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In the heat of moments,
Where incandescence mirrored flame
Dancing marigold shadows on alabaster skin,
Flush pink rosy cheeks greet with ruby red lips curled
A quaint smile, in a quiet Manor.

Quiet manners,
In succinct hungered eyes
Staring into permissive lashes
Batted from sapphire pools,
Lively looms of auburn Toole
Shading cherub roundness of her French features,
Obstructing beauty that begot but a heavy sigh.

Pallid cold fingers,
Reach to swipe the silken veil,
Close to her heat, she’s radiant
Sun-washed white, Christian pure.

She offers her hand,
Like an hors d’oeuvres,
She encourages the beast,
With tiny begs and pleads.

Fangs descend,
Parasitic hunger contends
With romantic candor,
Need not to soil sentiment,
He won’t be rude or offended.

A kiss,
Chilled lips touch throbbing wrist
Tongue teasing the riverbeds,
Sending them into blued shivers,
And then a pang rang through
Screaming at the synapses,
The sinew snap of the epidermis,
Snap pea in its clarity,
A rarity in her giving so charitably.

A lashing flick,
Twirling like butterflies patternless flight
Suckling the honeysuckle nearly dry.
As sapphire eyes slated to drained gray pearls
Slinking frame bracing on the shoulder of a chair
She smiles still, given fanatically
She loves with majesty and anima.

He kisses her like a long goodbye
A farewell crept upon phantasmagoric moments
Splashed as vividly as neon paint along black-lit canvases
Her body pocked with punctures
Polka-spotted chic in tapped keg kinesis.
She yearned to join his side,
Like some corpse bride
Under the guise of sanguineous wines
Forever entwined,
And who could deny it?

But he did,
Hid behind chthonic masquerades
And never wishing to see the day
An ageless love betrayed his fragility,
A heart that ached so eternally
Tragic in their symphony
Played out in hungry morsels.
The immortal who loved a mortal
And her spectral haunting,
In every drop given.
a story of love, vampirism, willingness to please beyond reason, a need to shelter with the fear of happiness.
kevin Jun 10
subtracting voices
chandeliers hung by dead feathers
cannon ***** of years when time hated fairly
left over promises i'm not friends with

getting lept out
hanging death
to find a friend
running away
marrying the wash out
battling for empty
filling up the old crimes
inside my healing head
to destroy their evidence
useless when its good
too ugly for views

prisons too important
for me, the left overs

i was the addiction
now another contraception
hailing ghosts
tangled in timecards
under hung
and still voting
to take my spots
kevin Apr 1
wanted to stare at contest
first awakening
i see you missing there
it costs my glue
thinking this was absolute
and there they wept
hallowed compromise
and our mizerly suspend

hi hate
never lust for me
as i find his lustra's mystics
i don't know if he is safe
but he got somewhere
so i am beyond yours

typical daybead, empty
our of ink, in news
so ****** and decadent is the toaster business
when your out there, being girl, hate me
suffering wretch of concern
becoming uncertain once and pitiful fall again

I'm trying ezra pound
I loved a ghost
stitched from soft words
and glances that meant nothing.
I touched a dream
and swore it had a pulse.
And now I grieve
not you-
but the person I thought you were.
Megan Jun 1
Smoldered black roses line your garden,
but I’d plant myself there—
under terrain, dry and bare—
and wait with a parched tongue
until the ash is done
corroding my lungs
from dawn’s burnt sun.
BloodOfSaints May 28
Your hands are altars.
Your mouth is war.
I keep your gospel on my tongue
like a rusted nail
swallowed out of devotion.
BloodOfSaints May 28
Heaven isn’t real to me.
Only you.
And if I have to become the heretic,
the martyr,
the lunatic bleeding on the altar of your indifference—
so be it.
She undressed in the mirror.
Only the reflection watched.
I found her candle,
cold and forgotten.

Her hands moved like smoke
understanding how to be skin again.
Not performance. Not pleasure.
Just unlearning the habit of vanishing.

Her shadow held her shape
longer than I did.
She said: “Stay,
but forget.”

Her child slept, somewhere,
dreaming oceans away.
She etched a name in glass steam,
a word that burned too bright to keep,
then let it melt under hot breath.

There was a song
caught in the ceiling,
something we never played
but always meant to.

I kissed her hair while it was still hair
and not a question
left behind on a pillow.

I opened the door,
it sang some other man’s name.
A line drawn, erased. No message left.
The room forgot its language.
My ghost obeyed
and lifted.
A blanket of sheer darkness spread into the heavens.
As the moon and the stars illuminated the night and whispered legends
Of the bone-chilling graveyard that's long forgotten
A swirl of biting wind
Chills me to the bones, freezes my skin
I shivered in silence; my hands were bound.
Suddenly I heard a strange and macabre sound.
A demonic laughter from the grassy path comes from a skull on the edge of the lake.
I ran away and soon found the safe path I could take.
I panted and asked, "Why did it laugh? Was it still alive?"
My mind created illusions that drive me
To near insanity, I pinched myself and brought myself back to reality.
I'm here in this mysterious place.
A once-holy graveyard that lost its grace
They say it's a den of doleful and vengeful spirits.
Roaming around, frightening every person who visits it.
Along with the bodies buried underground
The graveyard has died as the leaves from the looming trees fell and browned.
The plants are wilting.
The unclean graves are breaking.
Into millions of little stones
Tall grasses envelop us as the wind moans.
I escaped from the blades in a place that reminds me of a forest so dark and overgrown.
A trickle from the moss synchronised with my bitter and hot tears
For I saw your grave; I didn't know you left me after all these years.
F T Scorza May 9
As I half slumber into self incarceration
On the walls of my asylum
Electric spiders do their craft
Under their silk,
I’m numb of all emotion
Can’t know the present,
Don’t recall the past

From a pane of fake glass
Blazes a light of acid blue
It corrodes my retinas
I can’t see the truth

Loudspeakers deliver
A cacophony of digital howls
Green faced, I quiver
Under the ***** of robotic sounds

Below the announcer of blistering news
Puncturing my ears
A distant, faint whisper I hear
My pupils dilate, blood rushes through
Is it true?
Could it be you?
Could it be you?
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