Which is real?

untitled by unknown

untitled by unknown

i knew when the ad said
‘see both sides of yourself’
what the photo would show
i still went
in hopes of recognizing
myself
the real me
in one of the faces

i’ve stared for hours
over the last week
the pleasant mask
hides it all
but the almost comical fear
(or is that surprise?)
was a shock

now i wonder
if the monster is the outward
professional plastic smile
and the fear is the real me?

what if this mask is actually
what ‘real-life-zombies’ look like?


I’ll always be here.

Insomnia by Demon Flame From DeviantArt at http://demonflame.deviantart.com/art/Insomnia-178609421

Insomnia by Demon Flame
From DeviantArt at http://demonflame.deviantart.com/art/Insomnia-178609421

I wish I could tell her, and I wish she could hear. Whenever she hears the swing out here creak, or the long slow exhale, she’d know I was here. Whenever the midnight wolves chased her into nightmares, or the dark places she walked enveloped her, she should know I’m here. Always here.

But she didn’t know, I couldn’t reach her. I should get used to thinking in past tense. She left, forever beyond my reach, and I’ll never be able to tell her, show her, I’m here. I guess this means I am alone now, and all was for nothing.

She would laugh at me, if she could see me. So much work, suffering, and sacrifice to stay. She always used to say I’d be the one to leave first. She was right, and wrong.

I’ll always be here.


playtoy

i know i shouldn’t like him
but that smile
he just has to flash that smile
my insides melt
i become his plaything
and i know he likes me like that
all gooey and mold-able

i should grow a spine
be angry
but instead i watch it
urge the smile to reappear
like a flower that waits for the sun

i know how dangerous his life is
and how much danger i’m in
hanging around him
but how could i walk away
from those dimples
and sparkling eyes?


Present for the Vampire that has Everything

image by davnull on Flickr

she had completed countless
elixirs of love and fame
buckets of alchemic
‘hay into gold’
and hundreds of invisibility,
flight, and even a few cures

her craft was highly guarded
she never advertised
and vetted every customer
through divine spells
and truth systems
redundant to hell and back

she finished the final touches
on the poison
the only one she had ever
accepted a commission for
it was so specific and the intent
of the purchaser
felt true somehow

every harmful creation
by design, could not harm her
she had contracts and lawyers
on retainer, just incase
but the potion itself
she knew
was her masterpiece
it seethed of death
darkness no light could reach
and pain, exquisite pain

she called it
‘Little Death”
because on top of all the other symptoms,
the imbiber would orgasm
to death


beginning to blur

image by jeangoff on Flickr

every night her dream was the same
blood red reflection
uncharacteristic pose
barren landscape with winter trees
burnt sky that hung in the back of her throat
and the Gothic frame that she somehow knew
was cold enough to freeze skin

she watched herself be watched
someone with lust and power on their mind
wanted her to see, to feel the watched shiver
they showed her doing horrible things
to strangers every night, and afterwards always
this image frozen until she woke
like a snapshot of things to come
unavoidable

the voices during the day
had grown louder
and everywhere she looked
eyes, faces watched her
whispered her destiny

she doesn’t want to sleep anymore
but she doesn’t want to hallucinate
and the distinctions are beginning to blur


family secret

source unknown from Flickr

i never willingly showed anyone
my fashion was dictated by it
no one is supposed to have
an eye on their arm

i tried to lovingly label it
my third eye
but who was i kidding?
it’s an eye socket
along with tear ducks and lashes
no eye ball
no sight
although it does itch
in the morning sometimes

my family pretends it doesn’t exist
my boyfriends have never seen it
my doctor wouldn’t believe her eyes
but i live with it

the one person outside the family
who knows about it
is our preacher
and he calls me spawn
includes the word spawn in his sermons
and spends extra time blessing me
about once a month he asks
if my curse has ended yet
i just shake my head

no one knows
late at night
i can feel an eyeball there
wiggling around
and i have to physically hold
the lid shut to avoid seeing
the glowing red pupil
staring at me


it came to be know as the Death Barn

Image by +Pat Kight. on Google+

i knew i had to go in
but my legs wouldn’t move
my stomach fought my control
the smell threaten to turn my brains to mush

death hung around the barn
in a cloud of fumes
no one could mistake
the whole team waited for my move
and i had to master myself
but still my legs rebelled

“Hey boss, you want I should go in first?”
Lui called fromt he back of the crowd
showoff
i held my hand up for silence
and took a step further into the fog
of burnt flesh
rotten organs
and ritual magic
all of which fought in my brain
for supreme evilest smell

“Wait a minute, didn’t we create spell
to block these aromas?”
i called over my shoulder
“Yeah, but we have to wait
for the initial sweep, as smells tell us
as much as any other sense,” my doomed answer came

fuck me, i hate this work
i forced my body to obey
i walked and placed my hand
i pushed the giant creaky door open
waves of smells and lingering magic
crashed against me

i love this job