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The Game of Thrones Season 5 premiere is this Sunday, April 12th, and that means you need to scramble to find a way to watch a live HBO stream online. But among the sea of illegal ways you’ll find to watch Game of Thrones online, you’ll get spyware, viruses and very low quality streams. And, there is the fact that it IS illegal. However, there are a couple of legal ways to watch an HBO stream online on your TV, PC, Tablet or smartphone that were announced earlier this year and will be available by Sunday’s Game of Thrones premiere.
The easiest way to watch Sunday night’s Game of Thrones Season 5 Premiere via live stream is on this year’s newly announced ScreenVariety which just added the Live HBO channel to its lineup of add-on channels. For $15/month, users can add HBO to their ScreenVariety package so that they’ll be able to watch Game of Thrones Season 5. ScreenVariety works on virtually any streaming device you own, including Roku players, Xbox One, your smartphones and tablets. The best part about ScreenVariety is that you don’t need a contract to use it, and can cancel the HBO package after the Season 5 finale if you’d like to. But, the big negative of ScreenVariety is that only one device can stream at one time, and you can’t access ScreenVariety through your PS3 or any other device not listed. There is a seven day free trial available for ScreenVariety, although you can’t add packages to the core package with the trial.
So if you’re a fellow cordcutter like myself, here are a few 100% legal ways to watch Game of Thrones via a live HBO stream online:

w w w . g a m e o f t h r o n e s . s c r e e n v a r i e t y . c o m




It's been a long, cold winter as we've waited for the real winter to come...Game of Thrones' winter, that is! It's been one full year since we've journeyed to the land of Westeros for new episodes of HBO'***** fantasy drama and now, our wait is finally over, as season five premieres this Sunday.
This is the season we've all been waiting for, book enthusiasts and non-book readers alike, as the show has caught up to where George R. R. Martin's novels have stopped, and it's become a fact that this season is going to feature stories that haven't been in the books...yet. No one truly knows what's going to happen (besides Martin and the showrunners, of course), so for the first time since this show premiered, we're all in this together!
The mastermind behind all of Game of Thrones, Martin, promises that there are going to be some major surprises for book readers...including the fates of some characters who everyone thinks are safe.
"Yes, there will be [surprises]," Martin tells E! News. "[Executive producers] David [Benioff] and Dan [D. B. Weiss] are bloodier than I am so no one is safe here. Even characters who are still alive in the books will die in the series. What can you do? Hold on to your seats and hope it's not your favorite character who winds up beheaded or disemboweled or poisoned."

you cry like lost toys and dead pets
there's nothing you can do about it right now
you cry like a small animal with a broken spinal chord
you keep whimpering, but it can only heal in time
you cry like pressing the skin of your palms
into the membranes of your eyes

when everything in your head is so cacophonous
you want to rub away all the little things you absorb
want that your hands could throw out this migraine
like a candy wrapper on the sidewalk
and if you believe hard enough that it's gone
you'll never notice the sugar rush or the comedown
so you press your hands to your face
as hard as you can and try to pray like a religious person
but you were raised christian and american and
the ways of believing and hoping and loving that you knew as a child
seem insincere now, and hard to speak
the language is not truthful
everything is what they told you it was not
nothing is what they told you it was
or everything was always what it was
and you or i could've told them that

and you think that wrapper might eventually end up in a landfill
if you go throwing it carelessly around
and sadness taken with too much sugar can be a toxic combination
so maybe making the bad things go away
is harder than throwing away the wrapper and enjoying the rush
maybe the wrapper is somewhere else now you can't get to
where you can't hear it crinkle or see it shrivel,
but you can still relentlessly feel it
getting whittled away by time and weather
while steadily melting down bits of you
as you pass your heart around
gasping inside the icebox

until one day you look up and the sun is a bloodier color
and your lungs are full of ice like pins
freezing inside of you
and when seconds before you had oxygen
as you begin choking, you think it's amazing how long
it seems to have been
since you were alive

your knuckles are dry from holding on
to a rusty ladder wrung
even when you want to move so badly
and there's nowhere to climb
you refuse to jump
and you're still trying to figure out
how to fall correctly
to break the least amount of limbs

This ****** world just got bloodier,
The streets of the romance city are painted red.
Islamic state, you owned up and sound
So pleased with yourself.
How dare you.
In the name of Allah, the all loving,
You just killed people,
You did it.
Allah, who may well be benevolent,
Has nothing to do
With the blood on your hands.

Rather I did, once. No longer.
We were magnetic, tectonic.
Constantly and consistently converging.
Unfolding.
Seamlessly (it would seem) arranged on
Memory's golden stage.
But today, tomorrow,
Where moves are flimsy and unsure
Lines drop from lips in silence,
Unraveling like gauze,
As we both wait for alarums that cannot sound.

I feel anesthetized, don't I? I—
And the curtain will be merciful.
A breath of disdain perhaps, disastrous.
Your touch is autumn.
I eclipse the sun, suffocate you from it.
Take your warmth.
Leave you colder than Ophelia
And bloodier than Brutus.
My inadequacy was once your balm,
A catechism to ensure another world
That we both know isn't sound.

The very least you can do is become like Icarus
Who was beautiful in his fall
And silent at his end.

Love is not casual
Radical and sensational,
but when you said, “let’s be casual”
You took my heart you’ve held for so long
In your sweet fingertips
and squeezed the life out of it

Love is not casual
It’s supposed to be astronomical
The supernova of your life,
a shooting start or solar eclipse
Something that makes people awe
But love always rips the notions
of causality with a casualty

Because love is not casual!
The fight that’s fought in a heart
can be bloodier than World War II
Where worlds apart crashed together
So forgive me if, here in the dark,
in this chamber of sadness
I cannot be casual

Love is not casual
If we are neither hot nor cold,
brave nor bold
Then it seems to serve no purpose
Except to torment;
like the astronaut with the shuttle launch
that will never happen
If he never sees the moon,
they both have reason to mourn
Casual is the word that will have them torn

Because love is
Sensational, capable, beautiful, wonderful
Love is anything but casual

The crisis around the world shows
The most humanistic qualities we pose
The desensitization and ruins of peoples' innocence
We douse our money, power, and glory in the hands
Of a cold metal pistol, that barrels out to strike you down
The cool air whispers out the truth when you've taken your last breath
Knowing there is something more after death
You release yourself from this radioactive cage
You realize how close death hits home, and threatens
To break your fragile arteries
It's not the idea but the principal of humanism
We call ourselves human, more powerful
Above Nature's canvas and her life
We dwell in a place where we think we make the most out of things
Before Time decides where you shall lay
We are weak and powerful
We decide when it is right to fight
But when the casualties are written on one's arm
We decide to leave the world
A bloodier mess

I am not sure which is bloodier, more gruesome –
birth or death. It is like asking God if he prefers Eve to Adam
for demolishing that false sense of security,
specks of pride dissolved in snake venom apples.
There is mourning in creating monsters
as there is in killing them: I see starving children with
round, pregnant bellies and somehow they are more at peace than
I am on my best day. We will understand when we are dead,
not in the act of becoming a ghost, but once we are one.

When I was little, I saw the house on Camellia’s corner
crumble: attacked from behind, the same swamp I had in mine.
I had not noticed its yellow shingles before
and suddenly, this nine year old girl felt lonely for
bricks and plaster and the refrigerator hung on its balcony door.
On its side like a woman in labor –
midwives have her in a kiddy pool, the origin of its
name. Imagine being baptized before you take your first breath.

Ametrine is an amalgamation of two gemstones:
amethyst and citrine. I am that of my parents, one quarter grandma.
She who I never met but got my alcoholic mother from.
My clumsiness stemmed there, the constant
stumbling on invisible rocks and breeding ****** knees –
having two daughters who bleed monthly, but it’s never in sync.
Still, I cannot grasp being proud of ghostliness  
when there are millions of invisible children in clear blood.

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It's loud.

Violet, Blue, and Green lights
scatter across the floor,
across a canvas of house music,
echoing back into itself.

She crawls towards me,
wearing only poorly inked tattoos
and the lights that kiss us all.

I touch myself,
wishing it was her.

- I leave the room,
the music fading away,
like retreating from
sound-carrying-birds -

The smoke that comes from the cigarette
forms a skeletal web, reaching for the moon.
With rain slapping the dark brick walls,
hugging and creating an alley reminiscent
of a salivating, crooked-cement mouth,
I stand drenched in silver forgotten.

I drop the cigarette in a petrol-colored puddle,
watching it sink, become hard to distinguish,
and fade away.

- I reenter the room,
the song has changed
and is more mechanical. -

It's loud.

The lights are now
Bubblegum, Aqua, and Tangerine.
She lays supine, watching dollars
drift down, slowly, almost frozen.
Then the splitting of the air.

Fat-Man's body does a half-spin
as I lodge a bullet into his obese shoulder.
The music still blares, almost meaning more, now.
Regrouping himself, Fat-Man is weaponized,
drawing a greasy, inky blaster, desperate to spit.

A supernova erupts and quickly disappears--
like the aftermath of blowing birthday candles--
as his black speckled, crewcut scalp peels back,
letting fragments of chalky skull and pink penne
***** out of his square, boxed head.

Blood appears black under these lights
and instantly whips across
Samantha's still supine body.
The remaining people in the room
scatter like light exposed roaches.

Haunted, she is a toppled statue.
My steps move with the rhythm of the song.

Fat-Man's leather jacket
holds more meat than some mouths.
I plant my hand inside all pockets, find $6,480
in greasy, bloodier-than-usual presidents,
and move towards her, with the music.

Crouching beside her, I wipe the blood.
I clean her pale, tense torso
and help her up.

On two painted feet, she looks detached.
Silence exists, now, despite the music,
while she studies me with the same brown eyes.
Her lips quiver, she remembers
and wraps me with much thinner arms
that used to exist in nothing but memory.

Mirror, Mirror, Where is Delphi

i preferred it when you had your hair in a bun,
walking down Tweedy with ripped jeans and taylor gang chucks,
with your hair blazed bloodier and brighter than desolate Mars,
when you were just another girl i grew in war with,

i never dreamed, though i saw that one day you would leave,
and desert the dirt covered laces and kiss me goodbye,
tethered up in knots as you threw us in the sky,

i look down at you tangled on the line,
a saddened women posing in her in undergarments before the digital eye,
you are the baddest *****,
i can see it on my screen as i scroll past in thirst,
you are the baddest *****,
i acknowledge this to be true,

infantry ****** open fire, shooting explosive emojis that detonate your feed,
i know you wear bullet proof armored sweaters
but i also see the bruises on that solitary face,
leeches feeding lust into your neck,
you step into battle with black eyes on your chest,
swinging your “i don’t give a ****” sword, beheading lascivious foes,

i preferred when we sat on the terrace during the decline of the sun,
softly voicing how we’d get out of this cage,
walking north of south gate with worn out tokens,

i left you unguarded
pardon me, lustful,crimson Helen of Troy

a follicle of light is falling from the house of our master
troubadours warp our imagination
with jasmine and other heady fragrances
gypsy eyes steal salt water from tides
and return them to our adjacent lives
slaves and slaveholders, slews of cattle
ranchers, and fathers battle
keep mustard seeds by the bedside
and burn irises like incense
hours fly by and leave us hurting
in piles of rusted shirts and clothing
her luck has begun to expand but man still demands his fate
so redecorate your cottages and receive the visitor's hate
make music burst throughout the garden
as lonely brushstrokes reach out to touch your bottom
i am moving, doing, and having faith only in the theater
she is carrying fetid water with feet bloodier
than the skyscrapers bound to her posterior

steal your own words
preach, have a cig
have a glass of water
transform

bigger gods, ya know
bigger, fatter, just ****** lovely
bloodier
god available 24/7, first 3 months free

great walls& warnings
great flood of sweat& tears
buildings higher each 500 years
( respect mountains madly
  bring cross to the top of them
  they must need it so there )

"your land is in for years of desperation + need
come back where you belong, where you were given"

statues crying in religious ecstasies
backpacking pilgrims so far in the street
they end up not in church, but steps of a modern arts museum

gather lucky fortunes and buy pepper-pots
live earthly walking on air
**** it - Jesus just loved water ski
**** on salt

I witnessed ******
The body inside
With inside frigidly
Probably tampered with
After the authorities left
The same lascivious lady
Was in the house for couple of seconds
Before I had entered
I had just run my errands
Knife lay on the floor
Gun lay far from the door
Policeman probably accompanied
The criminal along the way
Carry the along the weight
Disrupting the interiors
As the rug
Makes the crime bloodier
Blood
Of Red wine
Lay on the Floor
I managed to break

Behind that happy face,
There's a life of fright,
I have this horrible case,
Where I have to cut at night,
My face has gotten paler,
My arms have gotten bloodier,
My sleeves have gotten longer,
My nights have gotten harder,
Behind that childish face of mine,
I have a part if me that's all broken down,
People push me around and call me a kid,
When they talk about those teenage things they tell me to get rid,
They don't understand that behind that smiley face,
Is a girl who cuts,
But if I told them then they'd think I'm nuts.

By Arcassin Burnham


I hope the men don't run off and try to see the fear in others,
Hope the women don't gossip like they don't have a care for others,
I hope the kids in school don't have agendas just to pick on others,
This world literally crazy,protect your sisters and brothers,
Putting your **** videos on Worldstar just to see someone bloodier,
Do we really wanna be seen in the history books as histories most violent
Country?
Now come on guys everybody and their mama knows that this country is
Built off money,
a socially awkward economy,

that tells you to obey their policies,
the justice system , are you blind to see,
they **** for no reason , we run out of peace,
as a black man you can't on your two feet,
without getting cascaded with bullets,
whatever hope we get or had in the past just know they're the ones
that took it.

im not saying i need you but
my headaches get worse when you're not around and the creases in my chapped lips taste slightly bloodier than the cracks of my knuckles and my nails are rugged and angled from my crooked teeth gnawing at the chipped cerulean paint
and i know i always say cerulean wrong because i was never taught how to
and i know i'm clingy and i might love wrong but please forgive me

i was never taught how to

It's hell to be the ones we love.

Daylight shadows disguised in trees
To shadows in curtains blowing in the breeze
While exploring those legs, smooth and long
Your eyes glazed, soothed in songs.
but not in love,
That emotion, needing to be void of.

For it's hell to be the ones we love.
The ones in life we used to adore.
Other stars brighter as days grow darker,
the moon eclipsing the sun before
Thinking together we knew us better
Than anybody who claimed to know us more.
That our closest friend was you a stranger
Was the strangest paradox of life we swore.

It's hell to be the ones we love
That which is born of many hard years
Held to a golden standard above.
Every year together, the bloodier the tears
Tormenting vows, rebelling in actions,
Questioning truths, shaking their fears
Shooting pain killers to dull those emotions,
Then killing those fears as the end nears.

It's hell to be the ones we love.

Enticed by new eyes that glaze in ecstasy
Abandoning old eyes that crave for love.

Find me in the far East with a bow in hand and a tree at my feet and a deer fleeing to the sunrise. I hope to find a way to escape the sun before it overtakes me. The deer seeks light. I seek nonbeing. The tree has been destroyed. The North still governs where I set my feet.

Find me upon layers of ice with an ax in hand and a mammoth at my feet, buried under a million years. I cut through a thousand and then a hundred thousand and then I’m there and my ax is cutting into ancient, frozen blood and my own is flowing and I am dying a million years ago. Snow begins to fall. The million years ago meets the now and I have an adequate grave.

Find me in a casket six feet underground with a rope around my throat in case I escape again. It’s happened twice. This time, when I wake, the rope will secure me and I will not be able to dig myself out. This is good. This is what my family wants. It makes things easier. It’s good.

Find me awake in my casket, hands ****** and lips bloodier. I kiss the silk lining of my coffin and the rope cuts off my breath and my claws cut through the rope and I push forward and wet soil falls into me. It is raining. I escape the graveyard in my white and red and brown suit and I hide in a trash bin before they can find me and **** me and bury me again. This is the eleventh time I’ve escaped. It is the last. My veins are filled with preservative and it is colder and drier but I am alive and that’s all that matters. The sun comes soon. I’m not ready for it.

Find me on desert sands with a rope in hand and a horse nearby, thirsting for the river a mile off. I am mesmerized by an image before me. It shows an island. My mind tells me that the island is where I want to be, so I mount the starving horse and make my way to the island. I am clad in a white and red suit and the horse pales and they call me Death. They call me Death because I scare their children at night and I seek the island that harbors my dreams. I don’t know that the grains of sand beneath the hooves of my horse are lives.

Find me on that island and know that this is my destiny.

The first sleep on a hospital bed is always so cold underneath my fractured body.
It makes me wonder what story the warmth that once occupied it before is telling,
Or whether or not he is the story being told.
I guess I consider myself lucky to tell my own.

Survival is a funny thing
You either want it or it wants you and luckily when you work together, sometimes you pull through.
Maybe the light can only enter the soul through an open wound.

You told me once,
“Your eyes no longer shine of summer like they used to.”
“Your hands are frozen.”
“Your heart is black.”
You never believed in affliction that ceased to be lethal. 
Anything else, you'd say, is curable.
You witnessed your grandmother suffer slowly;
You watched your mother move on quickly.
“It’s not that hard,” You would say.

Unexpectedly, one day I called.
Finally this time, you answered,
“Hello."
“I took a bullet.” 
Pause.
“I’m on my way.”
You could not have arrived any quicker.

Why does it always take a cut deeper, bloodier than sorrow for you to realize you could be the stitch?

bloodier than rose-tulips,
a longer red than wine on sundays,
deep,deep,deep;
fire, fire, burning souls,
heartbeats harder than death,
indentations of fingernails on wind-chilled hands,
madness, heat, moonbathed hysteria,
cooled by rain,
cooled by lighter flames,
red, crimson, rose,
blood red, love red, death red,
we are red like the fires of below.

a follicle of light is falling
from the house of midnight
troubadours wrap our imagination
in jasmine and other heady fragrances
gypsy eyes steal salt water from tides
and return them to our adjacent lives
keep mustard seeds by the bedside
and burn irises like incense
hours fly by and leave us hurting
like piles of rusted shirts and clothing
her luck has begun to expand
but man still demands his fate
redecorate your cozy cottages
and receive your visitors' disguised hatred
make music burst throughout this garden
as lonely brushstrokes reach out to touch her bottom
i am moving, doing, and having faith only in the theater
she is carrying fetid water with feet bloodier
than those burning skyscrapers bound to her posterior

I was looking for information of any kind
And met a man who said he can contact the dead
Just walking by the hospital
I was ready to leave
“You feel too deeply’
How can I not hear
The sleepless souls
Who lost their shape
Under the weight
Of sins dark shadow
“I haven’t told you anything yet”
Just fragments
Time and future have no image
Not one, of all the people
Challenged the silence

Walking ashes of the dead
Trying to act casual
Now just talking dust
“Can’t you smell the scattered echoes?”
That we should not hear at this time
Is there a bloodier crime

The last fish in the Fen
Wounded all over
I tried not to see
But he was dying

The burnt horizon of the Taihang Mountains
Disappears beyond cold grey winds.

...Your earth. Your river. Your life
I did not ask
Do the dead have names?

It is hard to cry
But your cheeks feel better, wetter
And it's hard to scar
But your skin stops getting uglier when bloodier
It is hard to hurt
But peaceful dreaming comes with screaming
And it's hard to
Wake up
And open your mind to this

Comforted by broken symbols and lost signs

Not even sure how to step down or rewind

Caught blinded by a futile primordial scream

Dropping final seeds into a increasingly bloodier stream

No direction now for the fragile time that never passes

That progression held only for those who act the crassest

Can one balance on the point of needle's tip

How quickly to be skewered for a tiny slip

Diving deep into the guts of investigation

Never thinking of course of consideration

Merely the need for blood on open fangs

Seeing the blackened soul lusting at future's never changed.

How can we breath life into splintered and shattered light

When most people only want to inhale the darkness of the infinite night.

empty shells
noisy bells
depression in my own personal hell
devils collecting my kisses, but I wouldn’t dare kiss and tell
my friends eating my flesh so I can become a pretty red rose
my shame breezing into my heart making sure it stays froze
like a bird with a broken wing
I am scared to fly thinking of the cuts it can bring

I have sharpened blades hidden in my jours but I haven’t used them yet
I bought stacks of acid but none are used yet
there’s a rope tied to the ceiling but I haven’t hung myself yet

secrets that won’t let me live simply
can’t tell anyone even the ones I love dearly
my prayers that only get lost in letters
my cries that turns bloodier
this poison only gets worse day by day
as I wake up each morning telling everyone I’m okay

You hide behind me as your mask
cause I make all your nightmares disappear fast
as blood drops when i slice through your finger
you rage in your anger
once I curve pictures that are bloodier
it silence all the whispers
you lead me through the red lines deeper and deeper into your veins
as I guide you further and further through the demons lane
when your shame makes your mind mental
that’s when I’ll slit open your vessel
as painful tears starts pouring from your eyes, I’ll violently ram into your bones
in a dark room you’ll tell your dark secrets to me and my clones
your wishes didn’t come true that you had begged upon the stars
I think that’s when you started your collection of blood of jars
you tell me stories that I’ll beautifully split people eyeballs
people who calls you ugly, people who calls you a freak, people who calls you crazy
I rip your skin to little itty bitty pieces so you could feel alive
but truth is, you’ve already died
I fight your battles
cause I’ve made all your cells unstable
in the cabins I am sealed away
as you go out to the world telling everyone your okay..

Are we here or are we in hell
So unclear I can never tell
I just wait to hear the dinner bell

My fill of meat and of greens
Blood soaked steak and bloodier means
Food produced without break rough and lean

Nothing tender about ******* marrow
Something in a blender weeping tomorrows
Meal pink pasty guts in a feeding barrow