Innsmouth Girl (Uptown Girl Parody)Innsmouth girlInnsmouth Girl (Uptown Girl Parody)2 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
She's been living in her Innsmouth world
I bet she's never had unchanged guy
I bet the Marshes never told her why
I'm gonna try for an Innsmouth girl
She's been living in her black reef world
As long as anyone with fine gills can
And now she's looking for a Arkham man
That's what I am
And then she knows what
He wants from His Sign
And then He'll wake up
And shake up her mind
She'll see I'm not so tough
I'm in love with an Innsmouth girl
You know I've seen her in her Innsmouth world
She's getting tired of her sea port's noise
And all her trinkets from her Innsmouth boys
She's got a choice
You know I can watch her gills unfurl.
But maybe someday when my ship comes in
She'll understand what kind of guy I've been
And then I'll swim
And when she's changing
She's looking so fine
And when she's swimming
She'll say that it's time
She'll say I'm not so tough
Just because I'm in love
With an Innsmouth girl
She's been living i
Four-and-Twenty CultistsSing along everyone - this one's rather jolly! (the rhyming scheme at least).Four-and-Twenty Cultists2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I saw angels dance with devils
under winter's crystal sky.
Old men passed between them,
crying "Dead men never die!"
Then the oceans fell before us,
as the dead began to sing.
Heavens parted wider;
winds prickled at our skin.
Now Satan awakes slowly,
like shadows on the sands.
Together we beg forgiveness,
as he lacerates our hands.
The landscape lies broken,
as stones roll through the hills.
Stars are growing brighter,
fed by blood of untold kills.
Death bends his toxic breath,
exuding nameless streams.
and crimson coloured dreams.
Encroaching TerrorHuckle-hunting crack-backed wormsEncroaching Terror3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
'neath jeering, leering tangled forms.
Branches breaking, bending, sending
shivers down my mangled spine.
Fine, everything's just fine.
Backward glancing, I see dancing
shadows, shadows that aren't mine.
Time, time ever racing, chasing,
pacing, my footsteps ever hastening;
tasting the seconds as they fade away.
Decay comes quickly, sickly;
stenches, wrenches my groaning gut.
Moaning, roaming through the leaves,
weaves the yearning, burning thing of night.
Sight, I am robbed of sight.
Blinding, something hidden binding,
twining, snaking round my aching useless eyes.
Sighs, the sighs of something very close;
those whispered, blistered wrecks of breath.
Death, the final fleck, silently shivers,
my withered slivered, writhing neck.
Cerberus and SiriusIn the nighttime I were glancing,Cerberus and Sirius2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to the heavens, softly dancing,
where the starlight lay entrancing
thoughts within my mind.
Sirius, I spied in wonder,
the brightest light we live here under;
the Dog Star clad in wildest splendor.
Then there came again to enter,
another thought within my mind.
All the ground below is hiding,
shadow depths so filled with dying.
All those realms so secret sighing;
Hades' hound stirs with his crying:
Cerberus, that beast of thunder,
with three heads to tear asunder
any who might seek to wander
to that starless hidden realm.
Dwelling on these myths, I question'd
if in fable they were lessen'd,
in their act of giving lessons?
For, in truth, there is but this:
a choice betwix two canine myths.
Each journeys as inclines his pith,
to Cerberus or Sirius.
Shall we, our daylight seek to squander,
to succor Cerberus whole lies there under?
Or shall we forsake our fears to clamber;
surmount Sirius, and heavens plunder?
In which hard task shall we persist?
The Moon and NeptuneWith silent grace she shines aloft.The Moon and Neptune3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Somnolent stars suffuse face soft.
Gossamer drifts of shifting clouds
cast shadows on a pearly brow.
Waves spin tales of sailors' yarns,
hidden swathes of ancient charms.
Seabirds' cries and creaking calls,
waters whipped by singing squalls.
Neptune urged with surging shifts,
destruction of the struggling skiffs.
To straggling rocks the sinking ships,
sleeping sands each sadly slips.
RevelationsI saw Him rise and He does exist,Revelations3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
came and saved a sinning atheist.
Showed me light when I saw none,
paved the way for the path I'm on.
Now I know what's required of me,
the Lord has come and set me free.
With pen in hand I write this line,
and watch the stars as they realign,
Others laugh and call me names,
they'll soon perish in His flames!
None of them would take a look,
as I opened up the holy Book!
I pray and plead to join the throng,
worshipers that know Your song!
Come take me to the distant place,
insane in the arms of mad embrace!
Oh Great Lord Cthulhu!
How one Dead Views the LivingMy life had always been painted in sombre greys. In death, how it blossoms!How one Dead Views the Living3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
When the rains come, the watery drops fall like tears of ink: echoing and dancing across sparkling sapphire puddles. The sun, a golden mystic orb, shedding its beauty on all it touches.
I see rustic weather-beaten cragged faces of the old, set with eyes of faded blue. I behold bright smiles and blushes upon the fat cheeks of the young. My ears prickle with the twirling thousand-noted song of birds. The beauty of all these things I never observed in life, now bursts upon my ripened senses - in death.
In a trance I view this new-found paradise. Life, I have come to realise, is most beautiful to the spectator. The spectator has no need for understanding or judgement.
I look upon a derelict dilapidated street, filthy with squalor. I cast my eyes over the crumbling paintwork of rotting window frames, housing broken panes. Here and there sickly weeds break through mouldering masonry.
Oh what a picture, what a spectac
The Seraphim of Cobwebbed HallsSilently I heard her whispering,The Seraphim of Cobwebbed Halls2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
pallid ivory lips soft lisping,
Paper drifting slowly shifting,
from the bedroom's mildewed walls.
In these halls stirs vaguest chanting,
whippoorwills their cries decanting;
psycopomps in midnight sighing,
just outside these mildewed walls.
Huddled forms sprawl stealthily creeping,
countless spiders surging sweeping,
toward the bed where she lies sleeping,
the maiden of these mildewed walls.
Trapped within that pall's mass trembling,
writhes the one I stayed here tending,
all those bleak nights never-ending,
within these wretched mildewed walls.
Blasphemous birds fall shrieking mocking,
through the window thickly flocking,
to snatch the soul of that thing rotting,
my sweet seraphim of cobwebbed halls.
The Curse of Octavia (Archaic Horror Story!)~7,000 words, complete story. Cookies at the end!The Curse of Octavia (Archaic Horror Story!)2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It was a golden autumn day when I first beheld Octavia drifting through the winding woods, her small footsteps crunching over the fallen leaves. Burning crimsons, fiery oranges and washed-out browns all lay about her feet. Her hair was long, flowing auburn; her face and figure brilliant and dainty, with some elusive mesmeric grace whose origin I failed to trace. But it was her eyes that held me; they were dark liquid pools of eternity, their depths unfathomable, mysterious and serene. In those wells of midnight wonder, something wild, pagan and mischievous seemed to lurk; it was in the subtle shades of light that played across their lustre, making them flash amid the waning rays of coming dusk.
She stopped before me, seemingly arrested by my gaze. It was this that brought my senses flooding back to me. I realised, with a shock, how rudely I'd been surveying her as I lost myself in contemplation of her bewitching beauty.
I uttered a brie
BirthBirthBirth2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
La lune gardienne fantôme immaculée des ombres s'évapore dans le halo gigantesque du soleil levant.
Les lampadaires sont encore allumés.
Avec le soleil qui se lève, ça donne
un air féerique à la seine.
Les trainées roses caressent l'azur
comme la trace d'un doigt divin
et la sirène dans le ciel
s'efface vers des horizons plus purs
pour retrouver le cur
qui manque à sa poitrine
Ca y est, l'enfantement du jour
est terminé. Les humains pressés
peuvent aller travailler.
JOURNAL DA II - mariage homo, lave plus blancExplorons aujourd'hui la question qui occupe plus la société française que les millions de chômeurs, les déserts médicaux et la visite d'un néo-fasciste sur la tombe du général de Gaulle : le mariage joyeux, dit aussi mariage gai. Je ne comprends pas pourquoi autant de gens gueulent contre le mariage gai, en général, c'est plutôt festif, un mariage.JOURNAL DA II - mariage homo, lave plus blanc2 years ago in Editorial More Like This
Examinons le point de vue des contradicteurs, ceux qui aiment le mariage triste. En gros :
"Le mariage est le fondement de la société, dont le but est de s'assurer de la continuité par la procréation. Il nécessite donc la présence d'un homme et d'une femme."
Alors, "fondement", oui, pourquoi pas ; mais c'est osé pour la nuit de noces tout de même. Et les préliminaires ? Ah, ce sont les fiançailles, suis-je bête. Donc, il y aura des fiançailles, comme la tradition l'exige. Bon, voyons ça. Mon fils pourra légalement se marier dans 9 ans. Imaginons qu'il devienne joyeux, malgré son père nihiliste. Bon. Imaginons, le v'
HP Lovecraft's Blasphemous Quest for... MilkAs I sit here, a ruined man, I pray that mankind may never come to know the hideous Truth that drove my mind from the pitiful jest grinning fools term 'reality', and deep into the damnable gulfs of screaming insanity.HP Lovecraft's Blasphemous Quest for... Milk2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It was on a brooding day in that most blasphemous month of March when I set out upon my fateful quest. The preceding night I had disinterred the final carton of homogenised lactic potable from my hideously-aged refrigeratory machine. Now, the morning of the 12th, I was desirous that this worthy liquid be replenished in time for that most noble and beautiful of ancient man's aureate ceremonies: breakfast.
The hideous rising sun had scarce penetrated the ghoul-haunted abysses of night, when an abominable stab of hunger assailed the narrow confines of my stomach.
Long had I dreaded the arrival of this evil omen; this mocking portent.
In the preceding weeks I had amassed apparatus and equipment in anticipation of the dread event. Long nights had I spent studying ancien
Blue Flower (Under 200 words)I wake in a glass corridor lined with dark spiders, shifting in and out the gliding shadows. Silk curtains flutter in the breathless air like opium smoke. The sleek fabric of the mouldering seats lies still and bleak...Blue Flower (Under 200 words)2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Soon he will slip from the darkness, his breath flowing from his lips like intoxicating incense; his clear eyes sharp, gorgeous, deep and unfathomed. With his black gloves, bound tight around his supple wrists, he will sweep and turn like the ghost of a dancer, drifting across the rich carpets to stand, silent, by my side. He will wait, calm and quiet, emanating aesthetic perfection from every lineament of attire and visage; an ethereal, haunting, fragile beauty drowned in wealth, dressed in matchless taste, indolent in luxury. From his lapel will flourish a lone blue flower, appearing like a crystal of water caught in the frosts of frozen time. It shall shed no scent over that of his skin; warm and delicious. His irises will show new worlds, foreign and strange,
OffrandesMes restes ont menti. Dépouille infertile J'ai pleuré du mensonge. Immense fondement sans valeur. Effondrement des voûtes surplombant le doute. J'ai galvanisé l'horreur dans mes larmes. J'ai ensorcelé l'espoir. Les yeux cousus. La langue tranchée. J'ai vécu un monde. J'ai déçu les armes. Abandonnées. Cachées du ciel. Les coureurs du vide m'ont rattrapé. Affalé. Nonchalant. J'ai capitulé sans lever les yeux. Je suis devenu leur porteur. J'ai incarné le vide. J'ai marché jusqu'au néant. Leur maître. Et l'esclave d'esclave est devenu pitance sans goût. Je n'ai pas su être sa gourmandise. Je n'ai pas pu vivre dans sa bouche. Et mourir dans sa gorge. J'ai roulé contre ses dents. J'ai glissé sous sa langue. Et je suis tombé de sa bave. Rejeté de la bouche. Comme une glaire. J'ai roulé. Je n'ai pas su le satisfaire. Néant parmi le vide. Et j'ai roulé. Jusqu'auOffrandes2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
Death's Garden (A Short Story)The midday sun hung like a single flaming eye in the burning azure sky. My rough-spun robes of coarse hessian trailed lazily in the dusty sands. I had been walking for hours, and even the sap in my gnarled walking staff seemed to boil in this inhospitable terrain. I paused and sat carefully upon an ancient weather-whipped rock. Every bone in my worn-out body ached and throbbed. I reached for a battered old flask, uncorked the stopper and tipped the contents down my parched throat - nothing. It was empty. Sighing, I slowly stood upward again; sinews and joints groaning and creaking noisy protestations. Lately I was beginning to feel the weight of my years pushing down heavily upon my spin like a mounting load of bricks. Every time I made this journey, I though it would be my last. Perhaps today I was right.Death's Garden (A Short Story)2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I scanned the horizon. The cottage should be here. Despair, fear and loneliness curdled in my stomach. I was lost. I gazed to the South, as the heat wavered and flickered, swimming q
The Bell TowerThe Bell TowerThe Bell Tower2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
It used to be that everyday
The olden church, I’d pass;
With its tall bell tower
And it’s wonderful stained glass.
I once got told a horrid tale
By a friend of mine at school.
Who said that church’s bell tower
Was haunted by a ghoul!
One of the teachers did but laugh
And told the truth to me:
“Inside there lives an Angel
Who wants to be set free.”
“He was but trapped by evil folk
Who locked him in the tower,
To protect the priest and followers
And give the church his power.”
“How can he be freed?” I asked,
“He cannot stay in there!
I wonder what I need to do.
Must I say a prayer?”
My teacher did but smile then,
“Oh, how sweet you are…
Just have belief in the angel, dear.
Belief will take you far.”
The next day as I passed the Church
I raised my head to sing,
To ask the Golden angel
To give the bell a ring.
And just like magic, the church bell shook
And filled the street with song.