Walking along the path you built,
Searching for the life you lost,
Darkened skies and greystone cobbles pave your way.
Stumbling and picking yourself up again and again,
Stopping to wonder if life is worth finding but you always continue on.
Sometimes you get the courage to look back. All you see are corpses rotting away.
Almost choking, nearly gagging, riddled with guilt,
The life you lost you threw away, not caring at what expense or cost.
Not caring what others think, do or say.
You push past them all, trudging along, unknowing if you or they are sane.
Over your shoulder you hear a familiar voice call out in agony. Unwilling now you are forced to go on.
Cursed, it seems, you find that you have the Midas Touch but twisted to ensure all you touch dies and decays.

Shiru Telal
March 1, 2002

Posted by Vladimir Sat, 06/09/2007 - 16:54

 

Thank you

Will I allow you to drag me down?

Will I allow you to hurt me now?

Will I spend the rest of my life wondering what I did this time?

Or will I stand up and walk away?

I am worthless,

I am foolish,

I am a disgrace.

Thank you for enlightening me.

I never would have known.

read more...

Ballad of the Sad Rat

I'm a lowly rat
in a vampire movie
Oh, woe is me
who'll bite me first?

Will it be Tom
So cute and curly,

Or pretty Brad
who looks so hurt?

These hunks from Hell
are all around me,

And how their fangs
do make me squeak.

Sweet little Kirsten?
Won't even pet me

She just says 'Yuk'
Though she's very sweet.

Oh, thank you, Larry
Liz Smith, I love you.

And dearest Oprah
How good thou art.

read more...

Requiem for a Memory

When I am alone in the night
The velvet darkness reminds me:
Of the whisper-soft touchof your hair,
Of the deep midnight pools of your eyes,
Of your raiment; so like the night itself;
Clinging, cloaking, shielding
With dark mirrors of illusion,
Of the jewels at your throat; jet on ivory.
The images invoked by my memory
Catalysed by the very darkness
We shared.
Your image is engraved upon my eyelids
Inescapable.
I am a prisoner of my memories,
Trapped in a glass box
Like a killing jar,

read more...

The Power of Fantasy

On Thanksgiving Day 1996, Roderick Ferrell, 16, from Murray, Kentucky, led a pack of kids to Eustis, Florida, where he killed the elderly parents of a former girlfriend. Ferrell had lived in Eustis for a year and had then returned to Kentucky, where he'd gotten involved with a fantasy role-playing game called Vampire: The Masquerade.

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Going Under

I knew it was coming, I heard it coming, but I said nothing.
I felt my worry increase but was afraid he'd think I cared too much and would back off.
I painfully stepped around the glass until he told me what was going on:
I had to cross the razors beneath my feet slowly, as to not cut myself and bleed to death in his sight.
I simply sat silent as he complained to me, yet I felt my shoulders slump, my energy sag.
His pain oozed over my confused flesh and I turned black for him.
My silence scared him away, but he left the glass behind for me.

read more...