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.

Heartbeat. The heart beats and beats and beats itself up, every moment of life. Beating itself up until it cannot beat one beat more.  With motivation it beats faster and faster with vigor, chanting and howling, only to collapse and beat weakly when its energy is spent.  Softly it beats in our sleep. So quiet and lonely, it quietly continues to beat itself.  Softly it beats when we wake, always so quiet and lonely.  Beating itself up when we are sad, beating itself when we are joyful, that loud red organ.  With each beat it brings us life, yet it beats itself because it wishes to die. 

Oh how impossible, unfathomable, Appear these beings, Who seem to search me out, As a scientist a specific specimen. The thought of them haunts me by day, And every night I must face them. Which is worse: The endless waiting, With every second ticking by an hour, Or the facing? For each time they appear, "Why???" I persist to them, as I lay still. I wish to only understand, But I suppose it was never my place to know.

Listen to the silence It will teach you sorrow Sometimes it tells me There is no tomorrow Listen to the silence No one is calling. It tells me I am not missed. Listen to the silence It showed me a way out It tells me Death is without doubt.

Venomous wrinkles, Scattering in crinkles, Rippling actuate twinkles, Shatters of unicorn skins drifting in her glassy eyes. A blind doll, Unseen in the mirrored hall, Close her eyes. Quiet laughter, For she sees what is to come.

Did I? Did not I hear... Something? I prick my ears about the room: Searching out the pin that dropped, As my heart hipped and hopped, Till my anxious breathing stopped, And pricked my ears through the muffled gloom. No, no. Nothing, I insist. Nothing here but doors and walls. No mysterious shades slink through the halls. No, and no, and no again. I heard nothing, I insist. Dare I fake, And continue my pretentious glamoured sleep, Or wake? I burrow deeper into my towered cushions, As if I might find a peaceful sleep Among my favorite plumpéd sheep. Was it? Or was it not it again.... Something? My hound-ish ears up spring again, Upon my nose a phantom stir, My eyes snapping wide this did incur, Out of my false rest it managed to lure, Cursing imaginative ears as my bane. No, no. Nothing, I rehearse. Not a shiver of a painting, Not some long dead ghost in waiting. No, and no, and no again. Nothing for my ears to hear, I rehearse. Do I dare to pee...

I've been thinking so much... Death is too easy, I don't want death.... I thought about slicing my thighs open, vertically starting at the knees to my hips ...just the aesthetic of it, flesh peeling back from the bone....It makes me laugh and feel giddy... Laughing SO MUCH. I'm shaking so much from adrenaline. I want to rip apart something with my sharp fangs, feel the blood gush and burst and pop in my mouth. I want to shred something to ribbons, the way I was. I was shredded into ribbons, and hung up to wither in a cold, numb, unfeeling meat locker, mafia style. My heart is palpating, pounding at my chest. I feel so feverish.. SO MUCH BLOODLUST.... So much pain...