she. “Enemy Spirits, Come to finish my fate Nothing you do Can cause me to dissipate I am forever I am EVER, For and Ever I am Always, Now and Then I am of the gods My gods, your gods and theirs Make mincemeat of your decisions Deal you heartbreak, make u have care She’s… Read More she.

the use for veils.

  Up a staircase Winding round I say nothing Eyes Wide Down Powdered footsteps Open like gravel road U say nothing No breaking the moment’s hold Asbestos powdercase Eyelashes by Mold We touch fingertips Sudden. Bold. Crunchy black taffeta Shiny Patent Waste Bodies; barely bent! Still not visible-Our Haste In & Out, Up & Down… Read More the use for veils.


I want your blood Like I want your sex I wish we’d fuck Like we never met I want your taste Copper-burnt but sweet I want your brains Tongue inside your meat Spread it ‘round like goo Dripping from the tip Lap it up, all fours! Yeah I am that bitch This is not for… Read More bloodlust.

Private Life

In the Darkness of beginning night, The confusion of what should be, I gave him my little black heart, Then I gave him my little jewel; perfection like one from Tiffanys! When alone now, I can hear his voice When alone I can feel his touch His perfume comes out of my throat His decorum… Read More Private Life

Les Amants des Morte

*disclaimer – naughty words and heavy sexual connotation; also, an original poem from me to an ex lover* Everytime we fuck, I die, Lovers of Death, you and I Make-believers in fate, you and me Troublemakers connected; destiny! Little Death, Oxycontin, Dopamine When together, even the Heavens stop for our scene, Memnoch the Devil, Dionysis… Read More Les Amants des Morte


  I’m in a phenomenal place There is no sound, no feeling, no smell or taste It is the Darkness~the Soulless Pit, the Abyss! How could you not know, however could it be missed? This is the reality, finalized and discovered~You know me, now! This is the Darkness, the place where nightmares play, unbound This… Read More ~Untitled~

Why Do Writers Write?

Originally posted on Alien Scribe:
Why do writers write? Here’s an interesting answer by Charles Bukowski. While I don’t agree with every line I do identify with most of the piece and keep the poem displayed on my refrigerator at home. He’s been called “the human embodiment of a raised middle finger.” Bukowski wore his…

Love Forged By Masters

Originally posted on Ward Clever:
Stoke the fires Strike the heart while it’s hot Forge fleeting fantasies Melt away the misery Smoke trails linger Like caresses from your fingertips Awaken my soul Searching while the fire is lit Temper slowly The heat that bends Strengthening our love Sharpening pleasures Plunge into cooling waters Passion sizzles…

The Witch Hunt

Originally posted on Colombage's Corner:
The hunt has begun They are chasing me judgmental looks on their faces disgust filling their minds convinced that I should be persecuted just because I have listened to my heart They want to imprison me planning to mold me into one of them wanting to erase my memories…

Witches Brew

Originally posted on Fictionspawn Monsters:
Hello! An elderly woman was standing by the side of the road. Good afternoon, Marcy said. Could you please help me? My old knees hurt so much. I need to get home, on top of that hill. The old lady pointed with a crooked finger. Marcy looked down the road.…

My Tomb at Night

Originally posted on Forged From Reverie:
When we sleep we are not dead, nor are we truly alive. And I despise it. To close my eyes each night and lose myself to the world as it continues on, going about its business without me, is a loss I cannot abide. Yet I have no choice.…


Originally posted on Fictionspawn Monsters:
She was out in the forest looking for plants and mushrooms when Jim came along. He was tall, strong and handsome, funny and friendly. Hello! He said cheerfully. Hello! She answered. She was happy to see him. She always was. She was the most beautiful girl in the village. Jim…