All days are not shiny

Sometimes
We encounter
Time Vampire

Sometimes
Energy Vampire

On the worst day
The both
Genre: Dark Experimental
Theme: Note on Vampires.
Author’s Note: In earlier days Vampires used to get feed on blood, now they drain time and energy.
We may not be aware of.
Aa Harvey Jul 28
Thrall


The cup has arrived, take my blood.
Fill it up with the good stuff.
Drink the wine, while I unwind these chains.
I have been trapped too long in this self-made cage.


Tear at the bones with perfect teeth.
Ground to a point; been grinding for weeks,
To get the right blade to cut my food with.
This hole I exist in just leaves me livid.


I want to scream in the middle of day-dreams,
But people will see me and never know,
That the empire is crumbling; all around me is dust.
I have given up on this castle of rust.


The armour no longer protects my soul.
The happiness is gone and I am feeling old
And demoralized, the eternal night,
Beckons me to join it, but I am made of pure light.


The claws had dragged me under their spell,
But now the spell is broken, so let me leave this Hell
And find my own way, a better way;
All else only fades away.


(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
This isn't him,
This can't be the face he's left here,
This isn't the face he's used to seeing,
Solidified in the mirror.
It can't be the current one,
Or even close,
It's not at all how he recalls from the ponds he's known.
Not the one admired,
On crystal clear days,
Or the one sang with,
Through some humming nights.
Maybe his memory is just fogged up,
Maybe this reflection is just blurry from the showers,
They'd have burned others skin.
Still this can't be the face.
Not with the potholes for eyes,
Waning moons for lips,
And cliches for brains.
Or maybe things,
Maybe they do just change,
Maybe sometimes somethings sink in the earthquakes,
And are never swam in again.
Maybe sometimes there's no hope for reversal, redemption,
Or some rectifying light to right what's left,
Only hope in surviving the new.
I guess that's all there ever was.
If only he had it sooner,
He would have thrived in the old world,
Found melodies in the days and more mirror-less memories for the nights.
Only then could things be better off,
Different.
older poem, don't turn on your front camera or introspection may occur.
Bea Mecum Jul 22
I think I'm losing my mind
Perhaps it's already gone
I cant hear a word you're saying
I'm just a vampire at dawn

You say that you're moving away
I tell you that I don't really care
Somewhere in my mind I am frightened
But in my heart you're not there

Some people say that I'm crazy
Some people tell me that I'm mean
I could be both of those, or none of them
But that wouldn't change a thing

There are people in the streets now
There's no telling where they have been
You say that you know them, and what they do
You're just talking in your sleep again
sinister lips painted red
casting curses into the dust

unhallowed earth
upon which
bone white feet tread

my perpetual desire for the night
is my only bond to his human existence

like a flame drawn moth I shall lure my prey

upon bended knee
he will beg to drink
from my cup

his bramble hair well within my grasp

the overpowering stench of mortal flesh
awakens me
as I lay paled hand to his ragged chest

the hunted offers no resistance
yet
my dead veins still twist in
unending agony

and as always

I ache in sleepless silence

the stinging grief
upon these lips of death
will be my only offer

and he awaits his penance

dark seductive whispers
dripping like feral honey

and like a man that has chosen well
he drinks freely
without any worldly regret
as I carve my mark within his secret pages

his thirsty eyes
gazing upon my porcelain skin
his thoughts riding recklessly
within my dangerous curves

such a promise of unholy heat

and this I can say with the outmost certainty

I shall carry his desire
through dim twilight
and hide it well
among the dead

only because
their silent tongues
lend everlasting shelter
to our dark secrets

without exception

I stand here now
in all my sinful glory
ashen skin and lips of velvet
with
tussled hair tossed to the northern winds

telling all my secrets to the midnight moon

I shall always be
his darkened tower
his garden of shadows

and his never ending pool of lies

his ethereal destiny

it is at this very moment that
the grimness of the grave becomes known to me
which is
a thought that brings an ominous chill to my pallid bones

and right now
at this darkest of hours
I am aware
that true innocence still sleeps in its own sort of grave

the bitter truth
as it may be

in the end

I am bound
to his barren heart

forever haunting his empty nights
Tonight I watched young Kirsten Dunst get her baby neck sucked by two fully grown men on camera and it was done in the name of art. And if not art, money. And if not money, control. The painter and the profiteer want the same thing. So go Hollywood consume youth to produce martyr material madonna / whore fuck clones. So go cutting edge auteur headfirst for prestige with beans in full exposure as you cock-stuff and engorge those whore throats with your muscular masculine meat sword. Tonight I watched Corey Feldman become the thing that men made and felt the shudder as he realized it's been over, baby.
It's been over, baby.
the magi Jul 2
"hello, my love" a dark Gothic woman cooed.
" ah, at last, i can see my sweet beautiful woman"  a Gothic man with black hair replied.
you could see it in their eyes, they love each other, with all they have.

" WELL! son what are you doing over there come here" my mother and father called
enfp brain....
I lay quiet in my deadened flesh
as the midnight rain seeps
into my burial chamber
embracing my pale bones
within its icy grip

its eternal darkness surrounds me
and frozen fingers
tear at my death shroud
ripping it from my alabaster form

my nakedness suits me

dark symbols tattooed
upon sallow feet
touched to wet earth
and
I am reborn to this starless night

an innocent darkling I have become
with past sins washed away

and as of this very moment

I wear a clean slate upon my breast
yet
I am brutally aware that
this world shall hold no mercy for me

and in turn

I shall be the creature
of Mother Nights design
with such rare appetite
for what I believe to be
nothing short of crimson ambrosia

without warning

you dare to ask me of my sisters

and I must admit that

I am slightly entertained
by your foolish curiosity

I shall only reveal
the slightest of secrets to you now

and I will tell you that
my shadow sisters
are simply stunning
in their gothic pallor
and unholy gracefulness

these dark beauties
can only house
the raw truth of death in each tortured breath
that their ragged lungs allow

such malignant souls
surely they are damned to Hades

I find myself drunk
with the sound of fleeting heartbeats
drowning out the last of my sensibility
as I bask myself in the chorused screams of the hunted

I must warn you
my cursed lips are upon your doorway
and
my gift to you, perpetual existence

as you crave the taste of my poisoned lips
and I shan't be so merciful this midnight
the darkness I cling to
is easily gathered by the midnight madness
that is instilled deep within my empty heart

and my only thought is to speak of you

dark and ruthless
I am witness to your pleasured moans
as your blind mouth is lulled into sleep

oh poor disheveled soul

ravished by your lustful ways

and I
born a harlot of the night
upon bended knee
envision
your heated desires
as my own

I can only warn you
that the night is now at hand

and we shall only reap
what the dark gods have sowed
for we have only known surpassing vanity

oh pray the earth and our sickened hearts
for we are nothing but dust

and I weep as a child for the past

spreading silence shot across empty skies
and the hills are left shuddering
such pale hands held on high
as
I toss my troubled hair to the northern winds

burnt burgundy lips
mouth so sweet so poisonous
tortured hands so white

I beg thee

reveal to me

that forbidden place

where the wicked meet the divine
Ian Woods Jun 20
these restaurant bins aren’t backstage wings
there are no dressing rooms
no overtures with spectral strings
this show contains no tunes
a brooding silence has been planned
to creep across the set
and dress her theatre of the damned
a sight hard to forget
and when she dimmed the lights to low
the atmosphere grew tense
it signified her vampire show
was ready to commence

the curtain rose on concrete sprawl
of city streets at night
past backdrop walls of spray paint scrawls
she entered from stage right
on grey mist dancing pirouettes
that drew her through the air
as dry ice clouds, in etiquette
might unveil something rare
with forked electrostatic
the supernatural sort
my flair for the dramatic
remains intact, she thought

and passing over street debris
of bottles, bags and cans
left and right she looked to see
her human leading man
who this dusk she’d meet to mark
their former glory days
before she’d betrothed unto dark
while wed to light he’d stay
their differences unreconciled
the rules, they’d found, could bend
and from each other’s worlds exiled
they’d stayed the best of friends

these paramours would rendezvous
away from sunlight’s glare
front and centre, bang on cue
and yet he was not there
arriving fashionably late?
he’d never be so rude
and not like him to make her wait
her mood became subdued
their human/undead peace accord
was due beneath this moon
no anniversary ignored
he’d be there surely, soon?

so, landing by a lamppost
she drew back slow her hood
her skin the white preferred by ghosts
her mouth the red of blood
and dragging fangs across her lip
she rolled her emerald eyes
her shadow hands his throat would grip
should he materialise
once face to face and cheek to cheek
she’d breathe into his ear
in Transylvanian, vampire-speak
“Long time, no see, my dear.”

this night they’d both vowed not to miss
and always kept their word
a warm embrace, a gentle kiss
no consequence incurred
for human touch and living skin
once every year, this night
she’d trade mortal for carnal sin
and promised not to bite
since love conducted on the sly
will keep its sense of fun
and that’s the second reason why
they kept it from the sun

vampires don’t turn into bats
as stated in folklore
but may in darkened habitats
use sonar to explore
it’s like the fabled siren’s song
unheard by human ears
that makes it known and whets the tongue
if haemoglobin nears
she sent it down the roads and walls
a plaintiff, high-pitched cry
a kind of vampire mating call
that garnered no reply

just sweepers sweeping gutters
from late night litter louts
the clang of closing shutters
as the neon signs winked out
and engines growling down the street
from taxis on the prowl
an urban fox caught indiscreet
by CCTV owls
that’s how the night proceeded
until the sky turned blue
and the street lights all conceded
having found they’d less to do

the problem is, if you don’t age
it’s hard to work out when
the last time was, it’s hard to gauge
what’s one year and what’s ten
since time moves in fast motion
in dark affairs of heart
with high costs for devotion
when dead right from the start
that’s how she came to realise
though she’d not aged at all
in one blink of vampire eyes
a mortal man can fall

her audience of one was gone
romantic lead had died
no roses thrown in great aplomb
no rave review supplied
the roles they’d made had now been played
with no awards to haul
and no cascade of accolades
just rows of empty stalls
the vampire life is hard to beat
until the debt is due
the price - a heart that just won’t beat
but can still break in two

this gaping hole she’d never fill
no matter the blood drawn
and so she waited patient, still
until first light of dawn
and as the glow of morning fire
stained the clouds like rust
this Nosferatu, vampire
became no more than dust
those paramours perhaps would meet
in heaven or in hell
and with the vampire show complete
the final curtain fell.
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