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Epileptic sensualists“Hellfire awaits you” tiny naked women danced around her when she came back. And she laughed. As if the gods didn’t know that sensuality was part of her? She played around with her long hair still around her beautiful face.
She looked at herself in the mirror, putting kajol on, rolling her tongue over her lips, seeing her soft thin lips getting wet and shining; she looked at the shape of her body, the round bulges, the subtle curve till her torso and her slim legs. Delighted in her voluptuousness, she laughed as a crackling sound mingled with her laugh. Astonished, she turned around to see an old hag of a man laughing. He was more of a silhouette but from what she could see, the man was revoltingly hideous. “You belong to me now, my love!” The crackling sound tore her ear drums. “Who are you?” She moved away. He moved swiftly and overtook her. There was a sound of crackling of her bones, a convulsion and his laugh. There were shadows, som
United states of corrupted mindsThe sensualists, the sadists, the broken the corrupted of the lot. Vagaries of nature and its cruel jokes on human mind. The disoriented eyes, the shameless behavior, devoid of inhibitions you walk huddled together you vermins of the world. There you can see her exposed bosom and the dark pink disgusting lipstick on chapped lips. She has returned like a ruffled bitch which has been with tens of dogs. The bulge under whatever is left of her dress is either going to be reduced to blood after an abortion or will soon materialize into another of those dead bastards.
That man with disoriented eyes, touching himself in the middle of the road is another one of them. His kurta and shalwar have stains of mud and oil. His overgrown beard is entangled like a mesh of steel wires. He doesn’t care if that lady in the car is disgusted by his utterly inappropriate behavior. A man passing by spits at him and swears at him.
That pockmarked face boy has ran away from home. The peeping tom was
A womanSome women are only women by nature. Not wives, not mothers. Just women. And they delight in their womanhood.Reproduction to them is the death of their femininity.
Why is it so unnatural to imagine that a woman abhors her child. She gets stuck in the menstrual cycle while she is still in her frock and plays with dolls. The little bastard is ever ready to come out if some child molester decides to fuck the little girl. There is always a chance.
Now then when she turns into a beautiful teenager, she can't be promiscuous like her male counterpart. The small piece of crap straitjackets her sexuality. She has to suffer the intense pain of menstruation every month and gets sick and nauseous every time. She has to throw away lumps of clothes soaking with her own blood, she has to flush her blood. It is like she is flushing her dead baby, which she could give life to had she chosen to sleep with a man. The little mean th
Die my darlingDie, will you, please?
Can I kill you, please?
for us both it is not a bliss
but at least you will die
leaving me alone
craving for sun to scratch my ugly darkness
till it turns to red
the crimson red, the color of your blood on my knife
or on yours, whatever you wish.
But die, please. Pretty please with cherry on top.
Letter to the belovedDarling - thank you for all you have done. If ever in my bearing you encountered any bitterness, please know that it was all well-intentioned and out of my unchecked loving expectations of you. My dearest no day ever did or ever will fade away the tenderness and love that I feel towards you.
Sweetheart you may not comprehend my love fully but know that as long as I am alive I have the longing to be safe in your arms. See my love, its hard when one has experienced completeness and then one has to let go of it. I can not explain fully but I know dearest that you'll understand it for have you not always understood me?
My beloved, I have thought about what you said and I am in complete accord with you. Sometimes even though you love someone the most, you just can't be with them. And in that know that I have acquired meaning of love. Mortality of the beauty makes one love and I love you in all the brief spasm of completeness.
Not a day passes, not a place I go keeps me from remembering y
One eye cries One eye laughsQuietly does she ascend from the well with thousand snakes.. Naag devta follows her.. obsessed with her every move.. charmed by gaiety of her manners. She walks with her long brown hair trailing behind her on the coarse ground. She chuckles and her delicate voice chimes through the old deserted city. Femme fatale that she is, the people of the city told tales to young men of the countless unsuspecting victims of the enchantress, the snake-woman that resided in the well. She knew, she knew all, for those objects of immolation could not escape the Goddess. She knew and she laughed knowing nobody could combat the temptation. She didn't allure, that was beneath her, no, she was sin herself. Where could the man run from a rogue god unless some other god would save him, but don't we all know gods don't speak, they do not intrude on man's behalf. They are silent diabolical spectators laughing at the silliness of people heaving bundles of prayers, deriding the expectation of imbecile human tha
I know I'm damned Godoverpowering sorrow... makes me scream and cry at times.. while i'm crying i hear weird sounds of creaking coming from inside me.. shattering and creaking and sounds of metals thrown on ground with full force.. or complaints of the old women in a vague shaky language.. I scare my reflection
I am damned and I know
I smell of roses though
like a bride on the first night absorbs the smell of roses around her on the bed
or a dead body covered with itr('pure' perfume) and rose petals...
I scare my reflection..
I am damned and I know
I smell of roses though...
Fucking Bedtime storiesMy rapist told me the best bedtime stories. He told me tales of sadhus(mystics of India), their love for the supreme being, the spiritual journey that ends in salvation, the journey to discover impossible, to solve mysteries unknown. His hand would move down my spine and keep fidgeting on the hook of my bra and I'd innocently look at him thinking its to make me sleep. I'd put my head back on his shoulders lovingly and close my eyes. He'd kiss on my head slightly, and then my cheeks, my eyes, my nose(lol he called it nosy) and then my lips. He would keep telling me stories... He told me a story of a bookish stepdaughter of a sadistic army officer, Ofelia. Ofelia found out that she was a lost princess of the Underground Realm. According to the faun she meets, she was curious about the world above so escaped to the Earth, where she forgot her past. Ofelia's mother conceived a child and was severely ill. The faun tells Ofelia of a way to restore her mother's health: placing a mandrake root
naked raceSilently looking at the naked corpse beside the old sewage pit at the far end of the slums.. bruises at her rising-tomb like breasts.. the right breast has cigarette burn on the pink taut nipple ... once her bosoms must have been supple and beautiful... oh but they are still as beautiful... the charred patches just seem to adorn her private parts.. they add a teasing mystery to her otherwise bare brutally denuded body... she must have had put a lot of struggle... there still remain blood drained dregs of her clothes scattered around... she is around sixteen since the rest of her unscorched body is still supple with signs of youth that were yet not drained out of her even after the excruciating torment she must have had to put with... she is lying there as if she is still gestated in the mother's womb... its as if she is attempting to contain herself.. her beautiful bare disfigured legs all crawled up to her bosoms... she has a serene grace on her face though... she is drained in blood
Her Name Was Celeste.The house's roof was dotted rows upon rows of flowers of Celeste blue while the specks of Coquelicot red hues splattered ontop the blossoms. A little girl, as fair as the snowflakes twirling out from our crystal silver dome, with hair in lavender sparkles, and Earth's coral reefs on her silky dress, smiled ever so gently and fell onto the velvets, her cushion.. her entrance to the afterworld. The flowerings absorbed her corpse and she found herself as one of the delicates. Here she was in the same place she had fell to her death seconds ago, and now she is given another life as a plant. Celeste gazed downwards from the rooftop and spotted children her age playing merrily on swings and slides, as well as parents hugging and running with their offspring. A need, a seed, grew intensely from her underlying point and the hunger of joy sprang up. Years after years, she was left in wonder silently looking around at her surroundings, seeing the little ones she used to play with grow up, having
Hunting„Mom, mom, look what I found. This flower. It remembers me of dad...Oh, no, don't start crying, I am sorry, I just did... I miss dad...”
I like this place, the sun is shining down between the big trees. Flowers and moss is at the ground. This whole place is shining. Golden. As if the sun fell down and made everything shining so beautiful. “I like this place mom. The grass looks so green and it is so tasty!”. Between my legs a butterfly is flying. A yellow one. It reflects the sun and it seems almost unnatural. This is a perfect day. That is a day that makes us remember why we live.
The deers, a mom and her son are in a wood. Nearly left behind, no humans are there. A truly peaceful place..
“Run, run my son, I'll come after you, don't stop, run!”
What? What is happening, I can't remember, why do I have to run. Run, run, I should, listen to my mom, why? Why?
a loud noise fills the air. All birds stopped singing, all animals hide. Even the smallest don'
Sunshine, rain, wind, hail, or snow, she was there. This colorfully dressed girl walked her dog down my childhood street every day, no matter the weather. Shorts, skirts, shirts, long sleeve shirts, tights, leggings, dresses, boots, flats, never flip flops though. Her hair never the same twice, always different in some way. Her dog on its long leash but always staying close. I saw her often, walking home from the bus stop. The leash always got caught under the dog’s legs, but she just laughed and smiled every time and untangled her pet. She was always smiling, humming or wearing big purple headphones, sometimes with an umbrella. Occasionally she’s spot me and wave, and I waved back. Her age was unknown to me, but in my young naiveté, everyone was old. I’ll always remember all the hues and shades she wore.
But one day, it was different. There was no color, no music, no hum. Just a girl in black, trudging along with her dog. I saw her less, and her look nev
It Isn't Easy “I don’t get it.”
She leaned her head back so that she was looking up at the sky. “What don’t you get?”
I waved my hands to try and string my thoughts together. “How…how can you just be so accepting of this?”
She laughed and turned to look at me. I’d always wished I had her eyes, especially when she smiled like that. “Oh trust me, sissy, I’m not quite to the point of acceptance yet.”
“But you’re so calm about it. I mean, if it was me, I’d have been about to beat someone up.”
“I was pissed off, that’s for sure.” She paused a moment before continuing. “But being angry is just so draining, you know? Plus, it’s just too easy.”
I glanced at her then, confused. “Easy?”
“Yeah.” She gazed up at the sky again, wavy ha
Carpenters and CradlesAutumn, Year 758 of the New Age
The Great Oak, Glenmore
Princess Glenda, Faulkner (NPC) and Donder (NPC)
Glenda's mother always used to tell her silly stories of monsters. She never believed in them, knowing full well the only beasts were stags in rut and stray foxes.
But she thought twice as she lay beneath her favorite wisteria tree, fretting that the chill autumn rain mussed her mane and dampened her curls into a soggy, grayish mass. The sound started out much like a newborn's heart-beat; faint at first, then it grew to a dull roar.
The princess bolted to her feet, shooting from the glade just in time to be thrown headlong into the grass as a monstrous bellow shook the ground.
Glenda scrambled to get her footing, eyes as wide as the opening sky, opened to see the giant set ablaze.
The Great Oak. It was on fire.
Horror dawned upon the doe as soon as the smell engulfed her- charred wood and smoke, swirling up into the clouds with a scream as half of the oak tumbled, the sickening smac
In Roman Times"Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy," declared the preacher.
The warm sun was starting to go down. Evening was closing in, yet the crowd still listened to the preacher, captivated by his lessons.
"Blessed are the pure in heart," he continued. "For they shall see God."
Some distance away, two women stood apart from the crowd. They wore the attire of wealthy Roman aristocrats. Veils shrouded their pale skin from the sun.
"Mother, this is the third day you have dragged me into the burning sun to listen to this warm Jew," complained one of them.
"Oh, Julia, aren't you delighted by his words? Don't they stir such a passion in your undead heart? I could listen to this man forever," said Penelope.
"He has a way of putting things, I admit. But it's all the usual Jewish nonsense. Kingdom of God, and all that. I'm a Roman. It's really not for me," replied Julia.
"You should not despise the Jews. They believe in just one god. Many of the philosophers agree that there is only on
To live among the starsA gunshot.
You feel your body hit the ground.
Your life flashes before your eyes, the happy times, the sad times, and all the moments in between.
You are dead before you know it.
Everything is black for a moment.
Is this heaven? you ask yourself.
When your vision finally adjusts, you look around to see the most beautiful sight.
Millions upon millions of stars and planets and galaxies.
You had always dreamed of seeing it.
Upon further inspection you find that there are people here.
Friends, family, and strangers alike who had all died once upon a time.
You begin to wonder...
What's happening on Earth?
Your thoughts turn to your friends and family
Still living in that world.
You feel a slight tinge of regret.
How do they feel?
They've probably discovered your body by now.
They're probably crying and blaming themselves for not being there when you needed them.
And looking around at this beautiful place only makes you r
I think I’ve been living under a rock for too long. Nobody recognizes me anymore.
Last week, the bunnies struck again. One of them started stomping on the face of an old woman while screaming random passages from Revelations. In a separate part of town, they started a drunken fight in the middle of the street and accidentally sliced the throat open of one of their own.
They’re everywhere, the bunnies. They’re an infestation. They hide their faces under masks, so they can do anything. Then they do anything. They do the most blood curdling blood sports of which any human being would not be capable. I wonder if these are human beings.
I see the bunnies everywhere. They walk down streets. They see other members, and sometimes they attack. That’s just their nature, I suppose. They kill and eat their young. I saw one of them carving up some guy with a switchblade and yelling obscenities I had never heard before. I raised my gun, I shouted at him, and he wouldn’t
BloodThe huge bugs crawled up on her ceiling. There were ugly grey hives all over her room. She'd repaint the hives bright yellow, she thought to herself while tiny droplets of slime kept falling upon her. She feared she'd get buried in the slime of those ugly bugs. She couldn't weep, couldn't move; this usually happens when you develop a certain level of queer intimacy with your tormentors. Her long hair spread around her, with her beautiful face particularly still and her eyes fixed on the bugs, she lied there. She wanted to blink, her eyes were paining and she did; the poor dear. It could have been a moment or infinity she didn't realize, as it gave so much relief to her eyes. Buzz.. She opened her eyes to see all the bugs flying towards her. Her eyes widened and came out of their sockets while blood poured out. Her blood followed a weird course; it spurted out of her eyes, made its way down the bed in streaks, crawled on the floor zig-zag like a red snake, hopped up the wall and a
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More