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the_author
Post-Mortem Aphrodite - Subscribe
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Bestowed with secrets and fantasies of finality, your fricative words created sweat on me; tempting screams out of me. The hurting that could hurt so sweetly. Dreams of blood coursing through arteries and my sad artistry as I draw lines on you. Seething with passion and Teething on the razor in my mouth. I stared at the light falling off billboards tonight, thinking of what is not. As bodies on them like yours glow white and rot the skyline like a rash. Not as beautiful as yours, as Beauty becomes so much more potent when destroyed. These ones lacked luster, for the lines, our lines, they would not have drawn. The lines we prayed to in coarse breath at dawn. While our chimera's collected like clouds connecting in a storm of macabre want. There was a safety found in our static pauses, and the bodies you'd only show to me. I found something there, amid our chaotic affaire de coeur A courtship between surgeons. My eidolon birthed in you. It's dark, It's wrong, and it's in me too. But only with you. My aphdrodite in a body bag. |
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the_author
What was created is cremated. Feb 15th, 2007 7:08:54 pm - Subscribe
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I Close my eyes and open my arms to a killer, My Dahlia, my prying Pandora. She wants to find this before it kills her, With her porcelain face now fractured like a sad, beautiful winter. Completely manufactured. Feeding me secret answers when all along the rapture told otherwise. A manifesto of lies. Her hope, befit of a disaster . Tell me if you take stabs at passion, or find it easy to forget that the heavens burn like branches? Enthuse me. While I go through the motions of caring; note kindness in her is like the failure of a killer. Only accidental. So, please, spare me final dramas, and your passions, and your traumas. There's nothing here to save. And although you're breathing in your grave, it's still unmistakable. You have been crowned. And now, the death befit of a queen. I may be crawling through knives, but you can't hide what's happened all along. |
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the_author
Anguish [Silenzio] Jan 30th, 2007 7:24:43 pm - Subscribe
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Kidnapped by the chambermaids of guilt loss, and lust for the perverted precursors to what never comes, and never to be noticed again. Eyes, lips, and a head full of unconcern certainly, I've discerned the end. we can't escape the end times. with aching bones and cracking lips. I'll dig in with my fingertips and I'll destroy you. Oh, I will destroy you. I Find myself lost in trying to find nothing at all, and all I have left are the fumes rising off this carrion of passions. these heathen ruins unhealable. All I have made are crosses across the valley up to a church nor more than a pool of blood. And the victim's names enumerated on the walls, like lamb to the slaughter. None innocent, and none worth a seperate box. None left alive as none were worth inliving. Not that they were living anyways. So now I'll turn to this keyhole of mine and attempt a bigger brighter end. adding condemnation on the inside, and marching love's vanguard into a chasm full of gears and chisels. A well oiled heart-ache machine. And everything gray in between. Everything broken in the fall. |
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the_author
Maxim Nov 20th, 2006 4:15:25 am - Subscribe
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What do you know about the future? I think you'll become a consumer-whore. I think you'll spawn a couple fucked-up brats. I think you'll have a midlife crisis, and what that can be - who knows. Maybe you'll gain weight. Maybe you'll notice how your spouse doesnt get off to you anymore. Maybe you'll buy something stupid and expensive like new luxury Sedan. Maybe one of those fridges with the TV's in the door. Just big enough to feel like your money's worth it. Like you're worth it. You'll "stay together for the kids" and get up every morning to go read the A&E uptown in an expensive coffee shop. Go. Peruse mediocrities, There's nothing more to do. You'll strike up conversations with strangers and oddly, they're the only ones that really know. In the sense that they know nothing. You'll thumb your cellphone playfully, and play office. You'll drink your half-soy, half-latte Venti mocha cappacino... or whatever other conceited gourmet shit you can swipe a card to. It gives you caffeine. It gives you an ego. You'll sit, you'll sip, and you'll smirk at the life unfolding around you, One about as fullfilling as the dirt on your shoe. Your salvation, your maxim. Your truth found in the traffic lights. Fast food from the passenger seat. Another weeknight, another deadline beat. If only beating your wife was as easy. I think You'll live out your hopes and dreams Your life folded between pleasures and practicalities and whatever other passions... begot from middle-management. White knuckles to match the white collar. You savor it. The starch might make your skin itch a little You ignore it. It might brush against the stubble on your aching neck. And you like it. It makes you awake. The haircut you can set a watch to. |
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the_author
Elizabeth and her Autumn End Nov 20th, 2006 4:14:24 am - Subscribe
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A funeral arrives with tears and rehersal. Why, oh why does life cheat the most beautiful? However calm the princess be, she must have broken her delicate neck. The wind whines about the corpse in a way, still no birds chime at this hour of day. lifting corners of white lace revealing slender legs - sometimes more to the family's dismay... she hangs gently. As passerbys paint crosses on their chests. Her blasphemous fingers brought her death, such is a sin, to still one's breath! Her heaven is barred, as the gospel says. The townfolk weed their way among the oak. Top hats and long coats hang on tired bones, all chilled by this unholiest of autumns, wind licking at their toes. Stone faces weep and snarl where droplettes cling the final eyes in which she confided in. Granite monsters above everything. The tumultuous twilight is split by a raven's caw money lenders and machine makers made to look on torn from their beds at a lantern boy's call they found a young vixen . She must have broken her delicate neck. A book is strewn wayward, landing angry in the mud, as a pastor whispers holy things. His wavering voice doing battle with the wind. A ragged yell escapes a carpenter, who was the father. The people mumbled onward hate poured generously into fricative words wondering who's daughter, when, and why the hearse was running late. A boy expects a funeral, tomorrow if weather permitting. the cold permeating his cotton, invading his train of thinking. Removed from his carrot soup, when all of this occured. Quite fitting, the cold now upon him. An icey blast just as within him, when he raped and killed his sister. |
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the_author
My Beautiful Disease Jul 19th, 2006 10:17:45 am - Subscribe
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Your resplendent eyes null and void. Drowned. Tossed below the hammer. An angel lost her footing, and hopessly spirals down. Your delicate pedals seared torn asunder with the petrol. With chipped paint along your fences your gardens swallowed whole. Your beauty, obsolete sinking one more fathom. You're and ending to the holiest of autumns. You're my stone garden. you're my sacrificial bleed. your a head on collision. you're a beautiful disease. Such gentle fingers, punching heartache into souls a song escapes your lips before an unescapable below. My pages reaming screams like a grave without a wreath. Hurt scrawled between the lines like flesh between the teeth. And your beauty sinks one more fathom You're an ending to the holiest of autumns. You're my stone garden. you're my sacrificial bleed. your a head on collision. you're a beautiful disease. Graves deep, completed, so that I throw you to the wolves. Your grave lies where thorns grow. |
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the_author
Eulogy Jul 8th, 2006 3:37:57 am - Subscribe
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I believe, memories have the rain sedating me gone away, are the days where rivers didnt burn walk alone, up the street summer's breathe upon my feet suddenly, im escaped im too sad for poetry here's the day I'll repay and give a eulogy two beginnings and an end finally. on my back, epitaphs for what I knew would never last at the shore, like before oh my emotions burned so heavily, on my bones as I pondered "never more" suddenly, laid to rest yet I'm writing this again. [CHORUS] here's the day, I'll repay and give a eulogy two beginnings and an end finally. here's the day, I'll repay and give a eulogy two beginnings and an end finally. [BRIDGE] a eulogy I will keep until my dying days finally now an end the first of many pains here's the day, I'll repay and give a eulogy two beginnings and an end finally. here's the day, I'll repay and give a eulogy two beginnings and an end finally. |
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the_author
Veins Jun 19th, 2006 10:37:27 pm - Subscribe
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Staring up toward the cobwebs a somber baseline plays seconds crawl among the rafters above blurring the nights with the days A million faces I have come to see and there's a million more to be a million thoughts i would have come to know but today its all a little numb... If you had no choice but bleeding would you sit and watch your veins? if you were shackled to the concrete would you ever chew your chains? if you couldn't find the walls now would your windows stop the rain? if there was no one there for you to see could you soon forget could you soon forget your name? its a letter mailed to no one but myself a creation of my own jaded breath, and the dirt in my hand am I writing this alone? if everything I know was hopeless would I be numb enough to stand? is there ever a beginning when when your life is just an end If you had no choice but bleeding would you sit and watch your veins? if you were shackled to the concrete would you ever chew your chains? if you couldn't find the walls would the windows stop the rain? if there was no one there for you to know could you soon forget - could you soon forget your name? |
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the_author
The Gasoline Orchid Jun 13th, 2006 12:24:26 pm - Subscribe
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It's my haunting, an orchid made of gasoline. sweet, yet bitter with loss. My silouette of what was on what would never hault and never be. It's a stolen perfume, ideal for a funeral now. Placed upon my sweating skin every now and then as it was hers. A subtle reminder. To lose her just as you find her. Slowly. It's a face, a moment. Like her cold mouth on a sweltering day or a soft cheek beneath aching fingers. Her perspiration like rain, pure like petrol. And her eyes, ripe with love and suicide. They observed the world below my brow not five inches, And I enthrawled by an iris. It was a morning, now a mourning of sorts. The dwelling of my now perfect stranger My visits and lies short lived, with long reprecussions. |
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the_author
Two Beginnings and an End Aug 17th, 2005 4:08:46 am - Subscribe
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Hi everyone. My name's Erik, and I write. Most of my lyrics are made for Metal, because that's what I listen to, and I'd like to start a band sometime in the future. Some of my songs are double-kicker material with angry undertones. Others are jaded and opressed - the type of music you might listen to when your just too sad to be angry. Music that you can regret to. I write alot about the type of emotions that coincide with today's destructive social scene. Everything from cutting, crying, lying, riding a shitty bus to nowhere important, lost morals, and the more twisted thoughts and realities of being human. If I had to compare my lyrics to someone elses (which is hard, because everybody's writing is different in so many ways), I'd have to say 'Slipknot' meets 'A Perfect Circle' meets 'A Fire Inside. Thanks for reading, and i hope you enjoy. |