Sleep

Sleep,,,
I long to sleep... To have peace in my mind.
A settled spirit seems an unreachable destination.
The comfort of having my heart rest from its'
Meloncholied emotional journeys for a time.
To simply sleep and dream...
To dream that sleeping dream.
I would sleep with the stars on a bed made of moon.
Or simply locked away in darkness with no door
To place the metal key.
A satin bed with a wooden top
Burried deep beneath the discovery of any human...
Just to sleep

The Passionate Professor

Is it death, that stabbing breeze,
Cuts me like a knife.
Love, it is night, just as Peck said.
The land of the dead,
Holds my love tight.
Perhaps not, Perhaps so.
What does the heart know?
To journey there and back again.
A fools proof is only an idea,
And thus a wise man's the flower
Which blooms within your hand.
To suffer confusion at all cost,
An intricate thing is the mind.
A secret is here, a riddle more so,
The Passionate Professor will know. 

Death and Passion

Both experiences that can be pushed to darkness
Death and darkness
Passion and darkness
Would I be necro to want to mix the two?
I feel,,, no.
To reallize one's mortality and one's immortality
In combination with one's desires.
To wish to carry one's passion into the beyond.
Is not a morbid thing I think.
Only a reallization that there is darkness in both
And embracing it can only further my mortal experiences

Cold

Winters cold has reached it's depth.
Freezing flesh and bone and.... blood.
Confusion and curiosity besets me in wonderment,
How can dead blood, be more, dead?
Thick it lay within my chest with the scent of you.
Blood with Blood,,, entwined.. we were.
And yet we found ourselves on opposite ends,
Buried deep in icy soil and stiffened satin.
Lie in dreams, I, dream...
I feel that feel, so far away, yet quick in mind
So close as if it were last dusk.
Why do you allow this decay,,, why do we?
We fear and love so violently within ourselves,
So much so that we would prefer to live in this death.

A Storm Is Coming

Rooms just moments ago filled with movement, voices, laughter and interaction quickly have faded to a quiet dark desert of silent decay.
It's become insanely apparent to me how much I need distraction. With the fall of the solitude comes nothingness. The nothingness brings time and space for the mind to think... to bethink oneself in shadowy figures and muted echoes.
Brief flashes of light flicker from behind the window sheers and a faint roll rises from the distance with the promise of thunder and lightning... a storm is coming this night. A cold dark empty house with a night full of raging winds and chaos bellowing about...  ....sounds just like I feel.

Congratulations, You are a Man

Who do you think you are? Spitting your preconceived contentions in such reckless judgement casts...
Spinning your diluted words in seeming boxed construction as if structure in my world to yours, lasts.
What fools deliquesce out into the wind from breath taken and twisted into mendacity and ignorance bliss.
Smile that smile in twisted guile and keep on believing I do not see you for your truest shallowness.
A pretty face and shining cock, does please them when they seek the thought.
Then cast away for quick decay, while your pretty little words mean naught.
To boast and brag with tool in hand, to root and crow "you are a man"!
How nice for you, you phallic clod, to have a dick and think your God.

Immortal Depression

I find the need to write again... not just write but put pen to paper once more in regards to topics my hands and mind have been insanely and with much tedious perfection so heavily trying to avoid. It's been quietly there however, hiding in shadows as usual... the thirst for blood... the desire for the hunt... the thrill of piercing eyes in quiet realization that they have become,,, prey.
Yes that ever growing need to feed becomes deafening and almost paralyzing.
Retreat I quickly before hunger overtakes me and I am no longer in control of my actions. Without my sweet inspiration and the hand of he whom carries my silent cold heart, I have found myself so far past the point of emptiness, I cannot distinguish between the need and the misery. I find I'm  withdrawn to sleep and dreams of centuries of immortality that seems to become more and more of a curse than a gift as the days pass that I am without my love.... and without that crimsoned release... but I must have both or have neither.
I feel my wings are broken... My only desire is to fade away in quiet slumber and lose myself someplace in time and hope he someday finds me once more.

Cliff

Tangled in mixed emotions, I find myself spinning easily and beautifully in soft chaos over the edge of that darkened cliff which sleeps quietly in it's fog of night, peacefully awaiting the hour of my ritualistic visit of finding myself stumbling and falling that silent fall.
As smooth and deep as a brush stoke of thickened red paint on black canvas finding itself pool then run eerily similar to that crimson drip, violent red in sweet satisfaction that I've been lost to for far too long. I embrace myself and close my eyes this time in acceptance of my tormented fate... why brace for a fall I've experienced in the same melancholy dread over and over again in dull and weary entrapment?
Why not this time.... close my eyes and simply feel the decent and in some way allow the loss of control to carry me there and back again without the fear.

Crank

It's rare anymore that I find myself in peaceful solice of private corners. Laying here in silence, I feel the rusty crank on the side of my brain creak in ghostly fashion as if opening a door to an ancient tomb that's been buried and forgotten yet newly discovered.
I have always been aware... yet,,, feeling and knowing are two different things aren't they. Feelings make you mad with wonderment. Emotions will draw you into darkness and convince you that you are lost in chaos... and you are. Unfortunately when it comes to matters of the heart and life in general in most cases, the brain tends to shut down so we never really think clearly,,, we just run around lost in the chaos of flooding emotions.
The rusty crank turns and the wheels spins... Once our minds perceive as truth, we can then begin to search for truth.... and truth sadly can be more maddening than the chaos of uncertainty.

Copyright2014©AngelaVaden

Flow

I didn't know how thick the tow,
would wash and consume in heavy flow.
Falling down deep in silent sound,
The quiet overtakes and I drown.
Rushing in, sweet bitter sin,
What happened to who I was within?
All goes dark, that black ironic Mark,
Red fades to gray then to nothings stark.
Black is new, this darkened hue,
But blissful in a twisted view.

Fading

07/16/2006

A little more each day,

Slowly withering into nothingness,

Buried further into the shadows

Of that lost side of my brain.

Darker shades of gray,

With it's monochrome emptiness,

Screaming red echoes

To be released from the vein.

Silent is the drop

That shakes all existence,

And sharp the bite,

That took the last breath,

And finally it stops

With no more resistance,

To fade into night

And to death.

Destiny

Why do I feel the need to bleed? Scattered so carelessly across mussed parchment as if to mean anything remotely understandable or worth the effort to deserve a second glance yet alone worthy of the minutes it would take to discern any meaning of the mad mumbling of a mad immortal who's lost purpose and destination.
I find myself standing quietly still amongst an ever moving world full of people, scurrying this way and that to place that do not matter. Pass me by and I can't help but smirk at the insanity of their daily mad dashes to do nothing but the same thing they did yesterday and will do everyday until life has slowly drained them to nothing.
It is an inevitable end that each holds. We all have an end, even us immortals who pretend within ourselves as if we've magically avoided finding ourselves in dust in the end,,, yet it somehow finds us at some point or the other. Some in honored and blessed death and some in a sad attempt to deny our demise.
I feel it lurking in the corners and around doorways watching me as if it lays in wait for to take me to that place of endless falling. Quietly taking my life a little more each day, leaving me with less and less time to reach my destination.
And what of love? Love in it's putrid tormenting chaos. To make it from that end to this, only to brush against a ghostly omnipresent reminder of it's absence. Hanging there in a distance mockingly disguised as such lovely rapture,,, how I hate this ever lingering desire to possess its curse.

Random Idiotic Ramblings of a Lost Weekend

12/6/2005

The voice of knowledge, a practical guide to inner peace, Yet is there such a thing?
Tumbling over and about in my brain with the other bumbling irrationalities that my fertile membrane gives birth to.
She walks in darkness, and he is falling, and all I want is to suck it up.
Hands gentle upon mine as we journey together, but are we together?
The lights of the preconceived adventure gives me hope, yet my faith has fallen.
"I am not enough", still slapped in the face with that reality of inadequacy. Did I spell that right? Inadequacy? Oh well, what the hell does it matter?
Deck the halls and fa la la, and hope that death will find them all, in all their bleeding smiling pretending, and hope that deep wound soon starts mending.
I spent it all out onto the floor and watched it slither to the door, curl away as quick as born, and yet for it I have not mourned.
Lover's bleed and wish to sleep, yet search for it in another's keep, away from the one they hold so dear to set them free from nothing real.
Pushed away and pushed away, conceiving what I did that day, why push away that which you wish, and pretend it all the better fit?
Does this make sense? I hope not so, because I do not wish to know. And yes, the blood repeats itself, but only from my former self.
Cut it deep and smell the scent, and wonder how the hell it went, forgot, away, in some dismay, to sing that lullaby for the day.
I searched the books and found not one, that read the story I had done, the smell of ink and binding thread, almost cool as if it dead.
But there I lay in the veiled chamber bed, perceived in love and getting head. Then spit the fluid of my lust upon the sheets in a heated thrust.
And slept again at last in peace, to wake in morbid saddened grief.
How is it that I come so far, to fall upon this broken jar, and cut my throat with the thick glass, then bleed to death in all this trash?
And I end it here...

Lost in Insomnia

And here it is again I find, it's 3 am and the clock keeps time.
Tock and tick in crunching clicks, the metal gears, screech on bleeding ears.
Rumble through the house of the night where the shadow falls in silent quiet.
Feel the cold and hold the heft, and watch the fading of what's left.
I feel my flesh begin to fall away, with every silent sweet display.
Take what you will, and leave the rest, for life is just a morbid mess.
It was never mine to live you see, yet sustenance for others misery.
With every sway, I watch it slip away, and stare into nothingness, as if I had a day.
And what of love, that breath of life, the only time I felt alive.
It is as well, lost in hell, forgotten someplace between a place I fell.
But OH how I pray for longing sleep to find me in deathly peace,
For once dreams found me so easily, now turn to dust and insanity.
Looking out at my surrounding full of grays and shadows,,,
That sickening every present awareness that in this world tonight, there is nothing red at all.

Why

Pull me down again into the soft candlelit coffin of my miserable ecstasy. There to lie in written pen with all the blood spilled from deep within. Carrying away in that pitch black slumber to all the places my mind which find me with you over and over,,, in fallen leaves and radiant sunlight that I shall never see again, less my heart fall even further into nothingness with you. Watch it trickle black... washed away with the autumn rain that beckons me to remember...  And how you do so love the miserably darkened hollow shell you've created of my once were's... and that is why you do it.

Feel The Feel

November 8, 2005

"Can I cut you?" Is what I said, 
Then heard the echo of the dead.
Memory invades this dark intent,
And a brief moment of pure content.
Sends me back away from pain,
To begin the journey once again.
I spread my legs to touch the place,
That your soft lips so loved to taste.
Warm and wet as my ache did pound,
To feel that feel of going down,
Falling deep, lost in the dark,
I imagine each beat of that little heart.
Pound away with each tongue tease,
Thrusting with that yearning need.
In and out and back once more,
To be all that you knew was yours.
Spreading wide to take you in,
And feel the feel upon my skin,
Escaping out and seep away,
And know I will now so decay.
Falling deeper, into the ground,
And suddenly there is no sound.
Full of feel, I long release,
Pray this ache somehow does cease.
Yet in darkness pain much real,
I long to feel that painful feel.

The Fall

How to stop,
That sudden drop,
Hanging over the dark green clover...
I knew it wouldn't last.
And what of red??
That shade of dead,
That covered me when red I bled...
And it too fell to past.
And so down,,,
In silent sound,
Falling that fall I fall so profound,
I shall fall happily.
Deeply it seems,,,
I'm all silent screams,
Into the blackest of blind dreams,,,
To die quietly.

The Bitter Lovers

The dawn brought death,
The night did fly,
And as I lie and cry for you to die,
I saw you dead.
Your pretty head,
This poem, I read,
And so you said,
"Bury me deep into the night"
In which I did with much delight,
Into the dark and cold so quiet.
Then covered you, I, in rich soil,
So sooner would your body spoil.
Thus began, your corpse to rot,
And feed the earth, from with your plot,
To spring a rose bush from the ground,
To cover me and pull me down,
Beneath the earth to your death bed,
To lie beside your pretty head.
I held you to my bosom near,
And read this poem for you to hear.
Upon your love, I once more cried,
To join my Love... and so I died.

Dead Metaphor

November 17 2005

An inescapable mental torment as the mussitation of that dead metaphor whispers that morbid whisper incessantly...
"You're Heart is Broken..."
And oh how I felt the blow that bellowed the echo of that heart shattering thud throughout my entire body,,, that deep, almost buried sound that shook me from my seat and made me stand to inspect the security of my surroundings.
I knew something wasn't right, yet I tried to convince myself it was nothing. Walking away in denial, while in my chest, that distinct fracture slowly begins to cobweb out as ice covering a puddle splits outward when stepped upon.
Each crack quietly giving birth to another crack, and another, then another, until my heart is covered completely with it's fragility.
Barely pieced together, each blood pulsing pump shakes the surface pieces releasing bits and crumbs into nothingness,,, and I pretend that everything is normal.
But it is not normal...
I should rip the tainted seed from it's shell and bury it amongst the dead,,, without life, without feeling, without .... love...
Alas, how it angers me that I would allow this personal demolition of my emotional body, though I know, demolition is the only resolution to the decay of this dead structure.
Perhaps I enjoy the condemnation... perhaps, every moment spent in rot contends me? 
Why else would I deny each piece that falls away, was ever there to begin with? Why else would I deceive myself so that I could continue the suffering?
... why do I allow myself to suffer?

Red Rush

Ahhhhhh, there you are again. I suppose you thought it clever to sink so quietly into built in sullen shadows collectively arranged within the corridors of my mind, created intently to be hidden from others but myself and my Me.
Heavy, I feel the sway, as if a tilt in the tide, sweeping through my knowing and rushing into reality. That deep red rush of all that makes that gray decay alive again. Alive, yes breathing, but always the cold quiet silence, still wrapped in eloquent blossoms of that tender vine that ever reaches its length tight around me. Around and around, twine to skin, extending and growing into crevices that even I am not aware.
Awake again, to release that so sweet dark decadence, to pulsate in tormenting awareness of savage inherent compulsion to feed... and search I in these nights, for prey.

Copyright©2013Angela Vaden all rights reserved