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I was sitting at the bus shelter, waiting for my bus to come, when a woman on a bicycle came by. She stopped under the shelter to get out of the rain. She had a kind of "bohemian" look to her, with her black scoop-necked sweater, her short black hair, and her thick, black rimmed glasses. Her bicycle was red, and it was the old style where the middle bar curves up. She got off her bike and leaned up against the wall of the shelter. After a while I heard the melodic times of a harmonica, playing no specific tune. She played for a few moments, and soon the rain stopped. Lowering her harmonica and putting it safely in her pocket, she got back on her bike and rode away. All I could think was - I wish I could be as free as she is. |
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I turned to you, Because I needed to believe That I was once pure. I had lost the map to my light And your touch So dark Devoured the spark, But at least I could say, It was once there. I saw it. Once. Why is it that when love dies I feel as though I've wasted that time. Maybe it's because I was The only one who made deposits. In the end, I guess that's all you wanted - A good fuck Instead of Someone to love. My heart burns with the passion Of a million dying suns. It's heat would have burned you In the end. So I suppose it's for the best In the end. When was it that we lost touch? When was it that my light wasn't enough for you? I tried to forget, but how could I When I could still taste her on you; Feel her as you touched me. Did you even think of me? As she sucked you Fucked you In a hunderd different ways I could never dream of? It had to be that For I gave you everything That I could imagine. Funny, you always said I was the creative one. In the end, I guess that's all you wanted - A good fuck Instead of Someone to love. My heart burns with the passion Of a million dying suns. It's heat would have burned you In the end. So I suppose it's for the best In the end. |
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It's odd where people get their inspiration to write. Some get it from live experiences, living hard and dying young. My father left when I was three years old because he chose drugs over me; he was young and stupid - I can't blame him. My mother left when I was five to go through rehabilitation for her drug and alcohol addiction. Hey, it was the 80s, nobody thought they would live to see the 90s. She came back though, after I lived with an aunt who abused me, and then my mother mentally abused me, but it's hard to be a single mother. That isn't where I get my inspiration. My head is much too much in the clouds for that. I guess I don't really know where I find my inspiration. I am of the greatest belief that everything imagined, everything dreamed is not fiction. It all really did occur in some point or another. Dragons really do exist, and faeries kiss me every night. I believe all of the things that are imagined exist in some respect, as a real concrete thing, and that the reason why we "imagine" them is because it is our soul remembering these things. Weak as we are, we tell our brains that such things are not real, they can't be, and we are content with passing off a child talking to elves as an "overactive imagination." If that is so I guess I never grew up. Maybe that's where I get my inspiration - I believe. |
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I want to touch a dream |
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It was then that Alice had noticed the table and the little rusted key that sat atop it. Taking the key eagerly, she crawled up to the door, unlocked it and threw it open. What she saw was a beautiful secret garden, with butterflies flying and birds chirping and roses all around. Oh how she longed to get out of his horrid place, and into that garden to play tea with the flowers. In a melancholy, she walked back to the table, and set the key down. However, when she set the key down on the glass, she was looking at her feet, and was quite surprised when her pale fingertips, which brushed along the glass a moment before, touched a little bottle sending it over onto it's side and rolling down the glass surface. Quickly Alice ran to the other side of the table in time to catch the bottle as it rolled off the edge. It was clear and had a bright green liquid in it. On the label was written "Drink Me." She looked the bottle over curiously, remembering the cautioning words of her parents. However, the bottle was not marked poison, though the shade of green of the liquid would make you think twice about it, and she decided to uncork the tiny bottle and take a sip. It didn't have a completely unpleasant taste, mostly bitter, in fact there was just the hint of licorice. Alice began to feel oddly. The bottle made little clinking noises as it bounced a few times as it hit the marble floor. The little girl brought her hands up to the sides of her head and she closed her eyes tight as her head felt like it whipped around a couple of times. When the feeling had stopped, she opened her eyes and found she was about the same size of the door. Excitedly, she ran up to the door to wrench it open only to find it wouldn’t budge. Alice looked back up to the little glass table to see the rusted key. She walked back up to the table and fell against one of its legs. Sliding down onto the ground she put her face in her hands and cried. It was then that she noticed a small wooden box under the table. Opening it, it’s only contents were a small cake with “Eat Me” beautifully marked with deep red currents. Figuring anything was better than sitting there and crying she ate the cake and hit her head on the glass table, sending it flying, as she grew over nine feet, bumping her head on the ceiling. When Alice realized that there really was no way to get through the door now, she started sobbing great big tears; the more she cried, the quicker the little room filled with water until there was several feet deep of tears covering the marble floor of the room. In the distance she could hear the pattering of feet, and as the door opened up to the room, she saw the mysterious black rabbit in the waistcoat and top hat. Seeing the gigantic girl, he dropped his gloves and fan, running away as hard as he could before Alice could even get a word in. Feeling that she had cried quite enough, Alice picked up the fan and looked at it. It looked old, its handle made of polished ebony wood, and the fan itself was a black lace that was torn and ripped in areas. Alice started to fan herself, her mind wondering to a poem she was to recite later on that week. How doth the little crocodile Improve his shining tail, And pour the waters of the Nile On every golden scale. How cheerfully he seems to grin How neatly spread his claws, And welcome little fishes in With gently smiling jaws! Those must not be the right words; deep in thought Alice looked at her hands and saw she had put on one of the rabbit’s tiny black gloves. “Now how did I do that?” Alice wondered, looking around. Indeed, she had shrunk 5 feet so that she was down to her regular size and quickly she dropped the fan, rushing for the table toppled over and forgotten in the corner, but her foot slipped on the tears she had cried and she found herself chin deep in her own salt-water tears. The little girl waded in her tears, and curiously, the room started to get dark, as if time had passed. She was getting very tired as she swam this way and that. Finally, her foot hit something solid underneath her, and as she looked in the distance she could see she was approaching a shore. But how did she get out of the room she wondered. Trudging up to the shore she saw a small light flickering in the distance, but as she walked towards it and saw what it was, she had a thought that she rather preferred to be in the little room with the little door. |
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A small girl ran across the stones that peaked above the level of the river rushing onward to who knows where. She would often sit by the river on summer days, wondering where it ran to, and where it stopped, in some magical faery-land, filled with what dreams are made of. But not today, today was for better things. |
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Stray not sailors beyond the sea foam
The sea has a way about it To show you more than dreams More than it seems
Beware, beware the queen
For she's the queen of deception The queen of dilapidated dreams. From her kingdom underneath the waves She will call to you with siren songs. And the sea foam will rise Within it a beauty woven By the threads of your dreams. But all it will be, just a dream, Just a dream.
Though her embrace be warm,
And her voice engaging, Swelling to more than it seems, more than it seems It is all just a dream, just a dream. "Do you find me pretty, kind sir?" "Do you find me sweet?" She will purr as you fuck her. She will trick and deceive, With her beauty, she will make you believe That your love is more than it seems. More than a dream.
Beware, beware the queen
For she's the queen of deception The queen of dilapidated dreams. From her kingdom underneath the waves She will call to you with siren songs. And the sea foam will rise Within it a beauty woven By the threads of your dreams. But all it will be, just a dream, Just a dream.
And before you can think
A whisper of scent is all that's left
Before you die, before you die, before you die Your heart her prize, your heart your life Such is the fate of sailors Who's eyes roam, To the sea foam Wanting more than a dream More than it seems More than it seems Just a dream, just a dream
Beware, beware the queen For she's the queen of deception The queen of dilapidated dreams. From her kingdom underneath the waves She will call to you with siren songs. And the sea foam will rise Within it a beauty woven By the threads of your dreams. But all it will be, just a dream, Just a dream.
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The Queen of Tarts She ate the hearts Of unsuspecting men. She played the part As though 'twer art Time and time again. If you were smart You would impart This wisdom that I pass. To keep your heart Tempt not the Tart Or this breath will be your last. |
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Love is like a violet The youth of primy nature The perfume and suppliance of but a minute Forward and sweet Not permanent, not lasting No more No more The best safety lies in fear The best safetly lies in fear If he says he loves you, If he says he loves you, If he says he loves you, If he says he loves you, Perhaps he loves you now. (Mix made from Hamlet - Act I Scene III) |
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In 1912 a war broke out in New York between two political parties of the vampire society – the Camarilla and the Sabbat. Both upheld the Masquerade, set in 1423, which was the law that no vampire reveal what they are to mortals or other supernatural beings, but both had their ways of following said law, which was the reason behind the conflicts. New York, September 18th 2003
“Lily, we will not be staying long. I am only allowed a small time down here, and I do not want to think of what will happen if we are down there too long,” Colt said, pulling up the manhole cover from the cement floor of the parking garage. Lily nodded looking around. In 91 years New York had changed, but she thought she would see something familiar as they were going to a long forgotten home. Hope fluttered in her chest. If Colt was mistaken about how to get there it could be he didn’t actually know where the study was, and that would mean that everything was still there. Maybe. Colt dropped down and his whisper sounded hollow as he called up to her. “Jump down, and I will catch you.” Cautiously Lily inched her way over the hole until she was hanging there and dropped, not surprised when Colt caught her gingerly in his arms and set her down gently. He always had treated her as though she was glass, and now was no different, especially with danger lurking, waiting to jump out. He turned on his flashlight and started walking. Lily looked at her surroundings. Even with the impeding darkness, she was able to see the details with her supernatural eyesight. Mold and moss clung to the cement walls, and the ceiling smelled of something wet. So far, nothing looked familiar, which pleased Lily. He must be wrong about the study, Anoria told him a fake one, she thought optimistically. New York, October 22nd 1917
“But Anoria, why wouldn’t he come and get me? It doesn’t make sense.” Lily and Anoria made their way around another corner in the underground tunnels. Anoria by this point was very annoyed at Lily’s questioning. Always questions, nothing useful from the girl, ever! “Because my dear,” Anoria replied, her voice dripping in sweetness in its delicate rumor of a French accent, “he is busy. You know how he can be, the Prince probably has him on some raid on the Sabbat. He was too busy to pick you up.” Anoria walked fast, and it was almost too much for Lily to keep up in her long skirts. “But Allen could of escorted me home. I’m always with Colt durin’ the week, not you.” “Yes, I know that, will you just come with me tonight, it isn’t safe for you to be alone; even if Allen is there, he wouldn’t be able to protect you properly. My study is safer with its wards.” Lily followed Anoria as best she could, Allen tagging along a great deal behind to make sure nothing was following them. September 18th 2003
Colt took a few steps forward and felt Lily stop behind him. “What is it?” “I thought I heard somethin’. Just barely.” She raised her head just a bit and strained her ears to hear anything she could. Colt did the same, but whatever Lily had thought she had heard was gone now. “Come on,” Colt beckoned softly, gently, “we do not have much time.” Lily nodded and followed him around another corner. October 22nd, 1917
Lily trudged her way, worried about Colt. What would be so important that he wouldn’t come pick her up? She always looked forward to it, since he couldn’t do much else – the war kept him busy. He hadn’t even come to see her shows anymore, but instead sent lilies to her dressing room after each show. After the first few times Lily had been furious. She would have violent tantrums in her dressing room, ruining her costumes. Her vanity mirror had been replaced twelve times. But after a while she understood. It was the most he could do when times were so hard and he was needed by the city. She understood that he was trying to show her that she was loved, even in such a hard city that was New York. Lily looked back at Allen, making sure he was all right. He was now trailing quite a distance away. She smiled at him, hoping that he could see it. Their bond had grown since they came to New York. She didn’t look forward to going to Anoria’s tonight. Who knows what would happen this night; the weekends were bad enough. Always another vampire to be put in that circular room to be destroyed when the sun came through the vent in the ceiling. Their screams would wake Lily as she slept during the day. Or worse, when Anoria hung mortals for questioning; as they were dying demonic voices would arise to tell the answers. The voices made Lily have nightmares at night. “I wish Colt wasn’t busy tonight,” she mused to herself. September 18th, 2003
Tonight. There it was again. This time Lily had caught a word. She stopped, waiting to hear more, but nothing more came. What is going on, she thought. She looked around, looking for something, anything. She didn’t have a good feeling about this. But of course who would have a good feeling about going underground, completely controlled by vampires in a now Sabbat city. She stepped closer to Colt so that she was just a few steps behind him. His presence was comforting, and she forgot about the whispers. October 22nd, 1917
Lily stopped, hearing something ahead. It sounded muffled, almost suffocated, and she strained her ears until they hurt. Anoria pressed on. Then Lily heard it – a gunshot. And it wasn’t any gun, it was Colt’s pistol, Lily knew it. She ran forward until she came to an open room. September 18th 2003
If Lily could take in a breath she would. She had just seen something run past her. No, not past her, through her. She shot a glance wildly at Colt, but just as his form came to meet her eyes the form ran through him as well. She looked for any sign that he had seen, but he seemed completely oblivious. Quickly around the corner the apparition fled and Lily only caught a color from a scrap of skirt before it passed behind the bend. For some reason the color seemed familiar, but she couldn’t quite place where she had seen it. They edged their way to where Lily had seen the figure disappear. Colt kept on walking, but everything seemed to stop for Lily. She felt cold hands stroke the back of her neck, and she shivered despite the fires she saw in front of her. October 22nd, 1917
Lily ran forward into the room to be met with hot heat. Large bonfires burned in the vast room, creating dark circles on the ceiling from the residue of the black smoke that rose above the fire. On one pyre a man burned, a stake in his chest. Colt was in the center of the room, surrounded by five other men and a woman. He shot a man until he was thrown back against a wall, blood seeping from his chest and legs. The woman was thrown back by a backhand from Colt, and another man was pulling a scarlet knife out of his forehead. Lily felt Anoria rush past her and saw her attack one of the men. Thinking of nothing else to do, Lily rushed the woman, throwing herself on her. Lily took out her knife and slashed at the woman’s throat. She was able to cut the woman’s head off, getting hit quite a few times in the process. Lily dragged the woman over to a pyre and heaved her onto it, being careful not to catch anything of her own on fire. She turned around in time to see that the other foes had met with a similar fate. She smiled at Colt, but the smile quickly faded. September 18th, 2003
Lily saw as Anoria launched herself at Colt while his back was turned. Colt was able to pick her up with no difficulty and he threw her against the opposite wall. Lily looked as her own image in the room backed up into a corner, not knowing what had caused the sudden confrontation between the two. Colt took out a stake as Anoria prepared a ritual and he ran towards her. With her speed she was able to side step him, though she got a powerful punch in the head in the process and it dazed her just long enough for Colt to push off of wall and strike again. With the staked raised high he plunged it into her chest. Lily clutched the entryway, watching everything happening. Just like the time so long ago she was helpless to do anything but watch. It was a scene that even today was etched behind her eyelids. October 22nd, 1917
Lily slid down the wall until she was sitting and shook her head, unable to take her eyes off Colt and Anoria, and unable to get up and stop them. Colt plunged the stake into Anoria’s chest, and as she fell to the ground Colt drove several brutal punches into her. Lily started to cry, the tears of blood running down her cheeks in torrents and spilling onto her dress, staining it in red. After what seemed a very long time Colt picked up Anoria and cast her onto a nearby bonfire. He watched her burn for a moment, before turning to look around the room. If Lily’s heart could beat it would stop now. His silhouetted face scanned the room until his bright eyes met hers. September 18th, 2003
Lily saw as her figure turn its head into the stone wall behind her, trying to shield her face from the brutality she just faced. She smeared blood from her cheeks onto the wall. Why? She could hear the whisper just barely. Blood tears continued to fall down her cheeks as she saw Colt walk towards the figure he saw in the corner. October 22nd, 1917
Lily raised her head from the wall and looked up at Colt. Her cheeks were covered in red, and her dress was stained, the wall behind her tainted with blood tears. She kneeled there in front of him, looking into his face. “Please,” she pleaded, and Lily could hear as she echoed her words from that day long ago. Colt seemed not to hear, and Lily kneeled there as her mentor, her teacher, and her lover drove a mighty punch into her, and struck her for the first time in her entire existence. September 18th, 2003
From the tunnel Lily screamed. She fell to her knees and screamed, “Stop!” She curled up into a ball on the floor and Colt, who had gone quite a few yards up the tunnel, stopped and turned around to see Lily there on the floor. October 22nd, 1917
Lily could feel herself being beat. In the few moments she had she mused that there was no pain. Just pressure, force. She looked up one last time at Colt, his eyes burning, like the fire near her burned. "Why?" she whispered to him. It was in one final blow that she blacked out. September 18th, 2003
“Lily! Lily, what is going on?” Colt reached her side, and was shaking her as she screamed. He pulled her up into his arms and looked around wildly to see what had happened. His eyes fell onto the room in front of them. The room smelled of mold and wet, and in the corners of his eyes he could see dark things scurrying along the walls, looking for some inky place to hide. In the corner, there, he could see part of the wall that was burned to no repair; the floor there was also black from flames. On the opposite wall his supernatural sences could see where there was still remnants of blood smeared from tears. Colt gathered Lily in his arms and stood, giving one last glance at the room, remembering what had taken place there so long ago. Colt turned away from the room, and took Lily back the way they came. |
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I've never been a patient person. I've always been one for immediate gratification; I want it, I get it, and I get it now. So what is with this game of cat and mouse? I feel as though I'm a cat sitting outside a mouse hole, waiting patiently for him to come out. The poor mouse doesn't even know I'm there, and in the end, maybe he'll out run me and I'll have waited for nothing. Or maybe, with paw poised and ready, I'll slam down and trap him. I want to go other places, see new faces, but something keeps me there at this particular mouse hole. I've never been all that obsessive; if I don't get it right away, I move on. So what's so different about this particular mouse hole? The truth is I'm afraid. I sit there, scared out of my wits, unable to move from this spot, all my attentions focused on this particular mouse. But why? I've come to the conclusion that I don't know HOW to love, so why, not knowing anything about him, am I so willing to screw up yet again? Maybe I'm masochistic, I don't know. I love ideas. An idea about a person, and my last two mice, I could tell you about their lives, as I perceive it, and be completely wrong. I filled in the holes I saw, thinking that my intuit reflection would be able to fill them accurately. If you ask me about this mouse... I have nothing. But I know he inspires the songs in me to come out. And so I sit, paw poised, waiting. I'm not a waiting person. What I'm most afraid of, however, is when I do catch him. Because at this point, with too many cards in my hand, there is only when. Not if. What do I do? I haven't thought beyond the waiting. What if it ends up like the first mouse, a never ending loop of need, and wanting, and wishing, and waiting, and missing? It's the fact that it could be different that keeps me at this mouse hole. Things are coming full circle. Yet again, the mobile of time makes its cycle. I'm like an hourglass, blown to life by the air from the lungs of gods; filled with sand, tan and fine that flows too quickly to the bottom. My time is very measured, and like a child given no choice, I scream, trying to make the sand flow backwards. 3 is a good number, it's magical. 3 chances. 1 turn of a wheel each chance: 1 year. It's my last opportunity. I drain my energy every other night, just waiting. And this cat, who was never taught how to love, sits, and waits for a mouse, who doesn't even know she exists. One day I'll be conquered by a wily voice and eyes |
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I can't wait for the day When all the love will be washed away With salted tears and whispered words "I'm better off alone." Love dies quiet and slow It's lingering wretched woe Refuses to hear the whispered words "I'm better off alone." I bide my time and wait for My heart, I watch it beat no more With salted tears and whispered words "I'm better off alone." Then I shall sit upon my throne The blood stills, frozen, I am alone Wrapped in ice, my only words "I'm better off alone." |
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It hurts cause I can see you fall. You are my manic queen Time and time again I see that You are my manic queen You are my manic queen |
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Walk away, walk away Don't have to pay me now Please don't ask me How can I tell you why You'll never understand When you're holding my hand I feel her touch It won't wash away no matter How much I want to Do you remember how close we came Just like a girl in December That waits for the snow but Never you mind my dear Put back your money and Never you mind my dear I lost an earring Never you mind my dear Won't you leave me alone |
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I've a question or two, I can't be easily fooled, And so now its time to play You only play till you've won So the lesson to learn I am playing for keeps. |
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There's so many moments in the day Maybe it's too tiring to chase a dream that's not meant to be I don't even know who you are Maybe it's too tiring to chase a dream that's not meant to be |
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Too many times I've been told The game's we played would leave me cold. But you've chilled me to the bone before Why should this hurt anymore? |
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I once thought us sisters
I thought we were equals But too late I saw the scales tilted to your whim Cuz to you I would never Be anything special To you I'd only be another face in the dim Because you see,
You see I am Rose Red Incapable of holding out a place of my own. And so I must walk Contantly in your shadows Your Snow White blinded me from a light of my own. So long and hard I'd try
To match you pace for pace No matter how I tried I'd always fall behind. Till one day I stopped to see The path you walked would only Lead me backwards to a place that was so unkind. Because you see,
You see I am Rose Red Incapable of holding out a place of my own. And so I must walk Contantly in your shadows Your Snow White blinded me from a light of my own. Because you see, You see I am Rose Red Finally I've found I'm holding out a place of my own. And so I won't walk Anymore in your shadows Snow White no longer blocks me from a light that's my own. |
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contemplative