The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

The dead will tell the truth, not the living,

So let's surrender ourselves to suffering,

Beget what you will to passion,

But I will never surrender to ashes.

Perfection granted, beneath such beauty,

Developed by dainty supple moments of captivity,

How false could this haven of forest be,

A everest of waters, a raven's feather beseech me.



But no doubt, this ponders me, what questions I have,

As I joust at my pen, so quilled at a frilled hand,

Be housed as the summer steal, be not as tender,

As the newborn petal, but frail as the woven sand.



As glass only cracks under pressure,

But can be contained and rained upon,

And looks so gorgeous within the dawn,

I cannot imagine a prettier sight with a pawn.

No matter how far apart these two entities,

Always shining, burning at critical concerto,

I find myself staring at a waining whimpering,

What would make them feel so endearing.



Two hearts contained in ethereal moments,

So refined as a mistified misery memory,

What worthiness do I hold dear to embrace them,

Stars are so beautiful at dawn when they shimmer.



I just love such holiness, awaiting a shiver,

A slimmer tiding mist, a swaying temptress,

How evening could be this sweet I wonder,

Never again will I doubt myself; so bliss.

Conceived by haunting of lesser words,

A worth of lost proportion, so deft of the herd,

I stumble down staircases, slippery as hooked,

upon what may be a plight of dreary crooks.



Could we be naught in agony I spout,

A pleasant plea, such a request of greater words,

Be it not imagination that brought me here,

But of a cold, yet inferno heart, frigid.



Pigeons dance, but falcons droop,

As the twitching dies from the stoop,

Could a simple simile be enough to describe,

Whatever may come from my dying eyes?

I'll see you in Heaven or Hell,

Which ever comes first.

These faeries with no notion of purge seem to say,

To me a dancing of dirge, of dire circumstance,

A beautiful rain drop of whimsical proportion,

Teardrop eyes so rambunctious, tongue so fragile.



What could they mean amongst skies so unique?

Ravenous in their ways, dragging me with their dragons,

Trying me with their tickling tests and tearing tears,

How could love be so thoughtful yet so wordless.



What shall I do next? Wait? Bind? Unwind?

Remember my teachings I say to myself,

But hunger remains, thirst remains, the beating remains,

Yet all these swirling pictures are still the same.

Infested waters writhe with such agonizing cries,

I die inside as the stomach churns in a slow murr,

With a bellowing symphony of cacophony,

Why does my thirst grow for such tainted meat?



Could this be insanity or some sort of affliction?

I do not know nor care but my eyes seem to grow heavy,

Palms so ready to grasp at the hollow eve,

A serrated dawn, a mirrored dusk, a wanderer,

What was his name?



I do not know nor care but my eyes seem to grow heavy.

Is that me in the mirror? Or some shadow of a man?

What could it mean to me in epiphany,

In despair I cry an unholy rapture,

A beautiful creature unbound, oh joyful angst.

Hidden empathy entraps me in avarice,

A lost word to ages past, such eras loving,

Touching such lustful lips of mine,

Worsening with whispers, devour my essence.



He could never please you the way I do my dear.

A nibble the ear as the forsaken words caress.

Distress is my call, a horizon of thoughts curve,

The awakening of slurs, justice will be done quick.



Have not heart, hath not wrath for I will soon,

Be without force or weakness for solace is ours,

Separation is a quickening of somber attitudes,

Leveling the dust is such a sweet solitude.

Killing intentions I begin this rhyme,

Conceptual designs to a fraud of me,

But without a syncopation of any mathematical festival,

I cannot reborn her.



She slumbers in that same dress that I took her life,

My sweet, succulent doll, so cold to touch,

Like ice on the window sill, like frozen snow,

Just before the tundra mourning morn.



I sigh and she awakens.



Has sorrow taken control through fallen wishes?

Why can we only rebirth through nightmares?

Why dost thou sun forsake my eyes?

And the light in yours blind mine?

Awake she says, yet frowning in contempt,

Why oblivion takes us I say, but no matter,

I cannot grasp her intentions, this belov'ed one,

She partly sways with that stillborn dress.



How she tempts me, a phantom, an opera of muses,

A mute of my designs but so frank of terms,

How quiet this evening, the brink of dusk,

My blade so watered, edged and dying of rust.



What have I done to her that she fangs at me.

My little mistress of eden, and I the snake eyes,

She only claws at me now, so voracious in her ways,

Continuously asking for more of my nape in her days.

Vices enlighten such subjugated embrace,

A culled enraptured trace of red,

Crimson breasts so clean yet dirt stained,

Like fragments of timed spewed upon,



We whisper yet search beyond for furs,

Weeping as oaken memories, waists entwined,

Would she be mine and I hers again?

Against sullen eyes, so sultry a princess of lies.



Only darkness is our gift but I bestow graves,

Crosses and obituaries. Roses for a dying bride.

Why has this cut so deeply, A single droplet for teeth,

Yet so much a pint for a headlless steed.

Oh Empathy has taken me again.

To this oh so familiar place where that Cerberus lies in wait,

Straddling cindered bones, so I walk slowly,

Vigilantee me, blade bound, blood bound,

Soulless stare in state insane or maybe just to blame.



Who started this war, was it a wondrous tune?

Or maybe a fool, I couldn't tell the difference,

No matter, I stumble forward in alliance with dae,

Daylight dies, the labyrinth door shuts and resides before me,

Only husks and corpses and breath.



Arise he says, yet I am paralyzed,

Die he says, yet I am terrified,

Shall I continue to my tomb?

No, It seems fire is what I consume.

Whistling for water would only work,

With an ocean so wide it could awaken,

The crack in my heart, such pride for a fallen angel,

How mundane such speech = but so hopeful.



She started this fire - a phoenix of ashes forgotten,

So begotten a mystery of lovely colors,

Mauve, carnivore, cannibalistic intentions,

Avioxis and toxic to the touch,

The willow tree stands tall - yet burnt.



What watery passion, sated with strands of pillow,

Kept with caution but fierce as undying eyes

Shallow steps, developed by an envelope of stitches,

Felt, velvet, jolting me back to her auburn kiss.

Degraded by divinity, I delve so devilish.

Why could this blood of mine boil again?

A furrowed brow beating so heart felt,

Aligned by Good but such deceiving thoughts.



Cold embrace, pin pricks make me somber,

Diseased easings on an artist's easel,

A memory of shattered, stained glass,

Sorrowed surrender of temptation.



Such beautiful agony I feel, yet so warm.

Heavy hearted as a wing cuts the storm,

Without ghosts as champions crowning,

I turn so bitterly frowning.



My princess she lays so sweet,

Lying naught and without speech,

Would you feel the same with blackened whispers?

Deserted from forbidden seeds, heading home I speak.