szayelthehound

Silent nights pass by. But your heart beats oh so loud. Vampyric Urges.

Life has meaning, purpose and a self determined goal. I realize this now,  my heart formerly black as coal. Crafted into a diamond, by the wonders of love. Yet no matter how hard I really try, I cannot look above. Above in the dead of night I just want to look up at the sky. But what is really happening cracks me, I begin to cry. For I’m looking down to the infinite darkness below Gravity restrains me from it, but what keeps me from letting go? Letting go of my life, despite it being at times quite swell. Is it the consequence of grief unto others, or the possibility of hell? People would surely miss me, as I rot 6 feet underground.

Over the rainbow waxing majestically over serene sky, I rest beneath an oak tree’s shade. For I am not worthy of the light of day, the warm embrace of love’s tender caress. For I am not deserving of care and compassion, consciousness drifts so careless Over the waning waters I dance alone, a white reflection my only friend in life's escapade.

Upon his throne of orchids he lives a peaceful life. One of gardening and cheerful hums of the lord. Yet deep inside this king is stricken with strife. Memories of the past, and aspiration for the underworld. Love of his people, yet hurt to the very core. A monarch of monsters, his majesty, Asgore.

Twas an abysmally dark night this Hallows eve, blackened to the point that shadows dare not attempt to prance, fearful of wasted effort. I, a man of few pleasures, sat isolated in my study. Cobwebs cloaked this cathedral of bookshelves and peculiar caricatures that has been my home for half a decade now. Gazing out the window I looked upon the haunted shores. Ghosts of the past danced in the embrace of the waxing moon. Memories of me and my dearest were all I thought about when my nose wasn’t buried into a folktale or any piece of literature. Even then, I dare not dive into an adventure consisting of two star crossed lovers, no matter t

Darkness envelopes my very being. I weep and sob yet there is no end to this void of cold onyx black. The shadows whisper vile, sickening secrets about my life that I never even began to fathom. It’s as if I was Christ at the cross, except with a crown of poetry and whips of words, all negative, all vile. Water begins to fill this desolate tomb which has encased me miles beneath the surface of the living, a hypothermia demise. Winter enters my lungs like smoke from an abusive father’s cigarette, i cough and wheeze gasping for either air or end, yet neither come to me. The chamber drains and I begin to shiver, exhaling my lungs o

Serenading in the sunfall’s requiem, she manifests before her resting place, gliding hauntingly. Cascade of lifeforce streams down her porcelain white face, ravened eyes pierce the stars above. Remnant of life tragically ended by despair, the banshee kneels before a century old tombstone. Euphoric harks the specter, despite a seemingly tragic demise at the hands of the oppressors. A question always to be unanswered, is hell the fate of who slit their wrist to escape suffering? Majestically she turns her head and nods, telepathy with the deceased, I drop my exit and…