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gabrielle Mar 6
madness and elegance
of thorns and ****
she was born
without end nor bourne
exquisite but ever torn
sophistication and thirst
of blood and the gracious curse
beautiful imprecate
This is the ACTUAL transcription of the curse she placed on him. After she spoke these words Fares was never seen nor heard from again. But Baba’s magic was the strongest in the land so he may still walk among us.

Foolish one who killed my son will now
know the force of my magic.
Here is my curse and you shall wish you
never crossed Baba Yaga.
Even on the brightest day,
The light shall not touch you.
The people will not see you,
And you will cast no shadow.
And as loud as you scream
They will hear you not.
You reach out and touch
They will feel you not,
Nor will they take solace
In your memory.
And the suns warmth
Will never come to you.
For you, summer days
Shall be as winter,
And winter nights shall be
As your heart.  
So you will live as you
Have always lived.
And you will continue to live
As you now live,
For the death you have unfairly
Brought to others,
Shall always escape you.
And all the world’s blades
Shall taste you not.
And the all the world’s poisons
Shall embrace you not.
And men’s graves will be as a bed,
Yet you shall sleep not.
And as the sun rises you will
comprehend it not.
For the night, for you,
Will never end.
In truth your
Night shall deepen.
For you the stars will be
As behind a black veil.
And the moon will be
As behind a black veil.
And my curse will be
As a black veil,
And your heart will know
only darkness.
This is curse of
Baba Yaga.
You who have killed
My son despair.
*Taken from “Monsters, Demons and Curses: Excerpts from 19th Century Sorcery” by G.D.S Bailey. Chapter 36 page 6-7*
Blake Mar 2
The old and faithful Spriggan
As dark as the vast cold Stygian
To where his body lay beneath
With all his love to never bequeath
A love as pure as the white sweet alison
Though always to deny, this eternal malison
The lady they loved bore wealth of gold
Though soon she too would never grow old
zz Feb 25
they say blood is thicker than water but haven't they heard
of ichor?

the deep felling within, when you sense that something may
go wrong but let's set that thought aside because you don't know
what happens when the blood boils of gods and goddesses
or when the hues of gold and silver yearn for solitude as they
transform into something new; more precious, more expensive.
falling from the slick blade of a hero, poison to any mortal. but us-
humans- are wicked. if that blade falls into our palms, we'd corrupt
the world by spilling ichor for our mutual misunderstandings. so
we let ichor fall back into history- a curse for the reader- hoping one day that it'll fall into innocent hands so that once again,
unleashed from it's chains, would come Hade's hounds coming
to get you.
ah sweet greek mythology
Gale L Mccoy Feb 24
for 8 days i struck you down
deconstructed myself
it isnt over till
i toss that trinket into a river

you, my dear,
have been the first ive cursed
in a long long time

your effect
truly was a flame to the wind
this town will harbor you no sanctuary
as it never did

what you hold
is a false crescendo
you'll have to use your own breath
to fuel your own flame one day
Aurianna Feb 22
I don't know where I'm going wrong.
I do things that make me happy.
I surround myself with people who make me feel good about myself.
But, I don't feel good about myself.
I do my best to treat myself with kindness but the bad thoughts won't go away.
I have the deepest conversations with myself yet I can't even begin to express to another person exactly how I feel.
Do I feel too much?
To deeply?
Too carelessly?
I can talk about the things I've experienced but I can not communicate what it did to me.
I don't understand what I'm doing wrong,
when I'm trying everything in my capability to do right.
I don't know what to do,
I don't know what I'm doing.
I'm hurting far beyond what I let people see,
I don't know where I learned that,
but I really wish I wasn't like that.
To feel everything, but absolutely nothing at all is a ******* curse.
Someday, just someday, I will be able to smile again for no reason at all.
Dominique Feb 21
One blank look from him
And I'm hollow enough to write poetry again.

Should I send a thank-you note
Or crumple it and stuff it down his throat?
Not sure what's worse, writer's block or this void.
Kenji Feb 19
>It burns in me the love that couldvé formed. The erotica that couldvé been extablished, the depth that could've been formulated. But you left, and all I'm left with is your unwanted scars and burdens that are not mine. The grass is wet and the sun is hot, but my soul is in pain and lingers for yours. **** me like you hate me, but, kiss me like you miss me.

<I started to love and the love that surrounds me can be as deep as a cannon that has been created but I'm not left with my left eye. The grass is wet and the sun is very hot, but my soul is sick and sick for you · · · You miss me as much as you love me, zeitgeist / ts?t???st, z?t???st / name for Valerie's Dictionary. You hate me as I do condoms; However, as the story evolved through thoughts and thoughts, a specific period of time in the spirit of emotional zeitgeist in the mid-nineteenth century: Zeit 'time' + geist 'spirit' is in German. There is love within me that engenders inner love. But I apologize for my injuries. The grass is wet and the sun is very hot, but my life will be tormented. I do not know if you do not like me, but you say: "I'm not telling you." There is a love that can be formed in the depths. But give me some scars. The grass is wet and the sun is very hot, but my soul stays in it. I do not know if you do not like me, but you say: "I'm not telling you."

>I'm not telling you, But I'd love to whisper the words that conform to your being of thoughtless scrutiny. Whisper back in a silent forecast and let your words be heard by me. As the wet grass sinks in the sand, I see our love has sunken too. Nothing but the pain to hold onto. You love me, but is it enough? I love you, and it's enough. Your love is poison and it's intoxicating to my existence. Like a harsh summer breeze that is hard to foresee, can I still write my feelings without thinking I am delusional, ought to be. Love me hard but your toxicity stands in the way, as your feelings en-dour, my love stays true. A consistent loyalty that leaves a bruise. Before you know it, you left, as you said you would. Cut me out like a harsh knife that needs no razor blade, like a clean slice, you just left me in your scars. But with that pain, for some reason, even if I have let you go, I still love you.

<Cut my heart out with a knife or razor blade for a clean slice, just leave your mark.

>Leave your mark but don't leave a scar. Bury your sacred existence elsewhere and leave me to live and love on my own. It's suffocating, it buries my soul, without you, I am free to breathe on my own. The sun is hot, the grass is wet, without your love, I feel free, not dead, consumed by other things, like my mind itself.
A beautiful duet written by me and Johnny Noiπ. A poem about the deception of love and what it can do to oneself.
Me >
Johnny <
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