V.E.Sweets
12-10-2006, 05:13 PM
A blending of genres: poetry and fiction.
Dark Fantasies
These walls cry to me and wake me from my slumber. Walls of insubstantial darkness. I look around myself and drink the sable ocean with my eyes. Nothingness that could be anything my dark fantasies crave. My dark fantasies. I’m coming to, arising and realizing and then I think:
What sound has awoken me?
My dark and fear fueling perverse fantasies ring my brain as I am thinking in desperation, in desperate soulful metaphysical hunger. In my mind, my terrible fantastical mind: Malformed things with malicious fangs and horns and asymmetrical forms that wrack my perceiving into pain. My perceiving thoughts, my poor, wretched, hapless thoughts are focused, forced on the spirits of the blackest arts.
What thing has waked my being?
Memory. Memory on my fringed state, I am frantic in trying to remember as I yet wake. As I struggle with perception. Ah but those memories would destroy me. My rationale, and my sense of moral would cave in and then implode like a big banging universe into more and more sheets of darkness. This revelational memory is a prophecy, will be, to be my Ragnarök, my apocalypse complete.
But what terrible sound wakes this god fearing man?
Not a thing of God that be true. What these ears heed is methods of the true arch-fiend. Some demon from his fiery pits springing into my world.
Now I remember. Before I had slept I had written in completion an evil text. For enjoyment I said, for my own passing of time. Truly and deeply I thought such things should not be expressed. My story was more a memoir of a certain demon that had come to me invisible in nights’ weak and singular hours, had come to me to whisper devilry in my ear. All my conscience I manacled and set in chains somewhere deep inside of me, leaving me free to do the deed, to write these words that make the demon real. I had only listened because I wanted to enjoy it. The expression I had not taken seriously, my words of how and why this demon was made; more fantasy than anything. My dark fantasy, its darker reality.
Now my fearful breaths are difficult in my chest. That thing from inside of me, from the Hell that exists inside my brain, I wish so anxiously I had not expressed. Evil art should be.
“Who’s there?” I croak into the darkness like a dying bird distressed.
Nothing.
And then two lights gleaming. And immediately I know it’s my demon I am seeing. Glaring with his windows from a soul wrought of misery, his infernal eyes look on me with glee. In my closet like an innocent child’s perverse darkest fantasy, my monster begins to form first from those two eyes of the inferno’s.
I try to move but find I’m frozen, paralyzed in fear. I can only wait as they grow larger, as the thing comes slowly, tenderly from the closet and then is at the foot of my bed.
It is there I see, truly, horribly, this form, this miserable blasphemy to sight is worse in reality than my mind’s rendering.
Again the sound, the same one that had awoken me. This time I hear it in its full as it tears from the mouth, the twisted snout like mouth of the demon. A destruction on my ears, a destruction that shakes me violently. I tremble and fall from the bed at the sound. How could something so terrible be perceived?
It straddles me as I writhe on the ground shrieking, like lover, like damned lover come to do its will on me. But it only waits, watches as my frozen stare stays on its wretched visage. I cannot move. It breathes on me for a seeming perpetuity before it finally takes me to its home. It is here I am tortured immortally for all eternity.
-VES
Dark Fantasies
These walls cry to me and wake me from my slumber. Walls of insubstantial darkness. I look around myself and drink the sable ocean with my eyes. Nothingness that could be anything my dark fantasies crave. My dark fantasies. I’m coming to, arising and realizing and then I think:
What sound has awoken me?
My dark and fear fueling perverse fantasies ring my brain as I am thinking in desperation, in desperate soulful metaphysical hunger. In my mind, my terrible fantastical mind: Malformed things with malicious fangs and horns and asymmetrical forms that wrack my perceiving into pain. My perceiving thoughts, my poor, wretched, hapless thoughts are focused, forced on the spirits of the blackest arts.
What thing has waked my being?
Memory. Memory on my fringed state, I am frantic in trying to remember as I yet wake. As I struggle with perception. Ah but those memories would destroy me. My rationale, and my sense of moral would cave in and then implode like a big banging universe into more and more sheets of darkness. This revelational memory is a prophecy, will be, to be my Ragnarök, my apocalypse complete.
But what terrible sound wakes this god fearing man?
Not a thing of God that be true. What these ears heed is methods of the true arch-fiend. Some demon from his fiery pits springing into my world.
Now I remember. Before I had slept I had written in completion an evil text. For enjoyment I said, for my own passing of time. Truly and deeply I thought such things should not be expressed. My story was more a memoir of a certain demon that had come to me invisible in nights’ weak and singular hours, had come to me to whisper devilry in my ear. All my conscience I manacled and set in chains somewhere deep inside of me, leaving me free to do the deed, to write these words that make the demon real. I had only listened because I wanted to enjoy it. The expression I had not taken seriously, my words of how and why this demon was made; more fantasy than anything. My dark fantasy, its darker reality.
Now my fearful breaths are difficult in my chest. That thing from inside of me, from the Hell that exists inside my brain, I wish so anxiously I had not expressed. Evil art should be.
“Who’s there?” I croak into the darkness like a dying bird distressed.
Nothing.
And then two lights gleaming. And immediately I know it’s my demon I am seeing. Glaring with his windows from a soul wrought of misery, his infernal eyes look on me with glee. In my closet like an innocent child’s perverse darkest fantasy, my monster begins to form first from those two eyes of the inferno’s.
I try to move but find I’m frozen, paralyzed in fear. I can only wait as they grow larger, as the thing comes slowly, tenderly from the closet and then is at the foot of my bed.
It is there I see, truly, horribly, this form, this miserable blasphemy to sight is worse in reality than my mind’s rendering.
Again the sound, the same one that had awoken me. This time I hear it in its full as it tears from the mouth, the twisted snout like mouth of the demon. A destruction on my ears, a destruction that shakes me violently. I tremble and fall from the bed at the sound. How could something so terrible be perceived?
It straddles me as I writhe on the ground shrieking, like lover, like damned lover come to do its will on me. But it only waits, watches as my frozen stare stays on its wretched visage. I cannot move. It breathes on me for a seeming perpetuity before it finally takes me to its home. It is here I am tortured immortally for all eternity.
-VES