-Seeking Cries-

Silence finally breaks her thoughts
Such pain she had endured now gone
A cripple to the deepest of dark
Crawling from her hallow keep

A tapping below her sounds the night
Alerting her, eyes now wide
Ready to receive the horror beyond
Emanating from that lonesome cry

Her wings spread out by tendencies of own
Hands grasping the air as she had flown
Across the trees and rivers of ale
And into the tavern of that painful call

She holds herself upwards and walks into
The damp realm of shadowing hues
And into the dark her figure fades
In search of the eyes she had seen gaze

Calling out a plead to save one's sorrow
From the travesties of dreams she fights
Alighting herself in the moon's soft ray
She stands to find her own eyes seeking

The river reflects her appearance disheveled
The form of the fallen sent to die
Her mind set down the path in desperation
To find only herself in the end

The cry was her own
Loneliness coaxing her to seek
Another figure fading deep
Into their own heart's black hole

Sing for the Little Red Birds

I dream of this color, it always seems to be there for me when I need something to take away all of my pain.  With the potential alliance with the color of black, my red is always there to comfort the feeling inside.  I hide them forever sleeping dormant in my heart until the one night when I can let it sing it's bloody song.

Oh, how the red birds sing to me.  They sing with my heart as well.  Oh, how I wish to be one of them, but my jealous becomes so overwhelming.  I must hurt them until they sing no more.  Their singing taunts of how I will never be free.

Die and Die Again you horrid birds.  Sink beneath the earth and there let your carcase  rot!  Never again will I hear your blasted song of bloody memories, but I will have my color red to help me with my woes.  And about my chamber, their feathers are hung.  The pretty color red of their feathers also to remind me of the deed I had done.

Poor little red birds.

A SINNER'S TALE

So you sinned last night.  Let me tell you what becomes of sinners...

There is a story of one such as you, who committed the sin of lechery.  She has no name and no recognizable face for such is done to the sinner in that long ago time.  They took her to a rock and fastened down her arms with 6 chains covered in her own blood.  Such was the way of that time.

Her arms now chained and her freedom lost, they striped her of her clothes and brought 6 female virgins to be sacrificed above her limp body.  And, as the blood was spraying down on her face, the strongest men were to rape her where she lay.

60 times she was to be raped until her body could sustain no more.  Then, with her weakness now eminent, she was to take her 6 bloodied chains each attached to the 6 sacrificial virgins and travel to the village square where the 6 men who had raped her would finish the ceremony of the lecher.

=Needle and Thread=

In and out threw the fabric of flesh, my needle will travel a smile in the thread.  Oh, he beauty I behold with each nip and tuck, a picture coming alive with my imaginary visions of dancing corpses to guide it.  Sit silently while I work it and behold the wonder of my achievements:  the pretty picture world that I can always believe in.

Dance on, my pretty image corpses!  Dance on to the knee and below to the muscle of my legs.  Dance to the music I have created in my head to sooth the savage soul of it's horrors of needle and thread.  And dance on to my thigh where the scare of a tear drop resides, a reminder of her face sinking down in my thoughts.

Oh beauty, my eyes do behold, with the work finally complete.  Rubbing my hands down the fabric of my flesh, a feeling described as the scars of the needle's feast.  Tear away the images that elude in my mind; and, replaced with the darling picture of his soul and mine, I color in my design with liquid of pure blood.

The fantasy now complete, the dream nearing the point of awakening, I close my eyes and drink in the smell of my work ever done with care.  Now to be hidden from the world so my secret I could not share.  Oh sinical visions, imaginary lines that form my skin, I will play with the needle and thread soon as the day has come to an end complete and final, and once again...

I play with my the thread... to form these images in my head.

I look down faced with my own guilt of self depression.  I raise my hand to my face.  Slap it out of me.  Slap the pain away.  Or

should I hit myself.  It would work so much better.  No, I should burn myself.  No, stab.  No, kill.  Yes, I should kill myself, then all of this would go away.  Nothing would be left.

I look down faced with my own fist.  It hurt didn't it?  So I still feel this sadness.  I should hit you again, shouldn't I?  I should hit you until you realize that you're a coward.  I lift my fist again.  The strike must harder this time.  It still hurts...  I should hit harder.  I should hit until you it doesn't hurt anymore.  No, I should kill myself.  No pain.  No pain after I kill myself.  No pain to remind me of the sadness within.

I look down faced with my own knife.  The cut on my face bleeds the pain I held within.  But it still hurts doesn't it?  It hurts, so I should stab you again.  I should stab you until it doesn't hurt again.  You're a coward.  You can't even endure you're own voice.  You can't control me.  You can't supress your own fear.  I lift my knife again.  Another cut across my cheek forming a cross.  I should pray.  You should ask him forgiveness.  I should let him take you.  No more sadness inside.  Just another cut across my cheek.

So do you feel better now?  Do you feel better with his mark on your cheek?  He's so close to you now.  You should feel safe.  You should feel better when you die, right?  It's always better when you're dead, isn't it?  Why aren't you answering me?  Where did you go?  Where are you?  Why did you leave me alone?  I'M NOT A COWARD!  Please, just come back...

I fall to my knees and look down faced with my own guilt of self depression, with my own fist's mark across my neck, with my own blade's cuts across my cheek.  I look down. I look down and know that I am a coward.

It hurts doesn't it?