...i wouldn't mind constructive criticism...

[Just a Memory]

Even from you folks...just read and comment if you wish

Cleaning with Matches (Tentative Title)

Kicking around all the dust
I hate to clean but it’s a must
In the mess I give a look
There it is, that old damn book
I wish I had my bloody pills
‘Cuz seeing that fucking kills
Chocking on the dirty air
Sure enough it’s lying there
Leave it be or pick it up?
Oh Fuck it all I give up!

Lets go back to that day
When you threw it all away
Stars falling at night
Dreams fade in the light

In my hands it almost burns
I manage to make the page turn
Read it all like some great work
Hide again behind that smirk
Where’d I put the damn matches
I’ll turn my past into ashes
Leave it be or light it up?
Oh Fuck it all burn it up!

Lets go back to that day
When you threw it all away
Stars falling at night
Dreams fade in the light
If I burn the past away?
Then what is left to stay?
Stars falling at night
Dreams fade in the light

You should see this
You have never
Looked more beautiful when you melt away!

Lets go back to that day
When you threw it all away
Stars falling at night
Dreams fade in the light
If I burn the past away?
Then what is left to stay?
Stars falling at night
Dreams fade in the light

Snow Globe Angel

Whisper
Count to Ten
Can you hear me?

The snow looks so sweet as it falls upon you
Even as you drown in your world
And as the music plays to portray innocence
The lights shimmer from behind the windows.
Crystals fall around your feet.
And you dance surrounded by tears.
Shake it up and start again
Watch it once again fall down
Tap the glass and peering in
You can’t hear me…you can’t see me
My sad little love
My snow globe angel
Drowning in your tears
Forever

Puppet
Hey you, see me?
I hang up high on that shelf
In your room
Alone behind frames of your self
I once danced for you
You’d pull the strings and I’d move
Across the stage I’d walk
You’d say, oh pretty little Mary
How I love you so
Not a word of this anymore
Your face it changes
Your age oh how it shows
But I hang here always the same
A painted puppet for your joy
And if I could I’d cry out
Plead to move
And through my limbs blood
Not splinters would flow
Dust covers these bones
Sleep is all I do now

[Just a Memory]

Mary (Short Story, begining might sound familiar)

Such perversion of evil and hell was one, such trickery, deceit and lies one played and gave, and such bitter love and lust one had for Him it was almost sick...almost. A solitaire black feather fell from what seemed to be nowhere and fell upon the shoulder of that nonchalant man. "Eine" the word resonating seemingly from some ethereal source, and the patron began to feel woozy, standing up the feather still upon the shoulder. "Zwei" again silently came forth, and the man now doubled over in pain holding his head and screaming. "Drei" was finally uttered, and this time heard by those who nearby to hear it, and as it finished its echo, the man looked up with such a horrified manner it chilled the blood and pained the heart to gaze upon him. Not moments after he simply was ripped in half as black feathers erupted from his mouth, his wounds and his corpse. The feathers swirled together in a storm, forming together and created this perversion, this twisted clown. Adorned with locks of red hair and a face as pale as snow, and with cosmetics to make a whore envious, and yet a foolish enough to make a child laugh. With a large black hat upon one's head, a black collared shirt, looking like a priest, and a skirt with a black lace underlining this mad freak stood above the bloody victim, face emotionless and body poised almost seductively, showing some leg with fishnet stockings and heeled boots, both black of course, and both eerily shocking. What wonderful irony that this blasphemy had arrived decorated with the sign of One’s former god. If demons walked the earth, then this entity would perhaps be one of them.

Well, at least that’s how the men described one. They knew not about whom they spoke of, and it aggravated one oh so very much. Oh sure their was truth to such words they spoke about this clown, and yes a pretty painted puppet one was, but such entrances were not the style of choice. The simple truths these men would speak easily of, however it was the deeper, most inner realities that they perhaps could not understand. Holding neither a chalice nor a blade, one hung from strings, and was damned by the creator to become a marionette of sorts. One could love, hate, feel, but could not express such emotions with out the will of Him. When one spoke, which was rare, one would refer to Him, and their simple minds immediately pointed to the morning star that had fallen. Bah, how one truly wanted nothing to do with Lucifer, but what was one to do exactly? Would they believe? Of course not!

So here one sat, as always, at this quiet little inn, sitting in the far back and alone, appearing as such a depressed wretch of a human, and being described to the newly arriving guests who stepped into this quaint pub by either the staff, or the regulars, who once again knew nothing. Oh by now how the walls have faded around them all. One could remember when they were a vibrant and lively kelly, but now they had dulled to that of a swamp. The wooden booths, stained and new when one first arrived, had all but worn away their finished and now began to chip and rot. The windows were somewhat dirty, and the dim light of dusk shone through them just enough. How had one arrived exactly? It mattered not, for one could purely not remember and perhaps either could they, leaving only their imaginations to fuel such atrocious lies.

People came and went, friends laughed and played, and lovers met or fought, but one remained there as always, like a decoration on the wall. How strange it was though to see her walk in. This young maiden, not older then a small child had wandered into this inn sullenly looking around for maybe a friend or at least someone to talk to. Her young azure eyes scanned from behind the locks of golden hair, the area around her delicately dressed form. Wearing what could only be described as a fancy black dress, with ruffles and pleats, the little girl looked so very cute. Her face beamed when it fell upon the puppet and she immediately headed over toward it.

“Hey, hey! Where do ya think ya going lass!” a man sitting at a table beside her path said, stopping the little traveler in place. She looked up at the drunken stranger with some fear, but curiosity mainly, and she turned to him rather plainly

“To go see the clown,” She said and raising a pointed hand up to show whom she spoke of. The sot, a regular, new the story about that dark farceur, and spoke, in a slurred wise voice his warning. It drew the attention of others, and soon they chimed in with their anecdotes and claims. All the while the one they spoke of sat in silence, merely watching them all, not saying a word to defend.

The young vagabond as she was looked just a bit confused at all of them and then back to her goal shaking her head just a bit and speaking softly “…He…she…whatever, he looks harmless to me…” Shocked at such a reaction, gasps came from the crowd and the girl made her way to the life size doll who still sat their alone and silent in the corner. Footfalls carried her across the floor to the booth where one sat, and the sound of them echoed over the now silent tavern, the patrons all looking on in shock, fear, and disbelief. “Hello,” the bold child said softly “My name is Alice…they all say you are evil…” She stopped for a second to look back at all of them and then back to the manikin. “But I don’t believe you are…”

Silence, it was like the entire room had gone mute, and only the sound of crackling flames from the now lit torches and candles about them all radiated through their ears. Soon limbs moved on the painted toy and they removed the hat, holding it still upon the bosom, and letting the crimson hair fall forward as the head bowed in respect. “Danke” one said softly, the voice ringing out in a rather western European accent. “It is zo nice fur One to see such kindness. Vhat brings you here Fräulein?”

“Boredom I suppose” Alice answered gently looking back at everyone who still looked in utter disbelief. She looked back and smiled at the figure before her so sweetly and caringly it was hard to imagine anyone could be as innocent as she was. One nodded and again limbs would move as if summoned to, and the hand reached inside the shirt. The crowd that had gathered gasped in fear, thinking that from the confines of the clothing some weapon would be pulled. Perhaps a dagger or a gun would come to be in the hands of the freak, and would be used to slay this poor innocent child. Oh how wrong they were. The gloved hand appeared once again, now holding a small doll. It was dressed in a skirt, shirt and hat; its hair was red, and partly covered by the large black hat. Its face was painted as well, and it bore a small cross around its neck. How charming, it was nothing more than a miniature of the clown.

“Here” One said handing the toy to the girl. “Fur being zo very kind, One gives to du this gift…cherish it as du have cherished my feelings young one, and One vill always be by your side. Run along, dis is not a place for caring hearts like yours…” The doll was handed to Alice, who took it cautiously noticing that the crowd looked no longer frightful, but confused. Perhaps in her innocence, or in the only way she knew how, she leaned up and planted a small kiss upon painted cheek of the clown to show her thanks before she walked off. Again her steps echoed about her in the silence of the tavern. It bewildered them all the show of listless affection that the “freak” showed the young girl. They all turned to one in shock wondering what had just happened. In turn the clown looked back, replacing the hat upon the head, and closing the eyes as it spoke once again. “You all learn from dis…you fools vho slander me so…” The words set in a bit before someone finally spoke up in question

“Why” the voice asked, its source not important “Why do you now decide to show us this?” The question, an intelligent one had but only a simple answer that only the painted freak could complicate

“Ah…” one began to answer, a small smirk growing on the face. “Puppets know not vhy dey move, but only that dey do. Question not me and my vays, but question your own.” After the words were spoken the silence did not follow. Instead the sound of a joyful cackle, a sinfully pleasuring laughter came from the mouth of the “perversion” as they had known one to be and one started to fade away bit by bit, until only the laughing painted grin remained, and then that to along with the sound of the cackle faded off into memory.

[Cygnus X-1]

The writing style is very Dostoevsky à la Notes from the Underground.