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Literature Text
Isn't it strange, how I used to hate your hidden canvas face? To me your perfect skin hid a demon, a demon covered in pustules, your eyes were nothing more than a portal to a rotting soul. Your words were nothing but trapped and recycled verse, spoken only to lure innocent maidens into your coveted dark lair of love. Of love and broken hearts, I used to picture you feasting upon them before leaving those girls, abandoned, in the desert to rot. To become the faeces of vultures and other scavenging creatures...
So, isn't it strange how I let you drag me down into that den of despair? Then again, what is life but a count of three? A lost stare in a crowded street? A forgotten love song played on the radio? Why do I take in your dusty words?
Ah, but why do I ask questions? I need not ask, for I trust you implicitly. Thank you, for you have warped my mind and framed it. Perhaps you've placed it next to your painted soul, in an attic, locked away.
Maybe old truths were lies, maybe old realities were fantasies. Or, perhaps more likely, I too have joined those other hearts in the vulture's stomach.
So, isn't it strange how I let you drag me down into that den of despair? Then again, what is life but a count of three? A lost stare in a crowded street? A forgotten love song played on the radio? Why do I take in your dusty words?
Ah, but why do I ask questions? I need not ask, for I trust you implicitly. Thank you, for you have warped my mind and framed it. Perhaps you've placed it next to your painted soul, in an attic, locked away.
Maybe old truths were lies, maybe old realities were fantasies. Or, perhaps more likely, I too have joined those other hearts in the vulture's stomach.
Literature
Ghost of You
The ghost of your face
Long gone from this place,
My eyes still trace
As they did long ago.
My memory of your voice,
Heard above the noise;
The curl of your mouth saying 'Rejoice'
Echoes in the spaces of my slowly healing soul.
Any request you made of me
I carried out so willingly,
But the love you could never see:
It was never in your eyes.
The fleeting touch of your hand
Falls away like dried-out sand
Returning to the dull earth: banned
From my heart that once lived in lies.
I lied for you for all those years
I never told you all my fears
You never dried up all my tears –
I never said it to you.
You thought you kne
Literature
one.
i.
he says he hates poetry,
does he know i'm a poet?
Literature
Tale 1: Unseeing Eyes
They say that one day a young man slighted a witch. How this came to be is not remembered, nor is it of any import. But she cursed him furiously, saying thus: That he should be compelled to marry the first woman that he laid his eyes on, whether good or bad, whether stranger or sibling, whether beautiful or ugly. Then she walked away and was never heard of again.
Now, the young man, who lived under the same roof as his ten sisters and his mother and father, was much afraid. He tore his shirt to pieces and tied the cloth over his eyes, determined to be blind entirely rather than to bring such tragedy onto his family. When he returned home, af
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This hasn't got much to do with Dorian Gray... more to do with vulture shit to be perfectly honest 
This is what happens when someone tells me to write a description of a supermarket
This is what happens when someone tells me to write a description of a supermarket
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I love it!