| SILENT ASSASSINS |
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Ethical Vampires: Chap 1, pt.2Chapter One- pt.2 (first draft) :Open grave, mysteries to unveil.Ethical Vampires: Chap 1, pt.2
What a bitterness to admit that I was trapped twice. It's undeniable that women are all wicked and so cunning. Who'd forget the story of Samson and Delilah and the story of Adam and Eve? The apple … Oh the apple, it drove Adam out of Heaven. The kiss was the apple in my case; it was so appealing to refuse its invitation. Bright red apple, the kiss, on the crimson lips for which I had always died. I never knew what on the universe folded my mind with that veneer of blindness to stop and think about the consequence.
I reminded myself of these things
by ~dr7key
Vampire Canticles - IntroWithin the following verses, goddessVampire Canticles - Intro
My heart's singing you nocturnal passion
A passion that goes crescendo within
My thirst that grows wilder and wilder
I'm pouring you jest of my nocturnal love
A love that never dries in the hell's heat
by ~dr7key
Prisoner Of My OwnPrisoner of My OwnPrisoner Of My Own
I immured my soul within a paper and locked it with ink Within cryptography of my nocturne, I write hope and despair notes My jailer is my twisted mind, feeding me dark thoughts And my heart blackens more and more within each word I write.
The walls of my soul suffocate the screams of my consciousness Ink pens my confessions and those who I condemn day and night Ink shares with me my boredom, the eternal and the most abyssal And the swarm of dark thoughts manifests to sting me in the soul.
Anguish and despair flying in my soul's air, letting it damp
by ~dr7key
Silent Assassins- Chap 1, pt.1The Silent Assassins: Ethical Vampires CHAPTER ONE: The Escape Part.1: Undead or immortal, you choose! That night was no ordinary night, the night that I'd be, for the first time, out of the grave in which I was punished for a mistake, a deadly and an iSilent Assassins- Chap 1, pt.1
by ~dr7key
Favourites
These Things I WriteThese Things I Write
It was an escape at first, something I thoroughly enjoyed. To create something simple, pure, beautiful, with only my hands and imagination. It was very gratifying. And could be anything. Whatever my mind could think of, wander off into those eerie crevices of the human imagination where the good ideas lie and I could twist them, mould them into my wildest dreams. I can be whatever I want, whoever I want, whenever I want and with no consequences. The words flow so freely, so purely. I don't know where they even come from most of the time. And these feelings. Are they real? Am I ever really writing what I truly feel or am I writing my he
by *Erika-Faye
HomeHome
Home. It's not the dwelling where you reside; it's not the roof over your head. Home is where the people you care about are. It's where the people that possess their own individual piece of your heart stay. It's where you are. Where you're the happiest. Home is what you make it. It's where you're comfortable. It's where you can be yourself. It's where you can wake up each morning and smile just because it's a new day. Home. It's important to us. To some it's broken, to others it's everything. It's where we turn to when times are rough. It's where the people are that you trust the most. It's what helps shape the person we are, who we be
by *Erika-Faye
sick of loveI'm sick of love I'm sick of this feeling those turtle doves who purr all the timesick of love
I'm sick of those giggles they are love drunken they miss reality
I'm sick of watching happy couples who forget about their friends who say they "love each other" but then they fight about the tiniest things
I'm sick of being desperate watching them start a family and cheat on each other in the end
They say they would love each other until death parts them but none of them died when one leaves the other
And then they loo
by =connorish
and they think theyve got itthere is something extremely terrifying in going overseas for Christmas break, and leaving you here. like the way parents are happy and how they say "it would be good for you." like typing, pondering, humming along to a tune heard only in their head as they happily plan a trip. like wondering, wide eyed, about what will happen when im gone, how they will change things when before i get back, and talking behind your back with everyone they know. like trying to figure out, pretending to have an answer, a clue, about something they've never felt, and will run from if they see it coming. like therapy.and they think theyve got it
by ~Anna-Anonymous
New Works To Come Out ... Soon!
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Devious Info
- Current Residence: Morocco
- Interests: Poetry and Technology stuff
- Favourite movie: SAW
- Favourite artist: Marcel Khalifa
- Favourite poet or writer: Charles Baudelaire
- Favourite photographer: Buse Kurtis
- Operating System: Windows Vista ,Windows 7
- MP3 player of choice: iPod
- Personal Quote: Supremacy is by doing better
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I write e r o t i c a.
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Supremacy Is By Doing Better!
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Your only obligation in any lifetime is to be true to yourself. - Richard Bach
Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent. - Victor Hugo
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Supremacy Is By Doing Better!
I will call "Mokhtafoun" soon.
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In Our Darkest Hour
Will You Still Care?
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Supremacy Is By Doing Better!
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~Those talked over oft times make the best writers.
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yeah, I'm one of those "I really like this, good job!" critics. So sue me...
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I support: =DailyLitDeviations *100ThemesChallenge ~Prompt-A-Day ~CollabLit
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Supremacy Is By Doing Better!
--
~Those talked over oft times make the best writers.
---
yeah, I'm one of those "I really like this, good job!" critics. So sue me...
---
I support: =DailyLitDeviations *100ThemesChallenge ~Prompt-A-Day ~CollabLit
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Outside day starts to dawn
(Your moon still floats on high)
The birds awake
(The stars shine too)
My hands still shake
(I reach for you)
And we meet in the sky
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