The candle holds her gifts close to herself~
The coffee looks black, at her foot.~
Like judgment, it waits, growing colder~
The biscuit a bone moon, a circled graveyard~
The tablecloth is a pool of blood.~
I look at it, a promise in the wavering light~
You blow out the flame, and make it real.
Houses burn with dirty flames,~
dying cries weave in their roar.~
They are all out of tune.~
How inconsiderate the people are,~
she thinks.~
She paints her lips redder than the fire,~
humming soft and melodious.
night’s fingers tangle in my hair~
bind me to whispered fears~
carve pain in my words~
until I speak in blood~
Her eyes are so bright~
black and red and coldest grays~
how dull will the morning be, after her~
I beg her to keep me, and~
press myself against her thorns.
He says, it’s not because I age~
he finds me as beautiful as ever~
he tells me, but he needs~
to hear his divine soul~
he says~
and eschew his fleshy desires~
I see him stare at the silence of the garden~
in his eyes walk the lovers of his youth.
The barrister pleas idiocy~
the dancer spins to the hammering~
of the wizened judge~
He does not understand his plight~
and jumps to the rhythm~
of his life sentence~
Innocence is illegal now~
except for small dogs and children~
under three years of age
Our old pet lies buried in a shady spot~
near the lilies. We had cookies afterwards.~
No promised roses grow on her small grave~
but the nettles look bright and green.
ringed worms~
charmless harmonicas~
breathing the earth below me~
I could be a bird~
and spear them into day~
where we all could laugh~
at their antics~
but I sow grass in a blanket over them~
fulminating at my weakness
He puts away his whips and banks his fires~
takes off his hideous horns~
that never frightened me~
He turns away from me, without another glance~
and walks away, dispassionate~
I cry, in the shards of my soul~
that he just broke for eternity
Circled round the dozing fire~
embered thoughts, unspoken, shy~
hands lie still, their questions muted~
eyes hide themselves among the stars~
raised neck, waiting for the hungry kiss~
only dawn comes there to feed.
In his silent office~
the man lines up his armies:~
numbers and words, lit on his screen~
beyond the summer tinted double glazing~
a winter bird sings it’s unheard line~
icicles cling loving to trees and powerlines~
until they snap in the embraces~
and leave the man alone in his cubicle~
his eyes too dry for crying.
The streets lie safe beneath a skin of ice~
aseptic, like plastic wrapped meat~
people move clownesque over it’s new skin~
they have no place here~
now that their desires cannot root~
the town is clean this winter~
and very lonely
Good day sir, I would like~
a box of love, sliced~
a roll of passion~
a dozen smiles~
oh, and that set of nails~
with the old blood~
they are just perfect
The fog, you say, is a shroud~
but we wear black for the grave~
I will not fear her embrace~
I will be still in her pale hands~
the whisper of my blood~
a gift for her silence.
In her castle of ice,~
frog dreams of her prince~
with indolent longing.~
She will hold to him,~
webbed fingers so gentle~
all through the frost.~
Spring thaws will marry them,~
bound in her dreams,~
a feast for the larva
My lover tells me~
his devotion is as deep as the sea~
I look down in his proud face~
and see that he does look like a fish.~
I prefer their simple adorations~
they at least don’t scream as I cut their flesh.
Spewed out, flakes of greed,~
howling a dust of pain into the sky.~
Up, a flock of violence~
that condenses in a cloud of lies.~
The child cares not for it’s anger.~
It makes a snowman, a silent friend.
My lover returns from his job.~
He holds me, hungering.~
After we finished our meal,~
of gentle words, and certainties,~
he watches television.~
He needs to unwind, he says.~
Like every day, a zombie in electric light.~
Tomorrow he will love me again.
They look so young, as they mill about~
the chicken on their carnival legs.~
No memories, just their clownesque antics~
as they hustle each other for seeds.~
‘That one’ , I point it’s death~
and watch as the butcher beheads it.~
The others have so quickly forgotten their kin.
my lover, in his passion throes~
covers my back in long red grass~
he likes such things~
it makes him feel powerful~
later, he will look, in awe~
that I let him be so barbaric~
he doesn’t know that in his garden~
I keep a tiger snake for him~
my wild hunter,~
drink a last kiss from my lips?
Sing, fish, beneath the ice,
fill your languid world with silver.
A treasure in your darkness,
luring fat pirates to their doom.
Their heavy feet are too coarse
for your crystalline ceiling.
Sing, fish, your pretty songs
and they will come to feed you.
Will you dig for treasures~
among the ruin of my heart?~
Brush the autumn leaves away~
with impatient hands,~
ignore the dangling chrysalis~
that never hatched?~
You can open me when you wish~
but you’ll never find...
Below my feet
Brittle crackings
muted in snow
They sound just like
a squirrel’s bones,
a merry sound
Would it have screamed
mad defiance
or died silent?
My hand seeks it
but all it finds
are broken twigs
The heater hisses, a lazy snake /
that challenges the winter day. /
The snow does not look impressed, it dances /
through the freezing street, in grotesque capers. /
People hunch, wrapping their long abandoned wings around them /
They find no shelter in lost dreams /
Only a few children embrace the cold /
and make idols for it from the snow.
A tanka for You Teacher...
She walks through the mist/
Hiding in her own darkness/
Hand on her dagger/
Smelling her way through the fog/
New blood for to find/
Herlilone
Thank you for your attention and guidance. It is most appreciated. Please forgive my departure last night, I hope to see you again soon. Have a lovely day! ~~CrackingWise's sharrron
Please pardon my unannounced visit, and my previous barging in with no note. Very interesting page, i would be interested to see what sort of public room you would design. Steam punk? Cyber goth? Care bears? Have a wonderful day. -curtsies and backs out of the room, silently-
Initial pardons if I seem in stunned rodent mode. Grim days ahead, if recent events are any indication. But my, your page is haunting in a way that echoes, quite different from the typical slapdash bling one finds on here. I adore your primer as well- thou shalt not suffer a fool to type a single letter of chatspeak, by gods. Real words are a rare breed on imvu. Do add me if you feel so inclined: razory things, indeed. Delightful.
Due to recent developments, I've decided to post a primer here for people who wish to chat with me.
I don't like to waste my time.
The purpose of this is to inform, and also to put something here that will allow me extra justification to berate and insult idiots who contact me.
First. If you wish to talk to me, wonderful. I welcome good conversation and new perspectives. It's even better if we have some common interests.
However.
If you cannot use complete sentences, if you insist on ridiculously abbreviated typing, and if you just stand there like a stunned hamster and not offer any conversation I will not like you, and that means you will probably not like me. These facts will be made quickly apparent.
Please note that for those of you who come to English as a second language, I can be very forgiving.
Second. Even though I did not list D/s in my interests, I am getting a lot of people randomly asking me to dominate, humiliate, or otherwise own them.
Fine. I will state here that I do oppress others to sate my own hunger. But I am a epicure. I have very high standards. If you want to present yourself to me, you had best be prepared to answer some very sharp questions.
For example, why do you want to submit?
If you can't answer something so simple, don't even bother contacting me. And on that note, I don't 'cyber'. If all you are interested in is a digital porn mag, look somewhere else. IMVU is not short on that kind of material.
