The necromancer danced on her grave. The ground shook with every step the witch took, rumbling the ground beneath and making the corpse she had planted cling to the cool dirt for dear death. And then, the dirt began to give.
Sunlight burned on the girl’s blue skin, turning it a ghastly shade of porcelain like Wednesday Addams. She rolled over in her grave, and closed her eyes, refusing the inevitable fate of the undead. But her wings started flapping, and she rose up, the witches hand clawing into her back and dragging her back to life. And as the screeching of the megalomaniac forced her wide eyes open and the dried ancient blood away, she wished she were dead.
i'd appreciate criticism- i really want to improve my poetry game. if you can guess what this is about, i'd love to hear it.
night just wants some sun and the sun wants to sleep but neither can get either with being alone every week. some people sleep all alone every night and that's what scares me to death. am I one of these fools, or can I follow these rules. and that's why I'm so scared of my bed. the monsters in the closet are just my memory's in deposit. so I can sleep like the rest of the dead. i know i'm not one to laugh or complain but weirdly my pain, is the only thing that wants to keep me sane. for better or worse, we all have a Cain. who would stick us in the heart. if only he could remain.
the many monsters in this world do you good, causing pain by keeping us still[ sane
In your sun I know I'll drown. So, I rise when it goes down. Add all my years, I am so old. Yet, I'll never feel your cold. Your punctured skin are signs you're dead but that to me means I am fed. I'll lure you in with fake romance. The lies I'll tell, you'll take a chance. Allaying your fears, I'll promise you years. Then, muffled screams that no one hears. So what you see as silver and gold in reality, a death so cold.
Poetry by Kaydee.
Romancing the undead. Unlikely to get pregnant, more disemboweled in your bed.
Another day, another battle, another day to amuse one’s self. Looking out into the shadowy forest, in search of an acquaintance. Wolf howls signal the return of the Princes and all is well. The war has been won and the undead soldiers have been demolished.
Moonlight hovers over the home of the Elves And inside the forest I find myself, Hunting the hunter; under darkened skies. A wolf dives at me and I open fire.
The arrow strikes its head and it falls down dead in the snow. Its companions will be here somewhere, so I will be ready to fire again. An elf appears from the mist, so I lower my bow; It’s good to see you again, old friend.
He tells me of a quest to the undead hordes lair And after shopping for provisions, We head off with our band of merry friends. The healer is annoying, but he will be needed when we get there; So we allow him his flaws and his errors are not mentioned.
Once more into the darkness; we head into war And all around us, the skeletons fall. We grow stronger with age, before, during and after. At the end of the day, we are new to this no more.