He comes on a pale horse.
Hands that have been dismembered
Begin to wrap my throat as
The world around me dissipates.
As I look into his eyes,
I expect to see sinister in its pure physical form.
But as I look up,
I see the gentle tranquility
Of  pure energy.
I embrace the scythe
and embrace my own demise
So that I may be set free.

She is an enigma.
Written not by ink,
But carved in skin.
Each evening she fades by a cigarette.
With her, you will burn;
You will bleed.
Immersed by the smoke of her being,
You are in a room of mirrors.
Behind them she hides,
Only a reflection of her will you see.
She is an apparition.
Handing you a glass of elixir,
You consume her.
Soon the smoke fades away,
And the mirrors begin to shatter.
You are alone with her barren self.
And so you run.
Because it is not her who intoxicated you,
But the image she painted for you.
So she is left in shadow and dust,
As her heart is left to rot.

Did I choose you to love,
Or did I choose you to feel?
For this love is pain,
And I run from my own.
So I guess that’s why you feel like home.

I always fall in love with my distractions.

Alone.
I am so achingly alone.

In a world full of souls,
Mine has been trapped in a void.

Alone,
So painfully alone.

Deserted by all
But the pain I bear,
That my existence  
Will only be
mine own.

It is a pervasive sense of grief,
but the only person who has died
is you,
and yet your corpse remains.

The first night we met, we walked through the graveyard.

Our blood coursed through our veins
as we felt the lifelessness  surrounding us.

Tombstones followed us on every side,
reminding us of our mortality.

The world was asleep
as we basked in the glow of the moonlight.

We spoke of the glimpse of the life that we have left.

I took you to a solemn grave.
Alone it stood
while the others were cast to eternity with another.

Hidden and out of sight,
we laid on the ground,
reminding us that we too shall one day be six feet below.

But as the moonlight shone on you that night,
no longer did I feel so alone.

The graveyard is my solace,
a dwelling for my solemn soul.
But as we laid on the ground,
no longer did I feel the imminence of death.

For with you,
I feel the beauty of life.

You are the seeds of Hades.
When I look at you,
My soul bleeds with desire.

Without you,
I starve.
Tempted by you,
my mouth parched,
I close my eyes and devour you.

Each bite I take bounds me to your underworld.
Here I suffer.
Here I am alone.
… but here I have you.
So devour me.

For I would rather suffer with you
in an endless netherworld
Than to be quenched by another.

I am a piece of glass.

a glass that has been shattered time and time again,
losing a piece of me with every new bash/
a remnant of what I once was.

If you try to put me back together, the world will never look the same,
for
I
am
shattered.

If you try to put me back together,
you need to remember that I am a broken piece of glass,
you will hurt yourself if you hold me in your hand,
and then I will hurt you more.

Don't hold too tight,
but don't let go.

Looking at the world through me may be hard.
I have fallen so many times that I am mere piece of myself now.
Me as your lens of the world would be small and stained.
But then again, I can show you the world.


If you try to find yourself in me,
you need remember
that I am not a mirror,
but a hollow thing where you can never be reflected.

It's a lonely existence.

I am a barrier yet I am a transporter.

You will never know

I am transparent.
If you want to find inside, you can see right through me.
But do not be deceived, for I am empty.

But with all this,
I am a piece of glass.
I am fragile;
I can be broken,
so please handle with care.

It is the soul that is asleep,
and the body simply follows.

I find my soul only in the realm of darkness,
so I close my eyes
to put my soul at ease,
in its home
of oblivion.

This skin is not mine own.
For it will remain ,
When I am gone.
This skin is my home
For my time here.
Did I choose this skin,
Or did this skin choose me ?
I am plagued by own existence.
But is it even my own?

My existence  is forlorn.
From my body, I am torn.
Withered and stripped,
My soul is worn.
Inside brews an endless storm.
Oh how I long to be no more.

It was not me
who you loved.

It was not me who you saw,
but rather the mirror you put before me.

It was not my voice you heard,
but rather your own echo.

The mirror you held between us was fragile.
Slowly it began to crack.
Each time I held you closer,
the mirror began to disintegrate.

The more the mirror began to break,
The more you saw me.
But you cannot stand to not stare
at your own reflection.

As the mirror shattered,
so did my heart.
You picked up the chards and threw them to my skin.
For you do not see the blood coursing through my veins,
but rather the lack of yourself.

For it was not me who you loved,
but rather your
mirror.

The day the light
was lost from your eyes
was not the day you died,
but rather
the day our love died.

I don’t know which hurts most.

In the witching hour all is quiet except for the beating sound of two hearts entwined with passion and agony beating more angry by the minute.

Blinded eyes try to pierce through the dark abyss to find sanity in a place of cold nothingness and desolation, as the tortured mind cloudy with regret slowly fades away..

nails claw at blinded eyes longing to see the clouds part and behold, his goddess is there basking in the pale yellowing aura of the moon, as he looks longingly upon her..

skin and curves of perfection soaking up the yellowing, becoming golden upon his slightest gaze.
Knees become burning furnaces of pain and torment as he falls to kneel before her, begging with soundless words of an open mouth for release.
Paralyzed, hungrily devouring as her sightless eyes fall upon her brooding brow trailing down to the blinding stars that become her eyes under the harvest moon.

The wind blows fierce surrounding her in a halo of color plucked dead limbs, trailing off into oblivion.
She gazed upon his visage, her fierceness burning his soul in eternal torment she smirks and glides toward effortlessly slowly,
tantalizingly slow,
causing him great anguish and letting her sadistic humor known to all..

he lashed out and traps her in his iron eyes transfixed  on lips so full and soft as crimson color them tricking down her body hungrily eating her perfect curves he kisses her
hard throwing themselves down a bottom less pit entangled in passion he forces her legs apart he slams into her as she drips wet in anticipation..
She moans breathlessly in extract, her ***** like velvet greedily devours his hardened **** of stone repeatedly ****** her innocence, tired bodies continuously fall exhausted.
She tried to flee, but his fires flamed inside hotly he takes her again.
His embrace hard, intense
his iron will dominating her.
Breaking her wild spirit, she gasps as he unleashes a relentless force inside her driving her to the edge of sanity and back again.

Her eyes close for the last time giving into his dominance
she embraced him.
Her wild flaming spirit shattered knowing that as he worships her it is she who is forever a slave of their passionate love,
melding bodies together,
as they fall endlessly in the abyss.

as I sit alone,
I am bound by It.

It is empty;
It is fleeting,
yet It is undying.

It has begun to consume me,
not by Its reality
but my own conception.

I am Its slave,
and It is my reaper.