crowns of flame
Current mood: coldCrowns of flame.through the shara we run armies of thousands, hooves beat a warpath before us your sultan is gone nothing more than rages lost to the sand, scorpions and snakes trampled under foot, wind gives us speed as death comes to you on the end of rebels blades. I bring you war, through the walls of flames we ride heat comes from our breath we burn as the sun under the night we ride she gives us shelter as you prepare for this onslaught. Water is gone so we thirst for your blood. Liquid is liquid when we come for your lost borders, barriers are lost footprints in the sand. I am your beast of burden. To claim the land of kings once again for that king that you watched die, we come on his spirit our horses cannot die, we feed upon the bones of our vanquished, and we come from the darkness, to take your sun away. To feed upon the oil to claim our gold again, take our temples and will take your lost. We come to claim our gold.Our sweat rises in the desert heat we only come out at night, we write our scripts on the veils of smoke to watch them dissipitate as they are written. Kali calls but we cannot call upon a dead name. We are the royalty of the sand and we claim our throne, we take on the sweat of virgins and on the strength of a movement. Your apart of the flame, never to be extinguished. "WE WANT VENOM!"We want to dance with the serpents as they lick us with their tongues of flame, to dance under the starless night lost in each others eyes. To sail through the seas of ..:namespace prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" /Siam, through there water ways we will conquer. Forgotten as they , they lay hidden inside us all.We are the tribal that your fallen have now blessed, we are the tribal, and we've come to dance from within out our hearts. Gold shimmer through flared noses, chained.Pedestal to stand against the ever shifting soil, our war is our only toil. To claim grace, with out the thoughts of greed. Flowers we are, flowers of the desert and we have no thorns. You won't bleed by our touch only by our steel.White sheets draped over the dead, to veil them from the life of the living. We sing the song of the dead, our veins weep for them, and the sky rains her blessing as we dance under the starless night. The moon shimmers upon us as we lay softly on the sand watching the temptresses move to music sang from angels of the sand.
such a beauty that has befallen me, to whisper words of lust into my ear,
to teach me how to give her pleasure in every breathe, every pulse of her heart, to worship her as a godess, to cleanse her flesh, her heart her body,
to watch her every move, her every look,
to know what she wants just form the movement of her eyelashes, in one wink i became her puppet, to long for every word she spoke, to want her through the ages, to long for her sweat as it ran over my body, to love her, no matter what it cost me.
ode to emilie autum
Eaten, Beaten, or starved
In darkness I sleep,
Robbing the heat from a freshly gutted corpse,
Lying closely to me,
I shall lay here
Until she begins to rob me of my warmth.
Until she awakens.
To feed upon her own
She will be my rose
And I will be her thorn.
together we will become unborn.
Omniesscence of a blood spay pattern.
The scene of blood, arched like a rainbow across the ceiling floor and walls,
She lay their among her victims.
Covered in their essence, savoring, tasting licking their wounds clean,
Blood is still warm, becoming sticky, clinging to her living flesh,
Matted in her hair,
clotting in her eyelashes like tears of the forgotten.
BRASS TACKS
Brass tacks driven into wood,
Brass tacks to label the wood,
Brass tacks left by suicide scars
Brass tacks to spell your initials,
Brass tacks to label the dead,
Brass tacks left by hands that bleed,
Brass tacks to label you,
Brass tacks on wood to soft,
Brass tacks on a lid that would not close,
Brass tacks that can’t seal us in’
Brass tacks to keep us safe at night,
Brass tacks that glimmer under the pale full moon,
Brass tacks by rivers that flow much too slow,
Brass tacks as the crimson shimmers on forgotten flesh,
Brass tacks that will never spell another name
Brass tacks driven with precision,
Brass tacks from one sharp incision.
Brass tacks on a coffin much too old,
Brass tacks driven by wood that will never split.
Brass tacks.
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