Just some things I've written in the past 2 months.
Title: Is this death?
Tonight I slept in a cold, dark place. The darkness; it knows my name Mommy. It
knows who I am. The darkness; it's horrible to me. It tricks me into doing things I
don't want to do. It made me cry. Does the darkness know your name? It watches me
sleep Mommy, I don't like it. It watches me from the distant shadows; I can't see
it. But I can feel it. It's stalking me. Mommy, help me escape from the darkness. I
don't know where I am. What happened to me? I feel no pain though, why is this? Why
can't I feel pain Mommy. Why aren't you here?
Title: The Fallen Angel.
Forever falling; the Fallen Angel, she can't stop screaming, she can't stop crying.
Her wings tainted in her very own tears; hence the sepia-toned mix with the light
grey. The bones shaping out the wing stick out; piercing the thinned layer of flesh
that stretch across her wings, the flesh remains on yet is chapping off slowly. Her
back is marked with scarlett red lashes from a bullwhip; devouring the scars that
were there before the lashes. Her eyes, quite a feature, the iris in her eyes
disorientated and the whites of the eye a pale brown colour; with reddish and
greenish veins implanted the eyeball. The body of the Angel is left to rot; as she
falls in silence, but yet she screams forever.
Title: Invisible Traffic.
The lantern posts are shining a charming gothic black; been lit up by the
flickering
candle flame that glows behind the cracked up glass. The pavement a greyish colour;
with shades of white and crusted brown. The cars that stay on the curb all appear
to
have people if you gaze into the windows; screaming. If you look inside up close;
they quickly fade away. The houses' windows have been boarded up by planks of wood;
you can sometimes see the occasional eye peeping through the cracks as you walk the
streets alone, not even accompanied by your own shadow. Sometimes you can hear
sirens; screams; the distant chatter and cynical laughter of children; but once you
turn around; there's nothing there. Just the streets, just the streets devouring
your sanity as you walk through.
Title: The Lurkers.
You toss and turn in your covers; feeling another presence in your room. You turn
the covers over you, so it covers your whole body; everything is shrouded. You let
out your left leg for a bit, to cool down from the burning heat from the inside the
covers; afterall it's summertime and the heat is out to get you. You decide to let
your other leg and arms out to refresh yourself. Suddenly; you find yourself
paralysed with fear, but from what exactly? You feel something crawling up your
leg;
not even a bug; but it as if feels like somebody's finger; not with skin though;
more
bony than normal; more colder than normal. You try to move but you can't. The
feeling
spreads through all of your body; goosebumps; crawling; itching; but worst of all
the
feel of somebody's presense. You can hear something as if breathing; you silence
yourself for a bit; holding your breath. You hear heavy breathing; you hear it
clearer and clearer; it's getting closer, closer and closer. An invisible hand
touches your face; you can't see anything; you can only feel. You can slightly move
again; your words stutter as you ask a simple "who's there..." but within a spark;
your body is relaxed again; not a single uncomfortable thing reeling on your body;
only the feeling that you have is that something was there; lurking in the
darkness;
hiding in the shadows; waiting for you to make a move.
Title: Hells' Gates.
Deep under the ground; where the earth's core meets;
Stands a desolate prison; for the most discordant freaks;
A steamy mist vapouring in the distance;
Where demonic creatures prance;
Lined up against the wall;
The devil screams up the sacred call;
Torn leather; stretches across the wing;
Ghastly decorations cover up his ghoulish grin;
Each bit of this monstrous land made up of hatred and sin;
Screams of blistering dispair muffled over the demons' villainnous hym;
Distorted images of torture cover the whole land;
Where dreams come to die; where nightmares come to expand;
Hearing the satanic bell;
He welcomes you into hell.
Title: Inside the Mirrors.
You walk to the bathroom, switch on the lights; splash some water on your face and
towel-dry your skin. You look over to the mirror and notice a fingerprint of some
sort... You try rubbing them off the mirror but they wont come off; you turn around
behind you and try rubbing them off the bathroom tiles. You then notice that; the
fingerprints aren't on the mirror and they aren't on the tiles, but they're from
inside the mirror; the other side.
Title: Dreaming inside a Nightmare.
Running through the endless corridors, trying to find an escape.. anybody can go
insane from been isolated within these hallways. The darkness is approaching;
a stalker that you can't escape from. You run faster, faster and faster, but you
can
feel the eerie breath of an unknown force take itself upon you. You stop suddenly;
you feel paralysed, you can't move. Luminescent red eyes glow upon you; goosebumps
take ahold of your whole body.. and as the darkness lurches itself towards you; you
finally wake up.. And back to room one; in the mental asylum.
May 17, 2009 @ 18:22:48
