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Ira Sep 2018
Down, down won’t ya hear the vibrations?
Welcome to your demonic damnation!

Hear the demons cry!
And you will be mine,
Oh,

(He-he-he-Hellsing Yeah, Yeah)
(He-he-he-Hellsing)
(Hellsing Yeah, Yeah)
(He-he-he-Hellsing)

Hey, Hey hear the revelation,
Hear the demons cry from there damnation!
We all one day die,
But you didn’t wanna abide!

So welcome to your eternal damnation,
A true hell of your own making,
A true fantasy,
A place for heresy.
Oh,
So just say ya love!
YEAH!!

(He-he-he-Hellsing Yeah, Yeah)
(He-he-he-Hellsing)
(Hellsing Yeah, Yeah)
(He-he-he-Hellsing)


Oh, down, down won’t ya hear the vibrations?
Welcome to your own damnation…
Say hello to me,
The one named for Hermes.
Oh,
Hey, Hey Hear the revelations,
Welcome to a hell of your own making.
Just say hello to me,
Some hellspawn with no pity!

Oh,
So just say ya love!
Based off the Hellsing Theme song, Tiss quite quality
zebra Jul 2018
come to me
like nocturnes creeping
and wake me with sweet kisses
like a tongue of sapphire ash
and sharp teeth to drink
from hollowed throat willing
and we shall love,
and love,
and love
like melting candles blessed
Sara Kellie Jun 2018
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.
Ira Aug 2018
The bird of the Hermes is my name,
And I eat my own wing to keep myself tame.

Through hellfire and fury, your armies are dead,
Becoming slaves of my hellish dread.

Yet the blood flows deep into the ground,
And I, the vampire lord, will absorb it with glee and proud!

The bird of the Hermes is my name,
And I eat my own wing to keep myself tame.

The jackal and casual, instruments of my cleansing light
All burn with there masters own hellish spite.

And the monsters of  kin, vampire and demon,
All meet the same end of hellfire as I once did, all to be seen as heathens by god and real men.

For the bird of the Hermes is my name,
And I eat my own wing to keep myself tame!
HELLSING *****!! Best anime, Alucard is the best character from the Seinen scene. And just in general. So here's a poem that  is taken from his perspective
The X Rhymes Apr 15
the restaurant bins were backstage wings
and ‘Bella’s dressing room
no overtures of spectral strings
no orchestra to tune

the brooding silence ‘Bella planned
would creep across the set
and make her theatre of the ******
the best performance yet

so 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

as grey mist danced a pirouette
she floated 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
‘Bella’s 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

those 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
nobody made Bella 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
like 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
came Bella’s lust for carnal sin
with one she would not 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
when 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 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
since they’d much 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

so Bella came to realise
though she’d not aged at all
in one blink of vampire eyes
the mortal man could fall

her audience of one was gone
her leading man had died
no roses thrown in great aplomb
his rave review, denied

the roles they’d made had now been played
with no awards to haul
and no cascade of accolades
just one more empty stall

her vampire life had been so sweet
but now the debt was 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
and saw 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
but with the vampire show complete
the final curtain fell.
See also
‘Bella Lugosi.
jcl Mar 16
Animals have an intuition about danger. Men have “gut feelings.”  I should have listened to mine.  The first time I saw her, I knew she was dangerous.  I could feel it, and it excited me.  She was a predator, a tigress, a seductress on the hunt, a wild, untamable savage woman who destroyed men.  She would destroy me.  I saw it in her eyes the first time I saw her.  She was walking by with her girlfriends, laughing and giggling. She looked up, caught my gaze, and my world suddenly froze. A thousand feelings were expressed in the blink of her eyes.  She told me I was prey.  She told me I would die. She smiled, releasing my gaze.  My world rushed back into focus with the abrupt harshness of a slap in the face.  I was sweating. I was afraid. I was excited as I  watched her disappear into the crowd. That was the first time I saw her. How could I forget.
... continued
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3075774/seraphine-2-gare-de-lest/

Written May 13, 1998 Paris, France while sitting at a bistro
jcl Mar 31
The train slowed as it pulled into la Gare de l’Est, the cars bumping and wheels grinding as it came to a stop. It was late. I’d have to move fast to catch the last metro home. I didn’t have the energy, I was tired, cold and hungry, which made me grumpy.

I slung my satchel around my chest, grabbed my carry-on, and made my way to the exit. As I neared the door, I could feel the cold January air flooding into the car. I tightened my coat around me as I stepped down the stairs onto the quay, carry-on in my right hand.

Looking for the nearest exit, I turned left without looking and ran full on into woman. Our bodies collided, time slowed, as we compressed into each other. Her hair flowed into my face like an ocean wave. I could smell her hair, her scent, her femininity. She squealed in surprised, her voice full of youth and nubility.  

The world rushed back into real time and I saw her. My eyes opened wide in awe and disbelief that a woman could be so beautiful. I remember her eyes, supernaturally blue, sapphire blue, as if they glowed from a power within; her skin, white, milky, alabaster, as if she were a statue come to life; her hair, black, glossy, like the feathers of a witch’s raven.

Our eyes locked. Her angry gaze cut through me. I felt exposed and in danger. I looked down and apologized. “Excusez-moi mademoiselle,” I said, putting my right hand to my heart and bowing slightly as if addressing a queen.

I looked back up. Our eyes meet. She had assessed me in the blink of her eyes. She regained her composure, her body relaxed, she touched my arm, and said, “excusez-moi, I was not looking where I was going,” which I sensed was untrue.

I stepped aside. She passed, turned her head, looked me dead in the eyes, gave me a slight smile, and disappeared into the stream of the exiting crowd.

I was perplexed and confused. I’d never had that sort of exchange with a woman before. I didn’t know what to make of it. Was it good, bad, or somewhere in between?

The crowd had thinned. I started walking toward the metro station, looking for #4 Port d’ Orleans, increasing my pace before I missed the last metro home. I followed the signs, and descended the stairs to the quay. There were a few people and groups, up and down the quay, quietly waiting. I leaned on a large concrete pillar, too tired to pay attention to my surroundings, waiting for the train, smelling the air filled with exhaust from electric motors. I could hear the hum of the approaching train. In an instant it was in front of me, slowing down, coming to a stop, the doors hissing open.

I waited a bit, for the groups to board the train. Tired and on auto-pilot, I leaned down, picked up my carry-on, boarded, and sat down on a folding seat by the door, putting my carry-on between my legs.

The train slowly accelerated, humming, rocking, back and forth melodically. I looked up out of curiosity to see who else was on the last train, and I saw her, sitting on the first bench catty-corner, facing towards me. Surprised and caught off guard, that I would ever see her again, I  immediately looked down, not wanting to be caught staring, looking at her from the corner of my eyes.

I couldn’t get over how beautiful she was. Preternaturally beautiful, as if she wasn’t one of us, somehow not human. She was reading a Kindle, iPods in her ears. Her dress was Parisienne, black on black, the only color, the blue in her eyes, and the blood red of her lips.

She oozed sensuality, sophistication, and confidence. How could that be for a woman so young, a woman in her early 20s?

She read quiescently, only her thumb moving, ever so slightly, as she page forward through her Kindle. Her eyes never looked up, not even to see who new entered the car, when stopped at new stations.

I would look up, occasionally, to glimpse at her. She was fascinating to me, not only because of her beauty, but from her vibe. I couldn’t explain it, couldn’t figure it out. Why was I so drawn to her, like a moth to flame?

The train pulled into to Ile-de-la-Cite, rapidly slowing down, passengers counter balancing so as not to fall over. The doors hissed open. In the corner of my eyes, I saw her stand up and start walking up the aisle towards the doors, towards me. I raised my head slowly, our eyes met, locked, time stopped. She smiled, subtly, but enough for me to see. Her eyes, gentle, tender, inviting. I smiled, a slight smile back, my eyes saying everything she wanted to hear.

She turned and exited the train. I stared at her, my mouth open in amazement. The klaxon sounded, the door started closing. Panic surged up within me, as I feared I would never see her again. I bolted up from my seat, headed towards the door, abandoning all behind me. The doors slammed shut with thud, I pulled down on the handle, they were locked.

The train started to move, I looked at her. She was looking back. Our eyes locked, as the trained sped off into the darkness of the night.
Knit Personality Jun 2017
A woman awoke with a bite,
Two punctures that happened at night.
   She works with two Ronalds
   At night at McDonald's,
And flees from the dawn's early light.

O.O
jcl Apr 14
It was starting to snow as I entered Pere Lachaise cemetery. The few that had ventured in, were streaming out, as daylight faded, fast giving way to twilight, on this 1st of February night. I had 30 minutes of daylight left, to take the shots that I’d planned for all year.

I knew where I was going, having visited the cemetery in the summer, to scout locations for this moment. I walked up l’Avenue Principale towards Le Monument aux Morts and took the first right on l’Avenue des Puits. My pace quickened, not wanting to waste a single second, of the dying light.

I crossed path with the the last stragglers, most likely having paid homage to Chopin or Morrison. I was entering the oldest and most forested area of the cemetery. It sent a chill up my spine, not because of the cold February air, but because of the surreality of what was in front of me, a cobble stone path, lined with old trees, surrounded by an ocean of tombs, fading into the white and gray of a snowy afternoon.

I arrived at my location, the tomb of Heloise and Abelard. I set down my tripod and camera bag. I stopped to take it in. It was eerily beautiful, the snow slowly falling, lightly covering the tomb, the flowers, the love letters, laying around the plinth.

I was surprised at the number of single roses and love letters that were strewn in the yard, between the wrought iron fence, and the tomb. Even during the dead of winter, young women pilgrimaged to the tomb, leaving letters and prayers, hoping their love will last forever, in life and in death. Sadness overwhelmed me, as I felt the longing and pain of their and my,  unrequited loves.

I pulled out my camera, turned it on, double checking the battery indicator and exposure. I put the viewfinder to my eye, slowly pressed the shutter till I heard a beep, as the auto focus sharpened the view and my world became crystal clear. I zoomed in and out, composing my shot. I was too close for my lens. I picked up my tripod, turned around, and surveyed my work area.

I moved up the path, three tombs over, next to an old wide trunked chestnut tree, set my tripod and bag down, and recomposed my shot. The snowfall had intensified, to a heavy flurry. The snowflakes were thicker, fluffier, slowly drifting down like dandelion seeds. I was swimming in an ocean of white magical specks. Everything around me was dusted in ******, pure white powder.

I unfolded my tripod, mounted the camera to the head, and verified it was securely attached. I zoomed in and out till I composed my shot, stepping down the aperture and up the speed, till I achieved the dark, moody, feel I wanted. I pressed the shutter and captured the shot.

I was looking through the viewfinder when a woman stepped into my shot. For a split second, I was angry, then confused, then intrigued. I looked up, stepped back from my camera, to see and understand what was unfolding before me.

She was wearing a full-length white Lynx fur coat and cap, black leather gloves and boots. She was stunning, breathtaking. Was I hallucinating? Was she real? She hadn’t seen me, as I was behind her, catty corner, partially hidden by the chestnut tree.


She was holding something. I couldn’t quite see. I looked through the viewfinder, zoomed in on her. She held a single long stemmed blue rose in her left hand.  Instinctively, I pressed the shutter, captured the shot, the photo, the image, of this unworldly scene.

It was late, almost dark. What was she doing here? Was she praying, why, to whom, Heloise, Abelard, or both? She moved up to and placed her right hand on the protective wrought iron fence. I took a shot, then another. Then with her left hand, she gently threw the blue rose, time slowed, I pressed the shutter, never letting go, as the flower arched in the air and landed perfectly, on the plinth, at Heloise's side.

I released the shutter, still looking through the viewfinder. She placed her left hand on the wrought iron fence, bowed her head, just stood there, in the darkness, in the snowfall.

She pulled her right hand away from the wrought iron fence and wiped her eyes. Was she crying?

She slowly turned around. I pressed the shutter, held it down, for a continuous shot. I saw her face, her raven black hair, her incandescent blue eyes. Like a cannonball hitting me in the chest, I realized and recognized who she was. It was her, the woman from the metro.

She looked up, turned her head, and looked directly at me. I zoomed in, framed her face, continuously pressing the shutter. Her face expressionless, her eyes aglow. Had she seen me? I don’t know. She took a step, turned her head, and walked back up the cobble stone path, and faded into the night, into the falling snow.
Tommy Randell Nov 2016
I was always digging up the gold
Up out of the shadows
Of Love grown cold,

Mining the veins of precious blood
Thinking all I did was doing some good -
Old dreams new love.

Staring in the mirror at some distant kiss,
The parting glass, the goodbye bliss,
The cold blue lips,

Toiling there the two-backed beast -
I guarantee no-one resists, in this
Persists the myth.

But there's no happy ending,
A slave's a slave. No more
The delusion in pretending
There is joy in the cure -

I have always groomed for the ****,
Putting pressure on the will,
Be calm, be still.

But I've never loved prey more-so
Than when it fights me blow for blow,
The best Hello,

For the outcome is an anarchy of time -
They, It, What-ever, will be mine,
I'll be defined.

When I am gone from this Poetry
It will be read, I will be yet memory -
Know this of me.

With a logic of indisputability, know this of me,
My hunger will pull your fate to me
Inevitably,

There is no happy ending,
A slave's a slave for sure -
No illusion in pretending
It will be for your pleasure,
Never, not ever a cure!
Umi May 2018
I will be here through the night,
Until the moon sinks, seeking rest beneath a cool dark shade,
The life which grows from light, is slumbering tight under a wonderful cover, the flowers have closed, awaiting another day,
But I cannot rest, for time has become endless for me, I can't set.
Why is it now that no one will hear my call, reflected in moonlight,
Why is it now that I feel so alive, even though I'm already long dead ?
First days, then months and finally years, pass, fall one by one, only a dim memory remains, what's left is a given; knowledge, of course.
Longing for the meaning of life, the fate was already determined,
Chains which bind me to make me carry on with my mission,
In a distorted dark sound melts into silence, losing it's colour,
Darkness in life and death carried by a curse of greed made me fear the coming day, sunlight, it burns, it hurts, I'll nevr be blessed by it,
The taste of blood on my fangs, sorrowful but also filled with hope, make me remember what it must be like to be a human, to be normal,
Even this scattered instant of a moment possesses unshakable love,
Ablaze, drawn out here in this holy world undear the nightsky,
Unable to advance or return, is there sense to believe in the future?
To face the dark clouds is the golden rule, so I don't give up,
This endless battle always was so meaningless, I forgot how it started,
The meaning of life...even it it remains unknown for me, like you it must exist and is that not very beautiful in its very own way ?
Darling, if I should perish by the morninglight, sing me a lullaby!
A lullaby for a vampire

~ Umi
Umi Mar 2018
Sleep, dearest creature of the night, you who adores the shining moon, I said to myself as the music began to echo through the room
A nyctophile blood ******* devil, gifted black demonic wings alike a bat when it flies, strengh beyond reason and a tongue full of sick lies,
Yet a ray of sun may be lethal to you, burning you away as if you were paper caught in a firestorm, an inferno of heat, vaporized at last,
Life force relies in blood, impurities of constant change I need since I have already passed away theoretically I am most likely already dead
A music box plays for me alone, transient melodies from the recurring memories of a brighter, vivid past, to which I am are unable to return to,
Ahh, phantoms, a nuisance of the mortal life I have escaped alike the shooting stars over a clear, living,traveling, dark blue night sky
Have I toiled well, hard or long to achieve heaven, yet have become stuck as the devils tool in a illusionary world with no end ?
Flowing water seals me away, I cannot cross when it rains, and need a polite, kind invitement to intrude and cause wicked bloodshed
Sleep, so I may can be innocent until the sun has sunken down to rest,
Slumber,  the world of dreams is free from weaknesses to purification,
With great magic, comes a devils recitation, engaging in a distant dream far beyond the grasp of my crimson, blood drenched hands,
Unable to advance,  shadows of those who have forgotten the fear of darkness spread and creep around, hidden in nights embrace
Empty consciousness I am attracted like a fluttering butterfly to the gentle reflected light by the full moon in its fullest sensation,
Raise this song of love and paint it in a moonlit night for me,
Dance with me, until we aren't part of this world any longer, dear,
Sounds melt into silence, structure forms within chains of destiny,
Even if tomorrow were never to come, I couldn't care less,
For now, just let me rest my eyes

~ Umi
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.
zebra Apr 2018
skull on a stick
black candle wick
draining her soul
cant let go

Dragool drinks deep
legends red teethed
burial chamber
prayers bequeathed

its all blood day
dark kisses bite
his ghastly bride
waiting for night
Zachary G Jan 29
The day comes in with a
Flash of light and I begin to creep
Further into my bed thinking
Of days when normal was normal.
I reach my hand towards my ceiling in the
Dark room with a single blue light that haunts me through it’s enchanting glow,
It’s mesmerizing glow astounds my
Soul. as I slowly begin to fall asleep I ask for answers to my “problems.” I pull my hand down and think of the blue paint that is now white and shining. My brother comes in, after my brother opens the curtains in my room to awaken me from my decrepit sleep of shame and depression. I can only believe he is here to show me comfort or some basic form of loving compassion. He leaves without looking at me as if to say “I don’t care.” I look further at him wondering if these humans will forgive my weaknesses, my uncontrollable wanting and fear. I’m alone, I realize that now.  I am supposed to act like an 18 year old for the rest of my life? How am I supposed to eat? What god planned this? I’m limited and forced to feel weak. I’m slowly falling apart. I sit up after these questions run through my mind and think of when my “normal” will feel “normal.” what complete trash of a feeling... what am I?
My mind as human as most of the people around me. My morals are changing and my hunger is raging. The pain won’t go away. What should I do, how will I eat?
buying food is super hard...
Matt Shaw Jul 2016
Lost among crowds it is found in her eyes
Run like a river through the veins of her mind
Run like a river, you'll find your own heart
But when we part,

Hope it's all shown to be something unique
Know all the husk gather up round your feet
You are a weird fruit and a weird fruity explorer
Laugh like a king!
Bring my chaos to order
Jaxey Jan 7
The most painful experience
Isn't losing someone
It's the moment you realize
You've lost yourself
- Elena Gilbert
One of my favorite quotes of all time. If you haven't watched The Vampire Diaries do it now.
O' immortal love
Will peace ever come for thee?
Invite me to die
@LadyRavenhill 2019
Haiku 84
zebra Apr 2018
dark cupid witch
legs tied to throat
devil ***** twitch
******* in a mote

i've got the itch
feet scorched in rope
hot ******* *****
hells dark pope

oh dragon man
take my life
unwind me slow
i'm summer ripe

vampires *****
dark girl feeding
the sun is no more
loves the bleeding
jcl Jul 6
I turned the corner, entering the Italian sculpture collection at Le Louvre, delighting in the smells and quiet sounds of the museum. I walked slowly down the creaking wood floored corridor, ignoring the Dirce, the Nymph and the Scorpion, till I came to Antonio Canova’s Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss.

I gazed at it lazily, longingly, savoring its sensuality, love, and tenderness. It was beautiful, beyond belief, exquisite. It evoked so many emotions, to the point of being overwhelming. I stared at it, losing myself, in time and reverie, wishing I could love and be loved with such intensity.

“It’s beautiful, “I heard a feminine whisper in my ear. I could feel the warmth of her breath on my neck. “Yes,” I replied, slowly, instinctively, coming out of my trance, and turning towards the voice.

Our eyes met, locked, I couldn’t look away, as if bewitched, her incandescent blue eyes fathomless, tender, worldly, looking, seeing deep into my soul. I could feel her in me, like a new born kitten exploring every nook and cranny. It was slightly unnerving, knowing she could wander, at will, unfettered, and yet calming, even comforting.

As I regained my sense, I recognized her and stared, incredulously, until she said, softly, sweetly, “je m’appelle Seraphine.”  

She moved in a bit closer, cocking her head towards my right ear, and whispered, “It is my favorite, it's so tender and passionate, the way he holds her, kisses her, the way only a god could.” I noted her tone, the way she said it, with such confidence, as if she knew, from experience, what it was like, to be kissed, loved, by a god.  

She gently pulled back a bit, looked me in the eyes, like a child looking at a puppy. She was beautiful, preternaturally beautiful, a paragon, goddess like. I just stared at her in awe.

“I think we’ve seen each other around Paris”, she said softly, smiling, “and may have bumped into each other in the Metro.” “Yes, I think we have,” I replied, as she extended her right hand, as a queen would, to a knight. I didn’t know if I should  kneel and kiss her hand, or shake it. I took her hand in mine, it was soft, warm, moist. I could feel her youth, femininity, life in her hand. I shook it, gently, stopped, slightly released my grip, our hands slid apart, touching, sliding, caressing down our fingers, stopping ever so slightly at the tips, before releasing. The ecstasy of her touch. I longed for more. I heard her sigh, my eyes moved from her hand, to her lips, finally to her eyes. I smiled and said, almost in a whisper, “Je m’appelle Damien.”
currently writing #5, your comments and feedback are greatly appreciated
long have I been acquainted with the night
where slumbers chains have bound me

let me tell you this my dear reader

I do believe that my recent death
was nothing more than an unanswered prayer

and

as I lay motionless in my grave
breath reeking of midnight honeysuckle

the hands of the merciless
ravage my pale skin

of course

I can only imagine
that I still exist

yet my bones make no sound

I suppose I should be jubilant
for as the story goes
"the dead are free"

and with that

I shall forever remain positive
that perhaps this time
death will be kind to me

as I drink in its misery
the sick sweetness passes my lips
and
I cry out in crimson ecstasy

once more
I find myself
silently laying down these pallid bones

lingering in the darkness
I desire him that is treacherous to the soul
the darkest of shadows
the grimmest of times

and only because
the heavens have denied me their graces
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