Mere Contemplations

When you fall asleep in the evening, sans fear for the rigid darkness you go horseback riding through your dreams right to the meadows of esteem when the hunger sweeps the night in another red wine blight all my grief (and all the believes that I never had and the liberty of not even giving a fuck, the collusion between yours truly and the quill and the drink will be the main subject in my autobiography) Wake up to the sight of damaged skin you feel the sting of my knives, it takes you way beyond the twilight skies I'll make your head spin baby, you'll be there in the blink of an eye I'll make your head spin baby you'll be: Dead-dead! Dead-dead! you'll be there in the blink of an eye Make a final wish; you'll be there in a swish your sweet, sweet heart leaves such a cute little stain I know it hurts, hurts, hurts, when we're drained of life it's the sweet deal, the greatest high, the sovereign vain, champagne! I'm all wired, wrapped up in cellophane You woke up to the sight of damaged skin you felt the sting of my knives, I took you way beyond the twilight skies I made your head spin baby, You were dead in the blink of an eye Dead-dead, dead-dead, in the blink of an eye Dead-dead, dead-dead, dead in the blink of an eye I woke up to the sight of my damaged skin I felt the sting of your knives, you took me way beyond the twilight skies you made my head spin fucker, I was dead in the blink of an eye Dead-dead, dead-dead, in the blink of an eye Dead-dead, dead-dead, you were dead in the blink of an eye

Submitted by Nargaroth — Apr 24, 2025

A precious, mouldering pleasure 'tis to meet an antique book, in just the dress his century wore; a privilege, I think, His (venerable) hand to take, and warming in our own, a passage back, or two, to make to times when he was young. His quaint opinions to inspect, his knowledge to unfold on what concerns our mutual mind, the literature of old; What interested scholars most, what competitions ran when Plato was a certainty, and Sophocles a man; When Sappho was a living girl, and Beatrice wore the gown that Dante deified. facts, centuries before, He traverses familiar, as one should come to town and tell you all your dreams were true: he lived where dreams were born. His presence is enchantment, you beg him not to go; old volumes shake their vellum heads and tantalize, just so. And there's grief of hunger, and grief of cold and there's a sort they call despair there's banishment from primitive lust in the slightest sight of fundamental air

Submitted by Corpse Grinder — Apr 24, 2025

The heart seeks pleasure first and then, excuse from the deeds; and then, those awkward moments where the suffering exceed The wow echoes with the gust and the wretched silence wail the minutes turn to hours as the tint of mischief turns pale The demise of all emotions and the search for tranquil seas the filthy heart restored as the suffering now recedes And then, to fall again and then, if there should be a trace of will to succeed it'll last for eternity

Submitted by MetalElf — Apr 24, 2025

So many a glorious morn have I seen the sun gracing the mountain-tops with its light kissing with tender lips the meadows green gilding pale streams of alchemy with heavenly blight Even as my sun one early morn did shine with all its triumphant splendour alack, its grace was but one hour mine; an ugly visage shone through its cruel agenda When heaven suddenly came this near it seemed to close all doors the distance would not haunt me so as the presence of the tales I had merely known before But just to hear the grace depart pain I never thought I'd see afflicts me with a double loss the fucking track is lost, and lost to me

Submitted by Morgoth — Apr 24, 2025

A wounded soul leaps highest I've heard the poet tell 'tis but the ecstasy of death and then the breath is still As I lay, defeated, I'm dying longing to have you near as I lay, defeated, I'm dying longing to have you here The smitten soul that gushes the trampled heart that springs a wearied ghost that keeps running from where the torment stings Mirth is the prelude to anguish, and laughter is its final aim lest some fucker spot the wicked and do not fail to exclaim! As I lay, defeated, I'm dying longing to have you near as I lay, defeated, I'm dying longing to have you here Success is counted sweetest by those who never succeed to comprehend a fame like this requires sorest need Not one of all those fuckers who rose the flag today can even tell the definition of fame so pure, of victory

Submitted by johnmansley — Apr 24, 2025

If I had a daily bliss a somewhat cheerful view a silent grace I could perceive to grow as I pursued Then when, around midnight instead of wasted from my sight; loaded beyond the utmost space I'd have one average night I measure every fucker I meet with analytic eyes; I wonder if their grief weighs like mine or has an easier size I wonder if, when these years have piled if the pain will still be as real the early hurt, such a lapse a lifetime of grief bereaved of appeal Will I just go on aching? through centuries above exposed by god to a larger pain by contrast with the promise of love They say heaven is packed and that's where we go but I've got one hell of a surprise your death is but one and came but once and only nailed your eyes And though I may not guess the right kind correctly, yet to me and the piercing comfort it creates; passing portions of fiery glee The denotes of the fashions of the cross of those that stand alone still fascinated to presume that some has a view like my own

Submitted by The Void — Apr 24, 2025

The Polaroid of perfection, demirep and stained with hate well wounded I stuttle the crowd with my vogue lack of faith the up and coming vendetta, the # vultures' extremes spruce me up with a sweet little plaything, spruce me fucking supreme I raise my craving hands, to the image of her promised land the succulent teenage cunt, tempteth me to exeunt Wish me well, wish me hell...all I ever wanted was a story to tell The absence of goals, the lack of control the absence of aim and the present fame... The absence of goals, the lack of control everyone knows I should be extolled the absence of aim and the present fame everyone would sell their souls to play this game ...it's the game we play...

Submitted by Corpse Grinder — Apr 24, 2025

Gazing at what could have been a lethal doze of her fertile pose what will all these inklings mean if I reveal how deep the spiral go Crystal fecund fancies flew emerged through blood-red veils sky-blue yet dead grey - the winds blew Forced my lofty head to lean is this lass a fevered rose? is she not sinless and pristine? is it not always gold what glows? She hides her hideousness in evergreens but be cautious her blade is keen when held down by an angel pose her talons can't be foreseen When the nightmare initiates from a rose and this hale nostalgia grows...

Submitted by Infernal Flame — Apr 24, 2025

Reaching heights at the shores, only dreamt of before while the mountains rise tall in my view my poisoned heart beats, crystal water's at my feet as I hope to catch a glimpse of the swans A sudden calm rise as I watch the blue skies a soothing chill comes with the breeze I lay down to rest while the sun sets in west with an itch in my cold urban soul I glance upon the hills, carpetbombed by thrills as the forrest bestows peace upon the void possessed by dim light, desire sweeps the night and the climax shines through bluebell mist As I awake from sleep, desire still sweeps and the echoes thunders from afar hours are plundered by the post orgasmic slumber as the sun seeks shelter in the skies The sky upholds the rush with a sudden strange blush passing oceans to reach these shores the woods sing despair as ruins appear changing course, sailing into the sun Exhausted by pleasure I cherish this treasure I stand naked admiring the view I behold the purple sky as the summerwinds cry and the trees turn red beneath the sun Entangled in sleep as the nightwind weeps dreaming from dusk 'til dawn a grey day follows, but far from hollow I awake to the voice of an angel If I dream on tomorrow, I will know no sorrow and if I do I'll just blame it on the rain leaving the beach in favour of the breach bounding stronger by every touch

Submitted by Finntroll — Apr 24, 2025

As I felt this grace depart it was a pain I never thought I'd feel afflicted me with a double loss as even the track was lost, and lost for real The heart beats faster in the wake of disaster... The spiral to her soul, guiding a schizoid to his goal with pantomime gestures as the god sent decoy it's a matrix to the heart, lodging happiness to art leading me to this genuine perception of joy That penitentiary passivity, imprisoned by negativity the pandemonium was defeated by the touch of a dove like a million wild engines roaring through me with vengeance turning my digital soul into circuits of love Nothing could measure my love for your treasures fluent and blooming, I swear this is true sparkling I followed, no longer feeling hollow the paraphrase is simple, I fell in love with you I get so disappointed when in the end it seems that life is but a sheer revolt to the dream... Nothing could measure my love for your treasures fluent and blooming, I swear this is true sparkling I followed, no longer feeling hollow the paraphrase is simple, I fell in love with you

Two loves I have of comfort and despair, Which like two spirits do suggest me still: The better angel is a man right fair, The worser spirit a woman colour'd ill. To win me soon to hell, my female evil Tempteth my better angel from my side, And would corrupt my saint to be a devil, Wooing his purity with her foul pride. And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend Suspect I may, but not directly tell; But being both from me, both to each friend, I guess one angel in another's hell: Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt, Till my bad angel fire my good one out.

Submitted by Corpse Grinder — Apr 24, 2025