I have bathed my two hands in what He has forbidden, the same liquid life which now stains my priests’ linen.
Author: Heal
Scabs And Blistered Pearls
She was where the moon chose to shine. It lit her path, her gothic face; it lit her, she was mine.
Essence
This is a profession of the sins inside me and all the things I often hide.
So Merlot
There is a goblet, cold-stone grey. It cradels crimson wine today. Lost in the sip of dreams passed ‘way.
Sweet Dream Of The New Dawn
I want to dream up a new world, then form it from dust, create the most painfree retreat. Discard all the heartache, confusion, and fear; dispose of the cold and the heat.
Walls Of Moss And Floors Of Dust
This chair is crossed with wormwood scars. My cheeks carved deep in these dreary hours with sad eyed secretions of pain made moist.
When The Bough Breaks
“Rock my dear baby, never do stop For when you rest still, your body will drop Far to the ground waiting angry below And you will lay broken, die lonely, die slow”
Roses on Petaled Wrists
Such devious ways to deceive them with wit. A sweet word to gain access to their soft wrists. To press to the rose flesh two false-speaking lips and offer the slim veins the slightest of a kiss.
My Rotten, My Rose
She crouched in the corner, just bleeding and slicing and I cannot tell why I found it inviting. Yes, I might add, it was wholly exciting. Her blood even looked like a rose in the pale room lighting.
Collapse of Dreams (And Dire Things)
She came to dream of sweeter things inside this hall of bitter scenes. Where once a wall stood blank and stark there now was painted her whitewashed heart.