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Villain. You have stolen my grace.

When I poise myself to smile and simper, your bitter shadow fills my mouth and makes me shudder.
When I ascend the steps to my royal quarters, I trip on the memory of your presence by my side.
When I lay in bed, artfully sprawled across the velvet sheet, your forceful weight crushes my limbs and my lungs.
When my eyelids flutter shut, intent on transporting me to dream-land, all I see is your divine, ethereal face.
When I fall in love, I am eager to forget and begin anew with my sweet knight in disguise, but your crestfallen expression slows my pace.

I may be free of you and your enchantment, your enthralling spell, but by the gods, Villain - I couldn't protect it all, and so you have stolen my grace.
Marco Feb 12
In the forest late one summer day,
between the trees and prams,
a sweet girl whistled a small tune
that made the rabbits dance.

They danced and hopped and frinked about
and it was all quite nice
until the Wankerschmacken came
and brought a plague of Braifs.

The Braifs, they danced and frinked as well
and grew and grew in size
until they grew to twelve feet tall
much to the girl’s surprise.

The Wankerschmacken watched with glee,
with joyous hate and hunger,
the rabbits, the girl, they were confused
as they stared down the Schmacken’s flanger.
The flanger was his mouth, of course,
filled with teeth like daggers,
and the beast lunged after the poor girl
who through the forest yaggered.

She yaggered and ran and over a root
she suddenly fell and cried;
The Wankerschmacken took his chance
and this is how she died:

The monster opened its flanger large,
its throat was charcoal black;
A blue tongue stretched and grabbed the girl
and hurled her into its depths.

She fell for an eternity,
she seemed to fall for years;
And in its stomach she cried and cried
and drowned in her own tears.

A century has come and gone
since this cold-blooded ****
but if you put your ear to the woods
you can hear the Schmacken still.

It snores and roars deep in its sleep;
Can you smell its rotten breath?
but once you do it is too late –

You will die a vicious death.
A nonsense ballad heavily inspired by Carroll's "Jabberwocky", one of my all-time favorite poems.
Robert Rittel Nov 2019
In a terrible time of famine, war, pest and inquisition,
a master Wicca giving homeless boys a apprentice permission.
They had to maintain a household in an isolated place,
working very hard to earn some recognition to face.
Collecting woods, herbs and edibles to survive
building a garden, harvesting some fields to strive.
When the moon was new the master summonsed the boys,
teaching them the art of magic, using dark power like toys.
The very same power was keeping those young men imprisoned,
some tried to run away, but got lost and ended up same place wrested.
He turned them into ravens, spying on innocent prey,
and gave them that illusion of freedom that they can fly.
The deeds of darkness had its toll and innocent hearts rebel,
they could not take the viciousness by mental means able.
The Wicca promised them the virtue of ultimate power,
focusing only onto the abuse by tragic endower.
The ravens tried to work together against the masters will,
but could not fit his evil visions to conquer the needed bill.
In disguise of 7 Ravens they had to visited villages,
creating distractions for the dark master to take advantages.
One Raven got injured during some chaotic rage,
a maiden of gentle touch, nursed the captured creature in a cage.
Not knowing that a boy is in this disguise of a bird,
and the young man was in awe of all he heard.
She was talking about a charming prince she dreamed to meet,
giving her the stillness for the loving longing as a deed.
The raven recovered and the boy’s heart was enchanted,
flying back to the brothers and the master will granted.
He told his fellows about the beauty he is feeling,
and knew it is the way to conquer all fears and controlled stealing.
They decided to fly to those villages to find some maidens of charm,
exchanging bodies to create loving features with no harm.
Soon they hearts where all full of joy and virtues abilities,
much against the masters witching capabilities.
His own manipulation fell against him by circumstance,
leaving nothing left to do, giving those young men the advance.
They swore an ode, never to use the art of dark power,
living a life with the meaning of celebrated love in any hour.
Still hearing from time to time the voice of a Crow,
sounding like the croaking noise of…. nevermore, nevermore.

Inspired by Edgar Allen Poe
Dolly May 2019
In a tragic of despair
that she could espy of something unseen
but what I know now in the nowhereness of triumph is the oblivion that’s long forsaken . My mother, the earth , has loved the truth of my words . My mother of memories, where my intricate roots embedded in her many wombs , with her,
my mother who is the mind to my soul, with her crystal teeth, puncturing the veins of my spirit, I am uncured from the illness of illusion.
with the love that is filled with the sickness of the cerebral ;
that every nerves, they only now yearn to forget, to erase, to delete,
what should never end , will ;
of those forward to ,
is like catching light,
my mother's arms, wrapping my dead body,
for that great freedom that ought demands
but now encountered swords that I see no farther onward impulse stirr'd,
from every dew-drop in this sequestered heart.
it inculpates the soul’s wigwam,
to love , that is unpure
powered of perception ;
for me , do so as what say I
the abyss will never know -- without noise, bad field of unfamiliarity, to create the creation of layers, layers of spectre, phantasm, apparition;
I exorcise & exterminate this being of nothingness, name that is uncelebrated ; & be merrily skipping in their long farewell,
you gave your face , I gave mine
& there shall be a bow of
hypothesis, musings, mirage

I inject, dementia
trying responsibly to digest over
my own ignis fatuus
there will be hanging gardens
the commotion of untendered bones
down beneath your cloaks,
knowing sympathy, to bully an empathy
death come, came & in repeat
through the lullaby of Antioch,
sorrow wholly unexpected, in scarcely discernable; but far descried
black winged demon vanished through the chested barrier of feelings, when justice lynchings in the centre of my core,

twixt vows, where from descended upon myself alone, indecent, in deep scrutiny —
Something complicated even to my own self --
Evan Mar 2019
“hello, my name is solar.
weird name, right?
i grew up in heaven,
it was really beautiful,
everyone dressed in white,
being happy,
flying with their white,
feathery, soft,

i’m different.
dark purple hair,
a few strands of white and black,
long hair.
black angel wings,
elf ears (as a child),
devil eyes,
wolf ears and tail.
i’m exactly what you think i am,
a monster.

i grew up with mostly white hair,
a few strands of black,
and an ombré from white to purple,
elf ears,
soft angel wings tinted grey.
i was adorable.
i was the queens daughter,
my father however,
the king of the underground nation,
known as hell.

12 years old.
so many bad things happened.

i was in bed, falling asleep,
i was carried onto a bench,
normal so far until,
i felt my limbs being chained down.
he was on me.
my father ***** me that night.  

i fell emotionless after that.

8 months later,
my baby boy
came earlier than expected.

his name was thomas.
my baby thomas.
my thomas.
my son thomas.

i get banished from heaven the next year, leaving my son with my mother
she adored him
i found out i had an older brother

my brothers name is shadow
he’s great,
so caring, loving,
he helped me when i needed

2 years later
i’m 15
i visit my son after 3 years,
it’s his 3rd birthday.
i walk up the stairs to my mother’s
upstairs loft
i reach halfway,
i see my father,
throwing something.


he’s throwing my baby
thomas into the fire.

i ran up the stairs, jumping into the fire to save my baby boy.

he’s gone.

where is my little boy?

i get pulled out.
i heal imedietly due to my “power.”

i’m sobbing.
i feel the kicks and punches hitting me.
i look up,
i’m on the floor, all i can see is red.
my father, standing their with his
blood soaked claws.

i sit myself up, trembling.
my neck, cut deeply
my arms, scratched so severely
my legs, bleeding
my white dress, was required to be worn
as the “princess of heaven/angels,” stained blood red.

i crawl to the edge of the land of heaven, staring down at my home, earth

i suddenly feel a kick.
i’ve been kicked down to earth,
i watch as heaven drifts further away from me.

it’s been 4 years.
i’m 19 now.
i visit my son in hell’s dungeon.
i’ve met my little sister.”
My character, Solars, backstory cut into a shorter story.
Benton James Oct 2018
I found the Fountain of Youth.
I’ll tell you where it is:
It’s been inside you all along.
Now enjoy your life, and live.
I'm fascinated by historical and realistic fiction, myths, legends, motivation and philosophy.
Blade Maiden Oct 2018

I sell my soul
for a pre-made bed
I give myself whole
for a sleeping spot in your head

I give my blood
for sacrifical purposes
I crawl through mud
til I no longer feel the worthlessness

I shed my fears
and all my dark feathers too
I spill them like tears
They fall of my leafs like new day dew

I pull out all my flowers
and plant them close to you
they will grow and become towers
which can only hold things that are true

And as my demons come for my lungs and liver
my hive heart will send all my bees
so these towers never wither
and this love never leaves
Blade Maiden Sep 2018

You're trying to see
what it is she makes of thee
Flesh always burning
Bones always shaking
Head's always turning
to see many eyes waking

This bee hive heart is beating
dripping with golden excitement
watch wings stripping, flight of perceiving
she's reckless with incitement
Brain's buzzing
from all the lusting

What have you done
Lord of crimson?
Where do you want her to put all these dreams?
She's near, her slender feet walk on
Her newly sharpened tongue knows of no fears

Neither young nor old
either shy or bold
of this golden crowned goddess you shall behold
in your dreams she eats you whole,
that's what's been told
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