The Writer's Library.

I walked along a pearl river, I strolled across the onyx night, My tail slither. I stalked between the thickening trees, I breezed across the open fields, Mind-poisoning disease. I heard the cries. I felt the boiling air. I smelled the fire. I tasted the bitter hate. I saw her neighbors cast her onto the pyre. She screamed out to me as her body seared. I was drawn in to the ambrosial tempers their primitive natures revealed. She convoked me to make her mark. Drawn closer to the shimmering heat, she welcomed me. These heathens' malevolence brought out by the dark. And so, They heard their babes cease their lungs, My curse wrapped tightly 'round them. They smelled my gift of dead rats in the water. They felt their blood freeze in their bodies, as I released them of their hot-headed hate. They tasted the blood as it came forth from their lips' last empty prayer.

I remember that night when he strangled, stabbed, and left me to bleed. I remember how the knife felt and how cold it was and just ....It was awful. I wanted him to let me die, but he didn't. It wasn't as awful as the void, though. The void was something...unforgettable. The void. Cold. Deep. Nothingness. That was when it really began. "If I'm going to suffer and die, you're coming with me, and the one you love is going to watch while he can do nothing," he whispered in my ear as he tugged on my chain one final time and sent me over the lip down with him. The first thing I felt was the cold. The cold was just a breath chill at first, but worked up soon to a slight shiver, and then to the unbearable feeling that my very bones were winter ice. Had I been standing in front of a fire with my heavy coat on and bundled up, I would feel it still. It was the kind of cold that enters your soul and leaves a deadly, chilling kiss. The next thing I felt was the o

A swirl of blurred blue glass, Bubbles distorting the light. Swirling in a kaleidoscope of confusion, Using the dancing light and shadows To create tormented illusions. Here I circle the edges, Faster and faster I race Round and round inside my confined space, In a never-ending race. Yet I feel a near end, It is either me or my glass prison; One of us must break.

I know I'm a too hot-blood tempered firecracker For you. But you were cold, So I melted your ice, But all I found was stone.