Abhorrence

angry love prose

I only wanted to watch you burn,
like the lit tip of my cigarette.
Watch you fade away,
whispers to the northern wind.
Ripe with decay,
never to tax me again.
It was so unsavory,
the things I let you do.
But never again will you bother,
never again will I let you lie.

Lie to me, lie like I believe you.

It’s funny how things end,
though there was never a true beginning.
A part of me still chuckles,
at the devastation I’ve caused.
I held onto our everything,
though it never meant a thing.
The torment in your eyes,
was all I would ever need.
But now all of this is over,
and you’ll never feel pain again.

Six feet under, no more pain.

An untitled ode to the unnamed stress

A body, crumpled.

I’ve been through this before.

The worry began to tighten my chest as my anxieties take a physical toll on me. It’s getting hard for me to breathe.Along with the tightness in my chest comes a soft blow. A subtle and everlasting pang of solitude in the pit of my belly. The pangs, sole companions to the acid awash in the vast empty sea of my mid region. 

Will it ever end? The listless ocean of sleepless nights pass by in a trice.

(for for it being short and kinda shitty I want to start writing again and it has to start somehow amirite?)

Owen Roderick Mascheck: Introduction to a Vampire

I realize that there are so many people completely and utterly obsessed with vampires, especially with the Twilight craze. I’m here to tell you that I have always loved vampires, though not in the way that Hollywood has made them. I like them (in a way) like an Anne Rice vampire. Creatures of the night, violent, murderous, cold, calculating, seductive. Yet, torn between worlds, since they belong nowhere at all. So I started to write about a vampire in a similar world. I couldn’t say where the motivation left me, here. It seemed off to such a fantastic start.

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Syndrome Prelude

The nightmares had been a plague. Coming and going for weeks, they were uncalled for. There was no traumatic event that would have caused such horrid things to appear. And still, every night, the nightmares were the same. His face, above her, in that same twisted smile. Every night. The voice she could barely recognize, so hoarse, so rough. The torment was so real, she could almost feel his hot breath on her face, telling her that it was okay to give in, nobody would think anything less of her….

Then she would awaken, same as always. Heart in her throat, the heavy pounding making it hard to breathe. She would struggle to return to reality. Her voice wouldn’t return for a minute or so, and when it did, she wouldn’t be able to hold back the screams. The terror, fear, sadness, all echoed into the empty room, all around her, engulfing her once again. And then it would all be over. The fog would clear, and she would be home.

It would take about an hour for her breathing to regulate itself. The room would begin to lighten as morning slowly crept its way into her room, the walls turning a pale shade of blue. Finally, the adrenaline quit pumping, and her heartbeat would slow. Turning on her side, she stared at the picture on her bed stand, her last shreds of sanity left. A sudden calm swept her, and she lulled herself back to sleep. Into a dark, dreamless sleep.

Sadistic Love Poetry

I crave and I desire, 
a true passion, to the element of fire. 
What has been lost cannot be found, 
yet shall forever stay spiritually bound. 
Emotion to which I dare not show, 
for I am ashamed for all to know. 
This lust has will to overpower, 
even during every waking, working hour. 
Power like this I cannot negate, 
no matter how much of me this may take. 
Should I get what I so want, 
happiness will not take place throughout. 
For I desire in a way that cannot be, 
thus I am unable to be free. 
Pain when I cannot get, 
but I know it is not time yet. 
All else will end around, 
and this desire shall so be found.

Poetic Justice

alone, sitting in the corner,
she doesn’t make a sound.
you’d think that you’d be closer,
than the circles in which she’s sent you ‘round.
nothing ever seems to break her,
though you honestly don’t seem to try.
and when the time comes for the glass to shatter,
you’ll never see her cry.
for it isn’t hurt that she harbors inside,
not even fear or self-loathing.
it’s hate, pure and true,
a hate left for the taking.
and though you’ll continue running those circles ‘round,
it’s in her hate that you’ll finally drown.

what a poetic way to die…

The Perfect Sin

Your taste is on my tongue, 
And I know my nightmare has just begun. 
The feel of you against my skin, 
Every part of you is the perfect sin. 

Your scent still clings to me, 
Though you are far gone. 
A blind euphoria I wish I could see, 
A thing I’ll crave all night long. 

In my ear, I hear your voice say my name, 
Ending the hope that this isn’t just a game. 
With torturous eyes out comes your call, 
A plea to catch before you fall. 

To give myself freely I wish I could do, 
Deceit line your words so fine. 
But I’m not sure if I could to you, 
I find myself on the thin red line. 

If I could take it back I just might, 
Saving myself from this horrid fright. 
Still I long for the feel of your lips, 
Wherever you feel to let them dip. 

The plea from your eyes is where I drown, 
And should you ask, things for you I’d gladly drop. 
I find myself dragged further down, 
This picture we try so desperately to crop. 

And so I tempted the laws of fate, 
Happily taking what was set as bait. 
Thus this will bring ‘bout my demise, 
Ripping apart my compromise. 

The longing for the feel of your lips upon my skin, 
The thoughts of such things are relative. 
You simply are the perfect sin, 
And to you I find myself vindictive

This Was Once An Idea…

Upon the breaking dawn of day, 
A church there happened to be in my way. 
Not quite literally, I dare submit. 
Yet there I saw, off the path was it. 
Needing the rest, I decided I’d go, 
Though it seemed to hold secrets I shouldn’t know. 
The doors didn’t open at first, but after a shove, 
It flew open as if willed by the power from above. 
Dark inside, save the light from the door, 
Wonderment asked exactly if it was odd, or more. 
A priest or pastor, I couldn’t tell which, 
Knelt at the alter, praying like one stuck in a ditch. 
I thought he was mad; praying so hard was he, 
That when I approached him, what he saw I hoped to see. 
Upon the sounds of my step, he turned on tail, 
And my! That man was surely pale. 
A wicked grin set upon his face, 
Uncomforted I felt, standing in place. 
He came forward and grasped my shirt, 
The words he spoke so filled with hurt. 
“As a simple preacher, I’ll tell you this, 
That girl’s got a soul like a black abyss.” 
Up over his shoulder, I saw her move. 
Something wicked, like a tricky dance groove.

Old Love Poetry.

It’s just a mood.
I tell myself again.
It’s just a mood.
You’ll get over it in the end.
Looking at your angry face,
My reasons are falling apart.
Wishing anyone would take my place,
So I wouldn’t have this tearing at my heart.
I know better than to mess around with you,
But something always says yes.
Sometimes I wonder if the passion’s true,
So I can at least say I tried my best.
Give me one good reason I should stay.
I dare you to try.
If you stop pushing me away,
Maybe then I won’t have a reason to cry.
I get so sick of being a toy,
Only around when you want it.
Claiming you care is just the decoy,
Just so you can get a little bit.
Stop leading me along…