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Such heartless creatures, who learn to lie.
They do not care if you happen to die.
Only focusing on what they like best, they either forget or shun the rest.
They disgust us, they do, with their pathetic souls.
As a matter of fact their souls have left, and all that remains is a simple brain.
A brain that allows them to simply stain.
Stain the planets who were deemed sane.
Alas, the race shall hopefully fall, for nothing lasts forever, nothing at all.
2P! England: Why Hello There, Love2P! England: Why Hello There Love
Well, what do we have here, a lovely creature with such delicate fair skin, how beautiful you are in the pale moonlight. Oh, don't be frightened now, all I want to do is hear you scream and see your blood drip down your neck, slowly. Please stay where you are, I don't want to make any more slices in your skin than I have to, after all, you are quite gorgeous. Oh, what's this? A plead for forgiveness? So sorry love, but too many have have tried that. I ended up stuffing them through shredders, which I don't think you deserve. You deserve a slow and beautiful death, one beginning with small slices on your skin, and ending with a stab in your throat, followed by a crimson kiss. Or maybe I'm just lying to you, it all depends on your decision, either stop moving, or have me tear your soul apart.
FarewellCrackle, crackle, watch my bones break.
Watch my eyes melt, and heart slowly shake.
See my skin peel from my face, for now begins the endless race.
The race with death, the one I won't win.
For I am too weak, too brittle and thin.
Say farewell for me, to no one I ask.
Except for the one behind the mask.
Bestowed Upon Me a CurseBestowed upon me, a curse, yes.
One told of pure blood and a simple white dress.
It is my fault, yes indeed, for I am the one who made her soul bleed.
I sliced and drove my knife in her skin, for it was her fault she begged for one night of sin.
We did not wed for that sort of game, we wed for our love and money, plus fame.
Alas, I'll never regret using that knife, for she was a succubus, not my wife.
My Dearest, My DearestMy Dearest, My Dearest
My dearest, my dearest, how fair you are. With your silky white skin, and hair dark as tar. Every morning you come out and sing, you voice howls and calls for a ring. A ring, fashioned of an angel's skin, swirled together and formed by sin. The stone, composed of a vampire's blood, must be three centimeters wide, otherwise it's a dud. The ring is lost, for it cursed and dead. The only wearer had lost her head. She was a dark queen who ruled lands with the dead, but alas they betrayed her and severed her head.
How sad, how sad, my beloved still wails. Her body is weak, so bony and frail. The final thing she asks of me is to retrieve the ring, from beneath the sea. In the end I do not care for this wench, I've lied, cheated, and stolen her soul, which is worth more than a bullion of gold. For I am simply greed, with a touch of lust, I am unstoppable, I do what I must. And to all who read this do not be deceived, the human mind is easy for me to achieve.
UnknownCreaking boards, cackling cages, cold-dark waters, and unseen pages.
One simple item binds them all, will you see it or will you fall?
'Tis something cold and harsh like ice, but also nimble and twisted thrice.
Lost within a forgotten home, search for the riddle you consider your own.
And once you find what you honestly need, you'll be able to thoroughly know how to succeed.
Cursed Jewels and Flesh-colored MarblesCursed jewels and flesh-colored marbles, two treasures I have for thee.
The jewels, carved of souls and lost hope, they glimmer for all to see.
The marbles carved of human skin, delicately sealed without, but not in.
They too glimmer, but in other eyes, for they conceal a much more insane surprise.
Open the box dear, let them steal your mental sense, but do not touch them, for they are weary and tense.
Listen to them speak, hear their tales of sorrow, because in the end you'll die on the morrow.
You're Not A PoetYou’re not a poet because of strung words
Together on row upon row again
Of blank verse or perhaps liberal rhyme.
‘Slam’ all you want, other poets wonder;
Your ignorance of couplets a blunder?
Yes! I speak harshly, but it’s no gross crime,
To point with honesty failed verse of thine.
No real poet discards upper case words;
Lets prose crawl on paper like listless worms.
You seek to free verse of those stern letters,
Sever away bleak capital fetters,
But it doesn’t sing of great speech sublime,
Rather, it sneaks of writing in spare time.
Wait! before you throw me in the icy Rhine;
It’s hard to put verse together in rhyme,
To make our dull words sound great all the time,
Hear them ring out loud, like a clear clock’s chime,
Heralding a poet’s summer prime.
Yet the sacred muses weep at your crime;
Your pentameter mangled thick like slime,
The subject not gilded in raiment fine;
Your bold ink font, crystal waters divine
Tastes bitter to the ton
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More