will be unveiled for you, the spiritual power will be yours .I will show you the goddess pure female energy incarnate.
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Beautiful Requiem
In this resplendence, our tourniquets become imbrued. What
a rapturous moment I am enthralled by you. The anathema called Death is resonating in my head. I watch my pallor skin its
preternatural decay slowly fades away. Beautiful requiem, bleeding from my soul. The beautiful requiem is something untold.
We are dissipating slowly, disenchanted by a perverse world. What fascination I have found in you suicide, as all hope is
lost. It was taken from our darken hearts sometime ago, and we all went down past all seven of hells and heavens, the maelstrom
of fears, and the pits of lonely tears to where the soulless ones are throw away and forgotten
Ophelia always smelled of lavender and wine
You are rosemary, my dear Ophelia.
Wistful dreamer of darken skies, hopeful lover of all the
night. Loyal to a sickening fault with an unfailing romanticism, you inspire my words, my dear Ophelia. Beautiful Ophelia,
you are a part of me I cannot deny, the incarnation of nocturnal magik, a strong willed witch, with mind powers of a goddess,
lost in a melancholy revere even just for tonight, my dear Ophelia. I’ll never betray thee. My dear Ophelia, you are
death and decadence of all haunting athletics in the vast world,
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