Entries from December 2003 ↓

He breathes down my neck constantly. I can always feel his coldness wherever I go. You can probably feel him too. Everytime I sleep and everytime I wake up I can sense him watching over me, waiting, biding his time. He is the curse that is put upon us from the moment we are born.
Some of us try to escape him, they run and hide from what will always follow. Others welcome him and embrace him. It makes no difference to him, he will have his way whatever happens.

He invisible yet he leaves his mark on everybody. He cannot be understood but many try to describe him. He is unreal and a part of life.

We all have our own fears. My fear is not the stranger who follows me, my fear is how he will make himself known to me, which one of his searing kisses will burn my forehead. I do not fear death, I fear dying

isnt God the creator? can’t he also be the destroyer? he creates life and doesn’t take them when they’re unwanted. i never asked for a life and when i pray to God to take it and give it to someone who actually wants it, he rejects me, well fuck him. i dont want to live and never have. Satan is more of a god then you’ll ever be and until people realise that, until they see, i can never be………

if you like my work and want to swap work or juss talk bout this shit email me at ms_biatch_2_u@hotmail.com

December

Winter’s breath from distant lands
Crossing oceans of unyielding ice
Beyond mountains embraced by snow
Through forests shedding tears of leaves

The kiss of summer slowly fades
Replaced by autumn’s cold caress
Trees in quiet supplication to the heavens
Give up its many hands

Their warmth almost gone
Taken by the mourning wind
Crying silently for its loss
To my ears it speaks of its grief

The sky shares the sorrow
Dusk comes borne by chariots of deepening shadows
Its golden rays and lavish red hues
Lost in the silent gray march of darkness

The sun begins her dreamless sleep
As the ivory eye of heaven opens
Stars begin to wake from their dark slumber
The dying light breathes its last

I feel cold, numb…

i don’t know where this belongs, it’s just fucked me up and i felt like writing it.
i never understood what was wrong with me, every one seemed to think there was somthing, but they wouldn’t tell me what. the medication only seemed to make me drousey and retarded, i took it if it’ll shut all those mother fuckers up that wanna change me, maybe it’ll be for the best if i charge and conform to zombie form.
any way, i got home from college one day, and i was all alone, as per usual. and i stood in the middle of my room, alone.
“look at you” i thought what have you atchieved in 17 years? Nothing. fucking jack!” i thought “nah man, this isn’t me, i’m fine man” “no you’re not” i replied. “what kinda faggoty ugly little butt fuck are you, the only girlfriend you ever had hates you, i mean, you’re not even a good person” ” no, shut up!”
i punched my self in the chin. “you’re weak too” a breif silence then “fucking pussy” that echoed in my mind. the other me had taken over again, bobby as he once called him self. it had never happened twice in one day before. oh well, once i’m locked up in runwell it’ll be happening all the time, i’ll have to get used to it.
i remained standing in the middle of room, waiting for him to come back, i know, if i wait for him, he won’t come back.
30 minutes went past, still alone.
it was hot, so i took my shirt off. i wonder what she’s doing right now. probably with that new guy, lucky fucker. if only i was loved again.
i let my guard down, i noticed out the corner of my eye the room twich and heard the wind behind me, but i felt nothing against my back.
i blinked and all the furniture was painted against the wall, nothing was there any more, only pretented to be, just like all the people who thought they knew me and thought they were in my life.
i was scared. like a little kid. i didn’t want to move.
the left wall moved towards me, i turned towards it. but heard the right wall moving closer behind me. the walls were trying to kill me. they closed in, the room was about five foot by five foot and then the ceiling started caving in on me. i curled up into a ball and closed my eyes.
when i opened them again i was completly sounded by brick. no way out, and no knife for sucicide. looks like i’ll have to wait ’til i starve to death.
then i realised, this was god, or what ever all powerful ass hole who controls me and the whole fucking universe, was doing to punish me for being such a bad person. it was my fault.
i got so angery with my self, and punched the now very small cieling in anger. it cracked, and in poored a black ooze, it covered the floor, but didn’t cover me. then for some reason i became scared of death, once again, just like a kid. i said “help”, then shouted “help me” then bobby said, “no one can help you, you’re going to die and burn in hell.”
i started screaming and screaming as the ooze got up to my neck. my dads voice said my name.
i kept screaming, and took what a thought was my last breath. i closed my eyes and waited for death, he put my hands on my shoulders and said to me ” the med isn’t working, is it?”
unfortunatly, it wasn’t death, but that night i prayed the next time i had a vision like that, it would be.

Another night staring at the ceiling
he leans against the white walls
with 5 bloody fingers sucking her soul away.
four knuckles bashing against purity

grasped by an unloved soul.
with her cold hands holding his
the raindrops hit the windows.
as the tear drops drip slowly to the floor.

Another night with the clouds above her
she leans against the black city
with 5 bloody fingers sucking his soul away
four knickles bashing against purity

her mascera running across his fingers
a frozen stare upon his eyes
the wind blows across their hands
as they hold another memory.

and let it fall through the cracks of their fingers

pipes
pipes flowing through the hole in my heart
somethings missing
a dark spot
within me
silently tearing me apart
ripping my heart
taking my soul
holding it captive
never letting go
eternally

stopping
my heart beats
missing a beat
freezing
cold rushing through my veins
black blood
gaping wounds
bleeding
non stop
shallow breathing
no pulse
silence
darkness

slithering through my soul
fear and pain
invisible
no one can see
freezing my veins
clawing at my flesh
grabbing for my mind

time
its eating away at me
under my skin
piercing my brain
in my every thought
shadows
black
through my veins

i feel your presence
where are you
your near
but too far to touch
shadows moving
floating
the dead among the living
walking
not noticed
i still feel your invisible presence
now closer
within me

light.
it is all around me
it hurts
blinding
within it i stand
i wait
still waiting
for it to kill me

It cuts through me
through my veins
through my mind
It flows through my mind
Im sure you’ve felt it
Just that feeling of sharp liquid flowing through your body
Or maybe its just me

Am i alone?
alone in this world?
I shed tears in the dark…alone.
sometimes i like being alone.
Will i die alone?
will i be alone?
Will you die alone?
I am alone with death.
And death is alone with me, stalking me.
anywhere i turn, im alone.
Am i scared of death?
I horrified of the simple fact of facing judgement,
Alone

choices between

life or death
being comfortable in darkness;
or being trapt by light.
choices between
being sane or insane
being able to love or hate
choices between
being held in captivity
or being let out into this world of shame and guilt
choices between……
but the biggest choice is knowing the answer to this question…….
“Am I the Darkness or the Light”

The desert was a vast and lonely place at noon. She knew that all of the royals were currently in a meeting about her. They were trying to decide her fate as a wife to some royal from a distant land. Gazing out of the ornately carved window, Jazlyn looked down at the people she would one day govern.
She stepped onto the balcony. Walking to the railing she had an amazing view of nothing. Just the vast and empty sands of the desert. They were currently in the middle of building the pyramids that would serve as tombs for both the royal family and the peasants.
Looking down, she noticed an oddly dressed peasant. Instead of the beige dress robes the peasants usually wore, he was wearing black. She studied him for a moment, until he passed from her line of sight. Intrigued by this oddly dressed man, she slipped into the common clothing she had stolen from a few of her servants and exited through a secret passageway she had had privately installed by a few well paid slaves.
As Jazlyn exited the door she had made the slaves mark ‘Forbidden’, she saw the dark man turn a corner. Keeping always a few steps behind him, she followed him through the winding twists and turns at the heart of the commonplace. She did manage to note a few items she would want one of her more loyal slaves to fetch for her. It would look too odd if she asked the normal slaves to get them.
It did not take very long for her to arrive at the location he had been heading for. He turned into a small shop. She didn’t recognize him, although that was not uncommon. The way these shops came and went, it was hard to know everyone by sight, let alone name.
Jazlyn snared quite a few gazes from the common people. They had given her the name, ‘Peasant of Beauty’, for none of them knew her true name. She walked through the doorway of the shop. Unlike most of these places, this one had a woman for a master and the young man was the apprentice.
She began looking at the odd objects she saw gleaming upon many tables and racks. The weapons she saw were unlike any others her Egypt had ever seen. Most of her slaves would probably never want to see them anyway. Jazlyn studied all of the weapons. The blades gleamed sinisterly, and the whips looked much less friendly than a desert snake that had missed a few meals.
She picked up one on the whips. It was braided silver, with one strand of gold weaved throughout it. She looked at the twin barbs at the end of the whip. They each had shards of metal embedded into them. This whip was specially designed to tear into the flesh of disobediant slaves.
Jazlyn saw the young apprentice standing in the doorway. She looked up at the master of the shop. “May I?” She inquired.
The master looked at her and nodded. Jazlyn turned and caught the mans eye as she cracked the whip harshly against the floor. When the young man failed to flinch, she raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Are you not afraid boy?”
He looked at her coldly. “No, I could never fear such beauty, no matter how dangerous the weapon she holds.”
Jazlyn prayed that her skills with a whip had not withered away in the time she had not practiced. Without warning she craked the whip expertly over her head and then let it snake around the young mans neck. The twin barbs lay at the collar of the dark shirt he wore.
As she unwound the whip from the young mans neck, she said, “Beauty is a cold thing. Fear it.” She turned to the master. “How much?”
The master looked at her, a smile playing at her lips. She too wore odd clothing. “Royalty never pays here. Take it.”
Dumbfounded, Jazlyn nodded once. Angry that these odd peasants had seen through her disguise, she walked toward the doorway. The young man stepped aside to let her pass. He watched her as she shouldered her way through the marketplace, not caring who she tripped or what their business was.
Succumbing to curiosity, he followed her through the dusty streets ot the marketplace. He didn’t bother keeping a great distance, she was too preoccupied with herself to notice anything else. He followed her until she came to a door marked ‘Forbidden’. This would usually deter anyone, but she walked right up to the door and entered it, shutting it behind her.He smiled.

Jagger was restlessly pacing his room when Syane came in. She watched him for a few moments, so absorbed in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice her immediately. When he did, had instantly assumed a position of defense.
Syane smiled. Jagger relaxed himself enough to continue pacing. “If you want her that badly, you know what you have to do.”
Jagger looked at her with annoyance. The fact that she could read his mind irritated him still, even after all these years. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do that.” He replied crossly.
“Jagger, it has been centuries, and you still have yet to change someone.”
“I know.” He snapped, walking toward his collection of weapons. He chose his favorite knife from the immense rack of them.
Crafted centuries ago by one of the first shape-shifters, its blade could kill even a vampire. Careful not to touch the sharp edge, Jagger grabbed the knife by the point and threw it at the wall. It landed dead center, exactly as he had expected it to.
Syane did not take her eyes off of her fledgling to see if he had hit his mark. She simply followed his movements across the room. “You know what you have to do.” She said simply.
Finally losing his patience, Jagger replied curtly, “I’m going for a walk.” as he began to disappear.
Syane smiled as she said, “Wouldn’t going for a walk imply that you were actually walking?”
As if on cue, Jaggers laughter resounded in her mind. “You know me so well Syane.”
As his voice faded away, Syane turned her mind toward more pressing matters.

Walking along the empty street of the marketplace, Jagger sought his next meal. It did not take him long to find it. He soon came upon the man who had offended his blood mother. He took threats to Syane seriously, and his anger could use a good outlet. Coming up behind him, Jagger grabbed the man by his throat. Not bothering to ease the pain of having his blood drawn through his veins, Jagger fed from the man.
He sank his fangs into the mans neck as roughly as he could. Normally he would send the person he fed off of to a distant place in their own mind where they would not feel the pain of dying. The man started to cry out, but Jagger quickly silenced him.
Suddenly Jagger felt a presence behind him. Tossing the dead man away, he turned, only to realize he stood face to face with the royal he had encountered earlier. She held the whip he had delicately forged in her right hand. Eyes wide, she stared, bewildered and disgusted. He didn’t know what overpowered him then, but he had the darkest desire to change her. To make her forever his.
He called out to her mind, willing her forward. She obliged, she was helpless to do otherwise. She never cried out, only when he bit into her neck did she come alive, a spark shocking her into action. She fought him, fought him with everything she had, but as the life was drained away, she became too weak.
Pulling away, Jagger raised his wrist to his lips and tore the flesh from his veins. Placing it against her lips, he tried to force her to drink the blood that poured forth. Thrashing wildly, she refused. Anger settled into him and he held her head still with his free arm. He placed his wrist once more to her lips, and she had no choice but to comply.
She passed out. Jagger looked down at her. Watching her stop breathing was odd, hearing her heart stop beating even more so. She was still alive though. If you could call what she had become alive…

Jazlyn restlessly paced the confines of her room. She had spent all day daydreaming. At dinner that night, she could barely keep her mind on the royal she was supposed to be sucking up to, to put it simply. Her parents wanted the riches he had, as well as all of the land he held in his possesion.
Jazlyn didn’t much care about any of it anyway. So as night began to fall over her homeland, she once again started down the secret passageway to the deserted marketplace.
Excitement grew within her. She hadn’t felt like this in years, sneaking out to see a man she didn’t even know. As her excitement grew, she began to run down the stairway, hoping that her royal robes would not be the death of her. She burst through the door marked ‘Forbidden’, and came to an immediate halt in the street.
There stood the apprentice, a man in his grasp. As she watched, the apprentice seemed to kiss the mans neck, but as her vision adjusted to the lack of light, she realized that this was no ordinary kiss, it was a kiss of death.
As if sensing her mere presence, the young apprentice turned around. He looked at her intently, and as he did, she felt compelled to move forward. Into the arms of death itself. She felt the touch of his mind upon hers, an eerie feeling at best. The whip she had absent mindedly carried with her hung limply from her hand.
Jazlyn no longer cared. The simple task of existing had ceased to become a necessity. She simply was. As his fangs broke her skin however, she began to thrash wildly, knowing that to give up now meant certain death. As he drew the life from her veins, she grew steadily weaker. Unable to fight any longer, she collapsed.
Held up only by the young apprentice, she watched him tear his own flesh from his wrist through a fog of uncertainty. Jazlyn felt him place the torn wrist to her lips, and almost accepted what he had to offer. Her wit returning, she struggled, only succeeding in having him pin her to the dusty road of the commonplace.
Then all she felt were the black curtains of life closing around her. It seemed that her life as she knew it had ended. How she longed to be back in the palace with that retched royal…

Darkness Seems Black,
Is That Just How We See It??
Is It Pink Or Red Or Even Green??
I Just Think We See Darkness As What We Are Told It Is,
I Have Got Lost In My Head Of What TO Believe,
I Am Just Going To Believe What I Want.

Do you ever wonder why the stars shine in the darkness? Why the moon never stays the same?
Why the sun always rises?
And the sun always falls?
Is it because that is how it all fits in the universe?
Is it because that is how a higher power wants it to be?
Then why do we sit here and do nothing but bussy ourselves with nonsense of computers and electricity and life and death.
Why were we put here? For the same purpose? To be?

I can’t do this any more. Smile even as i cry. hide behind a fake mask that will surely go to hell for the sin of the many lies it tells. No, i cannot hide from the world afraid that the people in it will not understand me. Why do i fear them. For they are the ones who should fear me. For i hold the power. we, of the darkness, of the night, we hold the power. why do we allow the brain dead people of this world smile us into seclusion. they make us hide in the dark corners of the world with their laughing and smiling and singing. we shall rise up and burn them into the corners that have forever hidden us from them.

SMILE!
I’m smiling
WAVE!
I’m waving
LAUGH!
I’m laughing
CRY!
I’m crying
LIES!
They’re lieing
DIE!
I’m dieing

sitting here without a friend by my side, i read your pleas and the words you cry. you’re slitting your wrists the crimson blood dripping and pooring down your arms. I look to my own and i see the slice, the blood and all of my pain, suffering, hate, and fear leave my body and pool together in a puddle on the floor around my feet. suddenly the world grows dark and all i hear are the words of those who knew me best. ” I never thought she would.” ” she was alway so happy.” “I can’t beleive i didn’t see it coming.” No one could see and no one could hear the silent screams i yelled in the air. now i’m gone and they are left with the memory of me and the pain that was my only gift.

is there really a purpose to this lie called life? look around you. The fake smiles of those who are forever crying inside. Is it really worth all of the pain caused by those who don’t see the truth about this hell? Why are we here if not to die in the end. So why wait, if that is our purpose? Why evade the unavoidable. Die. Die. Die.

She is walking down the darkened street as the lamps flicker on and off and all is quiet.I am hiding in the shadows behind the bushes,my black cloak hiding me from sight. I see her,her raven black hair cascading down her back just below her slender waist,her icy pool of crystal blue eyes. She walks past…..and I come out and grab her from behind. She has no time to make a sound,I clamp my hand down onto her blood red lips,I see the fear in her eyes as I take her into the night,and I ravage her. She is so beautiful,so beautiful. She is warm and her porclein white skin is smooth and gentle,her neck smells so good,her blood is warm,flowing,and innocent. I bare my fangs,bite down,and start to feed,as she drifts into unconciousness.She is now forever mine.

conformists are people too

i’m sick and tired of feeling useless
i’ve now been broken a thousand times
you dont need to try and break me anymore

the world is so cruel today
everything you love seems to go away
what is the point of having a life
when theirs nothing to live for?

when i wake i hope im dead
so your not their by my side
if suicide is my only option
id rather fucking die

What is an expression that can make creatures hate without words? What is it about Night that can make friends turn into lovers? Why must day be where we hide our fears, yet the night greats our tears. In a morbid state of unconscious and deliberate unknowing we pass from the birth of inquisition to hate and ludicrous at the thought of martyrdom. What are we a martyr for now? The old religion, which, in a state of utter loyalty and perfect annoyance has been destroyed by modern creations of despicable control called religion. Our love for conformity gives delicate moments that paint the sky with lightning so erratically placed that it fascinates. Tumbling fear corrodes the midnight wonder. Electrons passing from land to the kingdom above which I shall never know. Bulging jugular waiting for the knife. Sweet blood splatters in a disconcerting pattern flickered across the wall, glowing as the fire fly crushed between two delicate bricks, forced into the pattern by desolate minds needing control. Purposefully scented candle wax forms the sacred signs, cooled in the holy water.

What shape is it?
The Son?
The heir?

He loves us enough to give us death through spreading disease categorized by humans. The photographs of the past, greyed with envy and yellowed with deceit, they cry for the past that never deterred them from lying. So much incredulous pain that dares to be mocked by white toothed smiles, ignoring the crimson tears offered by the thief he has married. Thief of chastity and honour, yet martyr for her cause.

And now I have brought you in full circle to a martyr, but merely skipping the unnecessary impossibilities of intellectual quests for truth outside honesty. Outside mysticism and into the depths of uninformed science. The murderer of all released minds’ lover, mysticism that dips in and out of reality, making miracles of which the believers of magic are sceptic.

Will I ever know? The cockroach chewing through the page similar to lust that nibbles at the decayed flesh in my mind, slaughtered by inconceivable lies and truth and every foul and grotesque battle and last warrior ever uttered from pallid lips. Ever constantly reminds me of my enslavement to the written word, lost somewhere in Renaissance and Baroque and Rembrandt, hidden in Wordsworth and Romanticism, laughing from the eyes of the common observer to provide a quest in a time when heroism is a fantasy read in numerable books. Why? Because we long for it, whether to be the damsel or the damned, we yearn for some form of romantic fairy tales in modern life where swords are decorations upon the poorly lit wall and chivalry remains decimated.

White lilies painted crimson, maroon, and black to suit their prophetic fates. Dances with the night oft’ prove fatal. Will dawn come only for me? Is Winter truly the death or only the rest of maturation? What is love more than a tingly feeling? A fantasy world where women are swept off their feet and men are hailed as heroes. Heroes that claim the throne from tyranny and incest, yet surround it with corpses of those before them. An endless cascaded cycle of death, tears and lust. The open grave looms ahead concealing the razor blade. The Ultimate Sacrifice. Sweet Sorrows touch the flesh, watch it ripple over time and give moments a human form to see out of, and feel from. To feel the unnecessary pain he causes, to understand the torment of each breath we draw, to know how it hurts to smile or laugh, or even cry now.

Go to sleep. In the morning everything will be okay.
Sweetness in the form of bitter blood cooled to taste. Nothing’s going to be okay. Dry tears can’t fall, horrid truths can be told without heartache and tragedy. Truths that could devastate worlds. But there are worlds within worlds. Dreams are the essence of our world full of tyranny. Yet still a society encourages us to follow those fluttering images, short as friend’s loyalty.
Set me free! I wish to leave and cry, stop being strong and merely dance on waves of impersonal emotion. Faith fades when it should be strong, should comfort when it strikes thunderous terror into those who choose never to comprehend, and merely to ignore all other status of lives. How unlike nature. How unlike decency?
Time has failed me utterly, destroying the cells in my body that hold any will to aid me. People make statements about what others say to see if there’s any truth in it. Could a heart be so cruel? Can love caress a heart often enough to heal it? What is the point to living if I can never be repaired? I am a broken toy! Who ever buys a broken toy? But my question is: What broke me? Time? Friends? Family? Father? Grandfather? Pain of all things? The epitomized pain of a fragile soul dying is ne’er always ignored by the deaf and dumb and knowing and loud. I am lost in the pages of pain and death; stuck between words reading damned, dishonoured, discord, discarded, death.
Letters fluttering around. Sweet euphoria of white paper neatly folded and addressed to multiple unimportant people who feel important because of that envelope now sitting peacefully on a crimson sheet. A sheet that has never heard the lonesome cry of a poor, wretched creature too insignificant to go on. As compared to the innocent white sheet that has often heard her cry. Mine are blue. And alone. Always alone; as I soon will be… forever. Lost in tales of death. Death calls me from this heavy body, tired from sleep with vivid dreams, heavy from use and discard. I could not fly even if I wanted to. Life is now too heavy on my imaginary wings. The collected dust from a decade of pain. I am not strong enough to continue. Bravery holds me back. I can’t be brave enough to take action. I am a hypocrite. Lost and stripped of honour, for which it may never return.

Blood in my eyes. Tears of morality. I suffer at the hands of people I do not know yet know so well it pains me to remember their suffering. Suicide is the way out. Any way to escape I want to go. I have no will to stay. Who cares what people think? It’s more than I can take. He’s won. He’s broken me. Life is no longer my destiny. For no longer will I linger but what a shadow will. Fading in and out of lighted areas, but never more than a memory in lace and curls. No red. No blood.
Cold fingers and icy temples line the horizon. Endless shapes filled with the doomed to cry out in torment. To die. To sleep. Perchance to dream. What is our dream in death? Of life? I dream of death while living. Will I dream of living while dead? Will my name be another statistic in the endless waltz of information?

Pull the trigger,
cut my throat,
Death is sweeter than the life i was taught.
Empty my veins,
drink my blood,
End this endless pain, driving me mad.
Pull the trigger,
cut my throat,
Life is sweet? I Think Not…

She walks alone and sees herself in a pool of blood

Her clothes tattered and covered with mud

She feels the guilt she tries to shun

As she looks at her hands and sees the remains of what she’s done

As her guilt eats away at her and cuts her to the quick

She starts to feel sick

She starts to sweat

She starts to hear the screams, as though from inside her dreams

She remembers how she thought of using a gun

But it just seemed like no fun, too quick

She no longer felt sick

A smile grew on her lips, as she remembered the knife Butchering the wounds of her victim

Blood poured from his body like the storm outside

She could see the reflection of the lightning in his eyes

She could hear the thunder in his cry’s

A new thought raced thru her mind

What would she do with the body?

Where would she hide ?

Her pale face grew paler

Her dark eyes grew vague

As she turned to see her victims body staring straight,Thru into her fear’s

She felt a tear, running down her check, down her breast

soaking her dress

Her cold, wet heart made her think

Maybe she wasn’t quite so meek

Maybe she could burn it or hide it in the wall

But the smell of that would make a grown man bawl

Maybe she could feed him, to the rabid wolves

But the bones what of the bones?

Her thoughts were interrupted by low ,erie moans

A misty vapor decompressed, from his cold lifeless chest

A chill ran down her spine as she watched his last breath…

The wonderful feeling of death….

She thought again, what would she do?

An idea, she drug his body to the bog

And prayed it would cover with fog!

The body became hard along with the mud

She did not think all night she would walk and trued

The wind did blow

All that was left was to row and row

Out to the middle to throw him in

Over the edge , she did go!

Her lungs filled as though for ten

Slowly and quickly it got darker and colder

This is what he deserved, what he got

That wretched boy who broke her heart

Now they would really have to part

She had thought

We need to talk, he had told her

Always of what you do be sure…

Now they would be together

For ever and ever

Things can change with the beat of a heart

For the sweet or for the tart

Be careful what you say, what you do

The last thing she heard, was a soft, love birds coo…