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A character of desirable features
An appearance of glamour
With unrivaled reputation and prestige

Every man and woman felt hypnotized
Towards his fragrance and strong aura

Every attendance he goes ~
Every ballroom he hosts ~

Those fellow creatures follow
Like slaves serving their master
For the rest of their life ~

Couldn't help but feel attracted to —
His presence and seductive atmosphere

Showered their courtesy and admiration
In a ballroom full of lavish adornments

Hosted by the master of temptation ~

Drunken by his sweet scents, yet
Feign innocence and counterfeit looks

Never made them question his youth

A creature walking invisibly within mankind

Sometimes lurking around at midnight
With a mind filled with immorality ~

Like a perilous, wild animal
Hunting its prey when darkness comes

With a pair of sharp fangs —
Attempting to drink the blood of mankind

Presence of a great threat to the society
And yet a temptation of the humanity ~

I tripped and fell into his game of traps
A victim and the prey of his end-game

Found myself lying on —
A bed spattered with black roses —
In a room where sunlight is hard to reach

Had no idea how I ended up here ~

As I tried to think about it
My mind went blank and blurry

One evening, he came rashly into my room
While wearing a long cloak of darkness

Staring into my eyes and driving me wild
With his piercing dark red eyes

My legs felt weak as I stood in front of this man

A danger to my flesh and my heart ~

He came closer without uttering a word

Then he stroked my long hair gently —
Brushed my neck slowly with his tender hands

Suddenly gripped my hands with his left hand
And pushed me onto the bed by force

As he was about to ***** his fangs into my neck

All my energy was drained —
All my resistance had gone like wind

Between his firm grip and his sharp eyes

Like a bloodthirsty hound
Like a creature longing for warmth

He drank my blood with lust and desires
While holding my waist tightly

I was in a devilish heaven
With this alluring immortal being

******* every part of my flesh
With passion and aggression

He drank me until he was satisfied
He held me close until he got what he wanted

Knowing that my life was in danger
In the hands of this controlling devil

Knowing that he could perish me any moment

I still found myself falling deeper for him ~

As he ****** my blood until the last drop ~
Carol DeWald Apr 22
Apart
Blaming
Conditional.
Defined by
Expectations
Fears
Grades.
Heavily moving
Into dark.
Joined by anxiety
Keeping it all in.
Longing.
Mad mix of feelings
Never far away.
Only living to please
Pursuing ways to disappear.
Questioning the established.
Repeating behavior.
Secrets.
Temptress
Underneath the mask.
Victimized.
Willingly responsible.
eXit from religion.
Yearning to be special.
Zero confidence.

cbd03/28/25
Archer Mar 23
The Duality of Man,
may very well be
The Singularity of Man.
Anais Vionet Mar 17
It’s Saturday morning. Lisa, Leong and I were in the common area, lazing about. “This is what happened to us (Lisa and I) last night.” I said, beginning to explain last night's trauma to Leong. “We were at the event and it was dead and empty—there was just another couple there. It was made infinitely worse by the gloomy, instrumental, funeral music the on-aux (DJ) was playing. So we went up to him. His headphones were over one ear and off the other.”

“And we were like, ‘Hey, can you play something else? Do something different? Can you please change the hook and play something upbeat—with words?’
“He looked us up and down, dismissively,” Lisa added, touching Leong’s arm to emphasize the point, “then he pulled his other earphone over his previously bare ear to ignore us!

“Because you hurt his feelings,” Leong said.

“No,” I began - I literally, I, like literally don’t understand what he was doing. Being a DJ is customer service, basically. He’s supposed to be making people happy and when two of your four customers complain - you’re supposed to change.”
“You can’t make everyone happy,” Leong suggested, shrugging.
“Is that some kind of dystopian, communist logic?” Lisa asked, shocked (Leong’s from China).
“In America,” she quickly continued, “we try to make the individual happy. He could’ve made half the people in the hall happy - at least the ones that cared enough to engage him.”

“First of all,” Leong began, waving her hands, as if waving away confusion, “the question is - and don’t dodge it - she asked me, “Were you nice? Because you may have hurt his feelings.”
“No, I don’t care,” I said, dismissing ‘feelings.’ “If we’re invited to an event, then our opinions are invited too. it’s like a contract.”
“He might have taken days to plan that playlist.” Leong countered.
“Well, it didn’t matter,” Lisa snarked, “because the funeral was over.”

“Here’s the thing,” Leong said, looking first at Lisa, then at me, “let’s face it, you two aren’t usually ignored, you're both pretty, white, CIS girls—a high society princess, and an upper-crust, trust-fund baby.”
(Oh, she was lashing out over the dystopian crack.)
“Yeah, NO, I.. look, no, you know..” I searched for my words.
Lisa took over, “Look, enough of your divisive, postmodern, race theory crap. These events can only be put on by MEN. Everything here (at Yale) is an EVENT now, with a theme. Girls spend a lot of time getting ready - doing our hair, putting on makeup, picking outfits, for these themes they come up with. It’s like the MET gala out there, where we have to dress to theme every night. Everyone, it seems, has to have a theme. No one wants us to just show up anymore - and they can’t get someone on-Aux to play music with words? The DJ’s just going to play sounds? It’s aggravating when we’ve put in so much effort already.”

“Listen to what you’re say-YING.” Leong said, ‘These events ARE typically put on by MEN, Yale is a male controlled culture - women weren’t even allowed at Yale until 1969. Are men trying to make YOU happy? NO, they’re focused on their happiness.”
“It throws me off that men’s groups, certain guy groups, put these things on,” Lisa reasoned, “because guys barely care about decorations and themes.”
“CAN guys decorate?” I asked, sarcastically—”I mean the straight ones?” I chuckled.

“We put in a lot of effort,” Lisa continued, “We look fantastic and guys just show up, looking the same as ever - what I’m say-ying is - there’s social injustice at work. Last night, it really wasn’t so bad. I mean, people showed up and the DJ eventually got into a vibe, some kind of vibe - whatever. It wasn’t just last night, we’ve been to a LOT of these this year.”

“It’s rife this year, we show up - for what? To be bored?” I updogged, “There’s no music to sing or dance to - and the guys, seriously, they need to take dance lessons or something because they’re bored too—just standing to the side. Girls don’t come to these things to be stared at like circus animals— it’s borderline traumatic. We want to dance and have fun. Uhh! It makes me so angry - and I’m not alone.”
“You’re NOT alone!” Lisa piped in for the sidelines.

“We even tried enlisting the other couple," Lisa said, "asking if they wanted dance music - but they looked like scared freshmen.”
“If I known the host,” I said, “I’d have gone up to them and told them about the music.”
“That wouldn’t be embarrassing?” Leong asked.
“No,” said, “It’s called being honest with your friends and  trying to help.”
“What if..” Leong began, “your musical taste *****.”  “No, it’s not about taste,” I said.
“What if YOU ****!” Leong said. Then, after a second she added, “You ****,” and began chuckling.
“No, no..” I laughed. “YOU ****.” Lisa was heads-up and all ears now—an evil smirk beginning.
“You both ****!” Leong shrieked, swinging the first of many couch pillows wildly.
Queue pillow fight, popcorn fight, dish towel fight, vacuum cleaner fight..
.
.
Songs for this:
Femininomenon by Chappell Roan
Messy by Lola Young
Anxiety by Doechii
.
.
our cast: A reader once asked, “Who are these people?” (a solid question) So now I do a cast list:
Leong, (roommate) 21, a ‘molecular, cellular, and developmental biology major,’ is from Macau, China - the Las Vegas of Asia - and she’s a proud communist (don’t knock it til you’ve tried it). Growing up, I lived in Shenzhen China (about 30 miles from Macau) we both speak Cantonese (maybe why we were paired?) and we're able to talk a lot of secret trash together.

Lisa, (roommate) 21, (my bff) is a high society princess, who grew up in a 50th floor Central Park South high-rise. She's a (pre-med) molecular biophysics and biochemistry major.

Your author, a simple, multinational, upper-crust, trust-fund baby from Athens, Georgia who's also a molecular biophysics and biochemistry major (pre-med).
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 03/16/25:
Rife = things that are very common but not consistent.

CIS = Cisgender: straight.
Arrived as a shadow,
a breath in waiting rooms,
voices flickering like moths.

No gods stitched footprints,
prayers dissolved like ink in rain.

Paper thickened,
names erased.

Then, a hand—
a lantern through the dusk.

Pulled from refusal,
names spoken,
ribs stitched with letters.

No temple, no prophecy—
just a voice breaking machinery,
until gears cracked beneath it.

In the hum of verdicts,
a voice that did not break.
when you left
you took the color with you,
and now the world
is like an old television set,
with muffled sound
that grates the ears,
and a picture
that cuts in and out,
filled with static,
in brilliant black and white,
that's made more of shades of gray.
did your world get more vibrant,
when you de-saturated mine?
or did the color
disappear entirely;
slipping out of your fingers
to be consumed
by the void
where my heart
once lived

Contributed by @the.poetic.gatsby
On Instagram, Threads and TikTok
"I miss the color in my life"

I really enjoy this writer and authors  work
Alex McQuate Jan 2023
Where is the line drawn?
Between hope and naivety?
Where the swelling of one's heart is nothing more than a fool's boon?
Instead of being a warming energy that radiates to the limbs?

Is it experience,
Hard won through heartbreak and loss?
Is it wisdom,
Some innate talent that some just have?

Forewarned is forearmed,
To keep the danger at bay,
But at what point does that wariness become a cage?
From what distance is everything far enough away,
To keep out the terrors of the world,
But close enough to live your life?

I'll tell you,
Bear witness to my words,
A question is your answer in this paradox,
How much are you willing to risk?

How much are you willing to lose,
How far of a fall are you willing to take,
For the sake of living your life,
For when you open yourself up to the wilds of the world,
Is when you truly start to live.
Aged, wrinkled and worn
Our Palms of fortune and destiny
Show tracks leading to new places
Playing out the timeline of our lives
Like a show - a Chorus Line
The queues will flock for the matinee
And so this poetical line ends.
A poem on the theme of 'Lines'
© Joshua Reece Wylie
Jordan LC Murphy Apr 2021
A warp speed roller coaster of emotional trauma
Cork ******* and looping into deadly empty space
****
I slipped out of the cart but my foot got caught up on a cage
Now trailing behind this rocket ride of misery and pain
Exquisite are the flames
Burning up like a shooting star
Now where to f*cking aim
I’ll crash and burn all alone
Somewhere far away
andTilly Nov 2020
they died
or they helped the dying
become a puzzle, to not merge
they cried
and run to protect
their own life on the thinnest verge
then hid
up there, the wooden cabin
over the trees, schoolhouse of rust
scared
of scary, of their own hands
bathed in blood and strange lust
a deep fall
a Noah wronging no arc
and love that ends up in the dust
I’m lost
in so much red and darkness
kneeling with them, kneading past
at five
I’m leaving, it was hard
how to clean up a soul in mud?
©2020 andtilly.com
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