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...the children of chernobyl...

TO SELL MY SOUL

I turn my face from the light
To seek Azazel in my time of need
I kneel on a shadowy altar
In uncertainty and era of falter

The fallen urge me to bow
To all hope that is lost
And the only way to become whole
Is to face the unknown and sell my soul

When I hear their lustful chants
I hear the bleeding screams of innocence
And uninhabited corpses bestow
Upon pure virgin snow

When I look upon their white rose gardens
I smile in its exquisiteness
I hear the thunder denounce my name
And descend in melodious vermilion rain

When I drink from their goblets
I understand my pride is the sacrament
With a drop of red communion wine
Spilt upon Lucifer’s ivory shrine

When I see their reflections
A red iris stares in a soulless eye
And the forsaken eternally weep
For a sinless soul put to twilight sleep

I commence to sign my name
I will be one with the weak
And shall renew heavens war
Another servant and obedient whore

Then I feel the archangels breathe
And crimson lips kiss my ashen heart
I turn from the devil’s contract
And acrimonious suicide pact

I run from the shadows
To a distant ruby sun
Burning in bloodless stratus clouds
I fall from my burial shroud

I will eternally deny
What with red ink I nearly signed
All that I left hidden behind the light
A dot of red on white

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My Space My Stuff

Where once I held
a dream -
a perfected lifelong innocence
underneath such tainted sheets...
such a dream was broken, as

I was murdered in my sleep.

Things could be in tatters -
imagined by a mind
breathing shallow, half-alive.

Things could be so hopeless -
held onto by a heart
beating slowly,
beating broken.

And in my thoughts, around the edges...
touch faint feathers,
dancing, floating.
Songs of sorrow fill my soul
in its descension, fading down.

Where once I held
a dream -
all imprints of such lifelong pain
fall away into the breeze...
such a dream was broken, as

You stabbed me in my sleep.

And such quiet memory
is all that's left behind -
dots of red on white
slung amongst
these tainted sheets.

A Dot of Red On White

As I came out, holding my wet laundry and fiddling with the zipper on my bag, I felt a strange sensation. It was quiet, nothing like New York’s main street is supposed to be, a rush to my head said something was happening. I rushed into a crowd of people I saw, who seemed distracted by something. I coiled through the people, to see a white horse standing in the middle of the junction. A man next to me, in uniform was mumbling quickly into a phone. The horse, obviously spooked, didn’t move, it’s muscular body rigged and stiff, I saw a line of blood trail down it’s white back leg.
Vehicles stopped still, but no one beeped their horns, they just all watched. The horse began to become restless and more confused, just as we were. It hesitated to lift it’s muddy hooves, it was out of place, like a dot of red on white, like an orange tree between the towering apples ones. Or a tropical poison fish that had hidden between the grey salmon.

I heard rubber race on tarmac, coming speedily towards the area, and so did the stallion, his ears raised immediately and his legs quivered. Flashing lights and loud ear-aching noises lined up around the junction. The officers were trying to box him in. Three policemen stole from their official cars with lassoes in hand, eyeing the huge mammal. He knew what was happening. His eyes wild with fiery fear, it watched as loops of rope captured over his sleek neck. He wretched the rope holders, while he raised to his majestic hind legs, letting one of the men tumble to the ground and let him lay there. The other lost grip, out of fear the horse would do the same and rush back to his squad car. The last man, huge in size and confident, twisted the rope around his arms to gain grip, the horse wheezed as the noose tighten round his neck. He screeched and then bucked the last man, kicking and slamming him to the hard cracked pavement. He howled with the pain as others came to his side.

The horse rushed in circles, until climbing on a car and crushing it’s roof as people gasped in fear. It sprinted away, turning in to a smaller street, and plaiting through the dirty alleyways of New York. He came the way he went. From nowhere back.

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Thought I'd give this a try... here's my effort

Red specks on daisies

Chambered walls, broken down little dolls
Something I hate, god I wish I was okay
Wind gusts my lovely, red specks on daisies
And I hope you see me now, unable to frown
Below the bridges where you drove me down
Caring less about the image you left me with
Wasteful tides that drove me to tears
They’ve been buried with the cloudy days
I know you seem to fame my tiny mirrors
Looking glass your arrogance couldn’t fear
Let me tell you now, I’ve pushed you away
Cowered my heart into torn tattered ribbons
Just to remember to forget your face
Maybe it’s done now that scissors undone
The memories that your vengeance forgot
When you left me bleeding terribly, endlessly
My skin’s the flesh that couldn’t weep
This darling girl’s the one you couldn’t keep
Forget the torn flowers that lay at my feet
I went and made you a calloused memory
Goodbye, my sinful dying valentine
In my rage I made you something to teach
Perforated lungs a sight for sore eyes to see
It’s gone this blood on roses, I’m gone
Lay beneath your cheat, rotten lonesome
Now baby, don’t forget to remember me

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Come join!

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I'm sorry that my submission is late, I was having some problems with my internet so this is the first chance I have had in several days.

A dot of red on white

Sometimes I feel that there is no way to describe the way that day clashes with night… the pain I feel when you caress my skin with your burning hands. You would be surprised how much the touch of fire hurts even on the surface of something so numb. It felt as if you had stolen the majestic moon from the beckoning sky and placed in upon the corrupted ground where every undeserving soul could stare at the broken pieces and judge them. I felt sick as I watched all of this happen in my mind; the way that they would collect the star dust and use it to line their deceptive eyes.

I would shake as I watched the way they would stain the earth with the embrace of their stale words that would linger in their throats for several days, past the point of having any meaning at all. Their faces did not match the faces of those in my portrait of when the moon used to function in the dark oblivion.

Sometimes I feel afraid to close my eyes, and feel things that can only be felt within the corridors of a mind. But even in the isolation of a dark corner, I felt the burning of your touch, so intensely that even the cool rain could not wash away the effects of the everlasting pain.

Sometimes I expected to see imprints on my skin; ashes that spelled out every time that you pushed me so close to the edge. But every time I looked at myself in the mirror, it seemed that it was only my own touch that ever left a mark. Only my own interpretations and the things in which I blamed upon myself were significant enough to make a mark deep enough to last forever. In the wind I can see the colours of when you spoke to me at midnight, promising me moments of glory , moments that seemed to only linger and evolve in my dreams but they were moments that I once believed in more than any breath I could ever take. In the wind, I could see the colours of the water, where my face looked darker then it did when I looked into the mirror.

You made me hate the colour red, for all I ever did was look into the deepest shade and see the reasons as to why I could only see my own reflection and never have any proof of you standing there beside me. It made me wonder if I could possibly have caused myself the pain that I blamed upon you. I remember when your eyes looked as if they were tinted red, it was the night that I told you that I wanted to live in my dreams. But then you told me that in my dreams, I could not see colour; that every image would be a dark shadow against an exceeding white background.

I told you that it was getting too hard to breathe, while fire choked me, you lay surrounded by transparent fantasies, but you looked so scared. Was it simply a nightmare causing you fear? Or did you see the same image that I saw when I looked into the mirror?

After I had decided that you were only dreaming, I wanted to carve my face in stone; an everlasting picture that would tell you the story that I could never finish. While you were dreaming of the way you once restrained me from moving at all, I was about to forbid myself from seeing colour ever again. I decided that I liked the idea of being able to see one shade, where there was no exception for one dark figure to be frozen over so much white.

Because even if I was given eternity, I could never make you feel the burn the way that I felt it on my skin, for your eyes will never match the deepest shade of red.

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Lock the last open door,my ghosts are gaining on me...

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Come join!