Recreate Me

Awake Me

Depart Me

Recapture Me

Kill Me



In the nothingness, the annulled void that only whispers reverberate off the chambers, lives the forgotten. Forgotten yet dreaded. They say the only two instinctual fears that you are born with is to be dropped or loud noises. But what about the ones you are taught to fear, the type of trepidation the dampens the rim of your eye, and curls your nerves upwards. What about the paranormal, are we taught to fear it? Or is the unknown always been feared and just forgotten?

Have you ever seen a shy outline of a figure, glowing in the depth of your window? Your mind configures in a frantic battle that it is but a shadow, not a person peering curiously at your every move. You lower the blinds, relaxing now that you are safe from the intruding eye. What about the moving of an inanimate object without your touch? The creative organ in your skull constructs a figure, a reason why it moved. . . perhaps wind? But the room has no ventilating air, all still. Nervously you back away from the object, obliterating it from your mind. What about a taping, a rapping, a screech, a scream? The fertile mind inculcating a reason why you heard the noise. But never is your resort a spirit, another life form sharing your domain. You feel the subtle tickle on your neck, feeling as a delicate rose tracing it's petals on the length of your flesh. Your scratch it, not thinking twice. But somewhere you feel an agitation of the soul, perching its unfolding wings around your sub-consciousness. You blow it away as chaff in the wind, and it only occurs again in your dreams. The darkness envelopes your slumbering eye, making it too bright to close them, and too loud to ignore it. The bed is embedded with the outline of a character, a person watching you as you watch it. You shake and shatter at the unknown, trembling and quaking as it's derived glare eats at your bed chamber. Slowly you feel nothing left but a naked maiden, helpless and supple to the darkness. Then a clatter, an abrupt awakening of your conscience, intrudes the night's whisper. Frantically you scramble to your night stand, turning on the hours of darkness's enemy. The light melts away the black, and you notice a picture has fallen from your wall. No hook or nail has been broken, just unreasonably fell. Un-edged you drop your feet to the unwelcoming floor, and re-hook the picture. In the bleak perception of your eye, you see a veiled figure, engraving the wall as a painting. But as you turn, clearly there is no one about. Why is it always out of the corner of your eye you see things shift and twist? The veins of darkness feeds itself back in place as your bulb's light fades away. Here you are, enveloped in your shrouded misery of fear.


(The dream)

Your cadaver is locked in a tomb, surrounded by ancient gray stone, implanted with tendrils of stems and coiling beds of twigs. Captured by the stretching arms of sleep, you are overcome with a drug that pivots your concentration. Now you lay disorient, unloved by the gawking things surrounding. Your pale fingers follow an invisible trail on the marled stone. Your feel absconds a decoration of rose pedaled blood. Your fingertips wobble, collecting the stinging pain down the marrow of your bone. Pain and pleasure become an assortment of a recipe as you taste the surfacing blood. It dances from the corner of your lips, and makes a scarlet wave down your chin. Twisting with rage the roots sinuously lavish around your legs, intertwining them together. Sweat eased from your pores as the stem's thorns burrowed in your pleading flesh, and wrought through the skin, making its fatal tunnels. Your scream derives the want to see light, your call on Aurora is a hopeless spider's web. Your eyes shut, the ache leaks in the crevice of your lid. Life's nourishment seeps through the torn cracks of your skin. Vines wrench, burrow, interlace in the dying skin, and spins around the juicy flesh. The loam conceals you in a newly dug grave, still wrapped around the heartless stone. The gentle patter of the tired heart slows to a narrow vault, ceasing it's continuous rhythm. You sink to your untimely death.

Chp 1


The thick blanketed night whistled with weeping, distressed wind, knocking on the casement. Branches swayed as a lifeless spirit, shadows impaling the leaves like spears of a warrior. I gazed interminably; every sound, every clatter, I fixated my frantic eyes on it. My heart gamboled mightier than a galloping steed, and every second ticked as love descends. The dispelled shades of night stole the casement; sweat dripped from my forehead. My magnified breath loomed from my lips, weaving through the dead air. My head twinged with throbbing intuition.

Crimson drapes departed, sparking my ivory teeth, "Someone's here." Speaking soft and soothing, like a lovers caress.

I'm knotted against a shrouded corner, feeling the rasping screams of warning from the coiling wind. The window was closed, nothing stopped the unfeeling air that touched my exposed skin. My sheen eyes dilated as ghost rippled against the walls, dancing to some inaudible spell that caused my frozen body to rise. The spirits laughed at my misfortune, and continued to swim around my delicate form. My body fell limber. The souls collected around me, lingering. . . watching. . .preparing. . .

The ghosts sang wicked melodies, I lay indolent, intoxicated with dread. An inclinable dread, strange as the new grave air. I heard the mourning breath whistle through the cracks of the shutters, like sand draining from a hour glass.


The darkness painted its silky pattern on my edged perception, my watered blood advanced vertically aloft, recoiling to the beds of my neck. Strange fingertips foraged my virgin casing, picking the lock that enclosed my throbbing artery. The icy tips fallowed the path of my vein to the hollow of my neck.

"Death will join your slumbering soul with the sound of a dieing rose petal . . ."

The depth of his rhythm paced along the hollow of my ear. Breath pulsating as his pastel lips tasted the dripping salt of my flesh.

"You lie awake in these restless dreams, you will never wake."

His utterance caressing the soft hairs on my skin, fingers swimming in my pool-like locks. Proficient lips brushed my jaw line, corpse's breathless life dawns on the horizon of my cheek. His eyes unveiled by the black of his torment, gazing as the night, eyes spellbound by a harvest moon.

A cat to milk, a blossom to rain, an owl to night; I unfurl as molten steel, scared by a roaring fire. Famished fingertips discuss my need with gentle pressure on my chin, lifting my unwritten eyes to those shinning beneath a cloak. Ashen painted lips tasted my wanting sweat. His sultry tongue sashays across my mouth, eyes fastened to mine. My lips agape, I savor his tongue, drinking the heat provoked from his lavished kiss. Licking, touching, twisting, and biting; lips torn abrade from the beaten undertook with grant.

"Kiss me again, or my lifeline short. . . kiss me again."

Breath grasped, my pleading eyes wondered the odd delay. His embracing cloak fell to a black heap, creating a night's sky below us. His alien emotions threaded in the beads of his mirror like eyes. Without tracing a word, he languidly trailed his hand up my thrilled arm, resting it on my shoulder. There he stopped for a few, then slowly continued his entrancing touch to my neck. His breathless hand against my warm flesh inflected a shiver caressing my spine. The dividing space enclosed to a gentle whisper as he found a perfect crevice to lay his starved lips. He kissed the virgin flesh, which is so demanding of his dance.

"Here is my kiss. . ."

Sinking his dire incisors into the petals of my skin, tasting fear in the milk of my blood. Gently he strokes my cheek, still feeding on my life supply. My heart pounded as a broken drum, simultaneously playing with his. The horrid rasping of my breathing turned slowly silent.

Dawned pleasure drained my veins of pain. His lips making love to my neck, the deadening kiss becoming my supplement for life. My warmth replaced by artificial, arousing heat.

Life did not capture me, but released me from the unnatural feeling in my slowing heart. He withdrew the madding kiss. Few splatters of ruby diamonds still oozed from my puncture wound, his lips blood stained. I felt desire; panty twisting, breast amplifying, lip tingling desire.

Death's white flag had not shown it's deadly fabric, only life filled me, pumping through the dried veins. He whispered his poisoned lips over my thirsty intoxicated tongue. Grappling the inverted remedy, swallowing my death, allowing my lust to overpower my reason. Leaning to my watchful ear, he rolled his sleeping words to my attention.

"Dance with me."

Spirits echoed they're unspeaking howls, creating an undead funeral song. Tips of my toes swiveled on the ocean's marbled floor. Hands finding an abode that lines the shear ice on his skin. Swaying as an Autumn's leaf, my mind creates a medley of tormenting lust.

~Kill me~

Walking petals of screaming light

Footsteps drink the absent night

Dancing melodies of my delight

Sharing twisted tear dropped rain

Perception's horizontal plane

Snow tips touch tantalizing tresses

Lips sway a breath boxed soul

Casket closes the morning's light My deep dark need has vanished longing. I listen and wander, remembering and flinging a moment. Dreams are shadows, and with him I ache; begin this cold hour to suddenly open and cry together as do the sweat of near delirious moons. Gently I brushed the wound on my neck, scraping off the flaking blood. Different as I seem and different as I feel. Heat needled it's way to my skin as his observing pupils drained me of affection. His eyes blinded by darkness, but I feel them stroking my curved lines. Quietly, subtly, twistingly, he leaned closer to my ear, touching my lobe with is moonless lips.

"Here is the asked scream from what none tells. . ."

The End