celaeno

They thought my love a siren in the sea whose strength draws weakest men into the tide, but nightly I heard weeping next to me. When first I caught her, I asked, "What is she, that girl who shines angelic at my side?" They thought my love a siren in the sea. Still, I said that I her love could be; my heart pumped with her power, strength, and pride, but nightly I heard weeping next to me. I told my friends this curiosity. My tales of hidden grief were all denied: they thought my love a siren in the sea. With heart secure and boundless energy I gave her love and comfort – how I tried! But nightly I heard weeping next to me.

My muse\'s cruel touch had struck me again her mercuric loving compelled me to woo she begged me to weave soft verse \'round my pen, her silken caresses, her poisoning through light song & dark, lascivious bass. But though with her skills she meant to erase my mem\'ries - her verses inspired me of you. seduced by my poems, your fair heart and hand were mine; whispered she, \'You\'re a poisoner, too.\' I saw then your face, awaiting command, I knew then my quicksilver siren sang true, Then seeing and knowing, I spread wing and flew, and left my smooth poisons with you.

Armed with a three-bladed razor in hand, hot water fills up the bathroom with steam. Stoic, obeying my culture's demand, I fill my palm up with rich shaving cream. Hand, coating skin white as snow on a peak feels now more stubble than previously eyed, Curses on nicks cuts and scrapes I do speak, Carefully, slowly, my blades start to slide. Minding my credo – avoidance of pain – I draw my weapon up calf and up thigh. breathing too slowly, I swipe 'gainst the grain, Finishing, I stop, see no blood, and sigh. Safe now, unscathed, I rinse remnants away, My culture's orders were followed today.

Begin with a cold, lonely nothing. Now a great shadow eclipses even the orange-red glow of eyelids, closed. On cue, senses shift into electric awakening, a rustle of fabric, a warm, minty breeze clean clothing now, deodorant, just-shampooed hair. Silk-soft upon the lips, a sudden, embracing, welcome depression met and matched, felt and testing, tasting the hastily-eaten tic tacs and the warm wet of a partly parted mouth. Writhing, parrying, searching for entrance, the gentleness gives way; passion like sudden light filling and freeing and liberating what had once been muted senses. And where tactile pleasures were solely u

Late September        The Protagonist's name is irrelevant to her self, but important to you, and will be provided. Essestential niceties are crucial at the Beginning, as is a variable amount of Exposition. Every story, after all, has a Beginning, a Middle, and an End.        This is not a Beginning.        Lisa looks around the corner again, coldly noting that disbelief and width are often equated. She is outside of her body, reducing herself to the third person and watching her crude counterpart's eyes and mouth fall agape, widen. Analyzing the situation from her vantage point, she takes a moment to glare balefully at you. Too cold t

Gentles, sooth your ardor, arm your sons and nephews, swinging, singing paramouring verses 'neath the sills of pretty maids. Stand beside the altar fire: bells and bellows, swinging, singing, wind your hair with bloom and wreath before your fire fades. Raise the blazes higher, higher! Shades and shadows, climbing, rhyming, paper faces glow and seethe amuck in hell's charades. What was love becomes a pyre, gals and gallows, singing, swinging, feel the burning claws and teeth of lovers' masquerades.

Pain tore hard into his shoulder from the base of his neck; it crashed through his armor and found comparatively less resistance in the bone and flesh beneath. He didn't know it was a longsword, just felt the nerves scream; he echoed them, broad voice bellowing bitter wails of unwelcome despair. Crumpling to the ground, he yelled again, soiling himself as the wound made contact with blood-stained earth.        Death was no pure, white, chivalrous thing. Death was a monster, clawing at his lungs, choking him with blood and acid; it was no more than pain, with the promise of permanent anesthesia. The clanging of swords and steel, the yelling