E-mail Click Here Yahoo! Messenger enigmaticlibra
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Birthday 1991-01-05 Gender
Female Location throughout the vast infosphere network Member Since 2004-05-05 Occupation metal collecter Real Name Nazo or what most of my friends call me...Dracula..
Personal
Achievements pulling myself apart for others, achieving peace with myself Anime Fan Since 5, ( sailormoon 1st aired) Favorite Anime descendents of darkness, tsubasa,chrono crusade, FMA, rurouni kenshin,fruits basket,naruto,trigun, full moon,aria,ghost in the shell, clamp works, and others Goals collect even more manga, and rid the world of my misfortunate cousin Hobbies reading, collecting manga, sometimes writing poems, and collecting pieces of metal. Talents expressing emotion in the ocassional poem, and serious devotion and loyalty
myOtaku.com: sailorcrystal
Welcome to my site archives. 10 posts are listed per page.
Birdcage
Pain is my existence the deviant to my sins.
With destruction and fear I keep staring at the wall.
Over and over tracing and painting new markings upon previous ones.
What is the point of sitting against the wall if nothing is to be done in a reapetive motion?
Such as the constant swinging of the pendulum within the antique clock that stands right above my gaze?
Crying for the dream someone who seems to have an item so expensive.
The price of one's soul if one is witness for him this hollow heart,
cannot even begin to phantom such coverage for that jewel in the red
velvet box upon the manger's throne of pricy gifts for profit.
The night brightly lit by passby stars flooring the pedals of imaginary cars and coaches.
The glass highways in andromeda lined and held in helms by crimson trackers.
Enough dreaming of false gods, I keep staring at this wall tracing patterns I notice the changes begin to take hold,
slowly eating away at some poor pity half-assed whelp.
Sweet light....under the same night, memories of day to come visions existence.
A shattered heap of glass reflects the pain millionfold.
Light plays whimsy tricks hindering the procession of many hearts.
The use of the dead is too damned.
With the moments flowing by as the span of illusions twisting greatly valued mirrors in the darkness.
The reasons seem to waver and with bitter words as the velvet sins,
The distant chirping of birds can be heard.
In gentle flutter of wings beats down upon the golden laced bars
and ultraviolet rays paint the room such as the dying horizon.
I am looking for something that is undeniable, tangible,
something real beyond the wildest of asspirations.
The buried soul ( inc.)
The darkness encompassing, staggering to a nearby wall, my body seemed to move in an alien methodica that was so foreign to myself. Sliding to fall upon the crevese where the floor and the wall met, my tattered cuffs of my pants seemed to soak in the waist deep pool of liquor. My mind burdened with much else in haggard imagery did not respond to the blood, a stagnant smell, a bright crimson in hue began to soak through the patterned sweater I wore. This article clung to my clumsy form as for dear life. Nothing seemed to have anymore meaning.
The metallic scent weighing the air as if in the midst of this invisible scarring battle of wills where the atmosphere is tensed. The quiet scene had been shattered all too quickly earlier when I had curled up near the window frame peering at the cityscape below, remembering sensations that had sent my physical spiraling and the soul of my beloved sister's tears splattered across the moon, tainting it.
Screams ignite the foundation in a small expanse of time, when agony of charred gunpowder in the breath along with the glimpse of the grotesque positions of fallen gods now becoming corpses. They dropped a hidden gift upon drapped royal jewel hued rugs whereas ebony and ivory reside. The mad whispers within the halls finally stopped when all was quiet and the only assailant that figment may have brought to life for no exceptional reason but whim.
Waltzed into the front yard or a field of over-grown weeds on this vast property and through the windows I resinated with the vibrations of weaponry. The meaty heap of man no longer, simply with the slow of time gracing the world eye view with slow fall to only land on a misplaced clothesline where my sister and I shared happiness. Now only to cling to this delicate string and hang.
With is the final atonement, the virtue of the buried soul long left with no marker. Comments (0) |
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Wednesday, June 13, 2007
long goodbye
On wide notebook paper people trace moments
of who they once were. Beats pulse slowly on the
inside of that dry head. We have our revolutionaries
and our inner children crying out for mother. We
now a days do not care for lives within the vicinity.
We instead snarl and quip about shit that annoys
and strikes a cord. Never realizing we may have
adult bodies however, we are still children on the
inside.
We play this game, and caresses and love become
nothing more than irrational fullfillment from
which we define ourselves. Child lend me your
hand because then I can whisper to you lies in
the dank dark to gain your innocent trust.
For once I have you, I `ll rape you with truth in
the morning. With everything from heightened
sensuality comes crashing down and you at a
loss turn up the volume and listen to the
pounding beats in a foreign tongue.
On wide notebook paper we trace the patterns
we previosly enamered, leaving a messy trail
by which we cannot be located. Movement
rocks you back and forth the familiar swoosh
and clang of steel and the streets passing at
the width of breath. Eyes of a million or so
watch the commotion as if to recite a
million miles in a single word.
We yell, we scream, we cry, we run far far
away. On lonely evenings dip into beats pounded
with foreign tongue then hate ourselves even
more and in frustration pound on the walls of our
minds as if a broken record. Who are we to say we
can fly when our wings have been torn clean off?
Emotion is the most rancid curse and the most
praised blessing. It drives to wound, to save.
Time continues, unhalted by anything until one
world leader falls from the seat of favor and
another automatton pops up to take his place.
We fade into the unending distance, to find
that there are too many notions to notice,
Matte i en narro...as the pounding beats
become rythmic and you state normal racking
of the bus and other automobiles makes it
impossible to write stably.
From then to now is a half hazard trip willing
to bang LSD, to take it? Do a few hits while
you're at it. Please do me a favor as I get up
and waltz away. Whisper ....the forgotten words....
The long goodbye.
Faci
The metallic boom shakes the sky, it's already on the verge of breaking.
The drops hail thudding upon rooftops in rhytm like bullets everything about
the scene is scaring schoolyard children. However, at this moment none of it
matters for all my senses are in overdrive permanently.
With the ebony f low overhead, on the concrete slab I reside when you
so bright and bold sauntered on the scene blinding the monotone crowd.
Blow it all away, you bounce into free spot right by my form. The smoke
and ash made the air heavy, barely was I breathing.
Flipping pages the ashy wind blows nonchalantly, around that form is an air
of intense concentration. You so bright and bold now perched and watching,
move closer to close the space as if troublesome. The point where you form
meets with my knees.
At this inspoken violation I glare in mild annoyance, while you in return give a
guilty smirk. As seconds strech the smirk dies off such as curling ash off of cigarettes
replaced by some unsated frustration. Without any iota of warning grasp my shoulders
in iron grip pulling foward in impaitent jerk.
My ashy book falls closed to the earth below, and with shock electricity pulses
between two forms. Within the tick of the clock upon a crooked wall all passes
and you relax your hold almost letting go. The metallic boom shakes the sky and
tears fell soaking us to the bone however niether moves.
Our senses on delicious overide, not even feeling in the barest hint.
Thuder and light spark across the heavenly canvas as pulse quickens
and intensity becomes innocence. Comments (0) |
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Sunday, April 1, 2007
Its all too far away
I can't seem to realize how to pick up the pieces.
So many times that I broke, the window to my thoughts.
Sitting here in this desolate place,
not letting anyone in or out,
I don't have a heart too many tell.
I want to say a few words,
that I can never its seems to prove to anyone.
All is too far away, you know I want to that you did.
I`m selfish, I have no reason to realize anything.
In the moments I weave stories that are never finished.
Waiting, I am impaitent.
Misunderstood, misused, misinterpreted.
I can't see you anymore its all to black down here,
in my pretend world that I can't leave.
Twisting the fabric of reality, there is no reason
to start breathing, I can't change.
I need to hear something different, to be broken
to crush this dissmal dream
and stop living in this strange and cold realm.
All is to far away, you know I can't say what puritans say.
Because I can't see you anymore,
on my knees I want to ask for one last dance of reality.
Because you know....I can't say it yet, maybe never.
Because I can't see you anymore.
I live this hollow life and I don't understand anything at all.
I can't breath because my broken thoughts tell me it is worthless.
So why don't you let me go?
This time and this place, too long and too late,
no way to pick up what is lost.
Who knew everything would just fall apart so quickly?
I miss you, I don't understand anything anymore because its so far away.
I`ve been waiting for far too long.
I don't want to wake up because I can't move anymore.
No more use believing, it can't save at all.
Dreaming in this pretend world I see nothing
I feel nothing, I am ignorant, I won't give it up.
I won't...try it's too much about myself, not about anyone else.
Where are they now?
But...you know, I can't say it...I don't understand forgiveness yet.
Because you know I can't see you anymore, its too dark.
Just a single chance, a single breath.....just to cry.
Brine tears even though I don't know why anymore.
I am just impaitent, so why don't let me go?
It's so far away now, but you know....maybe I can say it.
I need to hear someone to venture out.
Retribution
The rise of infinity has drawn the world into a closed circle.
The door isn`t very far from the statues, may i take your coat?
Welcome to the playground of the detered dementia.
Travel through out the corridors, our selection of dimension is adhering.
The endless hallways make our world seem listless, so much work to be done in preperation for the banquet's arrival.
The way time has programmed the systimatical fountain is not without fault.
Dreams cast aside stripped off the wallpaper, behind it's careful varage lies the words of the clerics.
Do you believe in nightmares of the worst breed?
Our manor must host the banquet in your honor, welcome to our manor.
We raise our glasses to you.
May despair withold the pain ensured for your fleeting glance.
You drive my paitence.
The echoes run of these walls like flying water what brings you to our damned manor?
What sorrows do you hold dear within the soul of your blue painted ideals?
To many questions however a maiden continues to sing her voice playing into smoke rising from the wayside table.
Quiet down, your screams scare the chained hopes in the basement of our manor.
Chants in hushed whisper as the violinist occupies his barren seat playing sorrow and danger on his beloved instrument of candence. Who ripped it's strings out? Can you say?
Acts of pride and crimson liquor dance the pages of our library,
deliver forth our guest of honor for do not the candles burn for your presence?
Open the door to the left, the joker of damnation juggles the worlds of multitude in his fleeing grasp.
My, my your face seems to be shocked, do not fear my fragile guest for your soul will be layed bare before prying eyes.
For such a banquet is held only for those that are special, feel honored to be mine.
Dry those tears that fall to stain the foul smelling tapestries, love is a crime and this manor is our playground of darkness.
Let this night beyond the wizard's window stain and paint dreams overlapped with sin on the flesh.
Dry your cynical tears and face the exit of the manor before you, do you wish to end this sorrowful dance of dread?
Or if you wish to be captive hold out that warm palm and grasp this dead man's soul within the grasp of reality
Do you wish to awaken the pain within this fading flame?
Distress is the splendid whispers of emotion gliding through and through such as knives and shards upon the heavy burden of master Judas in the southern tower.
Must I repeat this futile call oncemore to the silence?
The construction this unheavenly place is ulitimate, despair at every corner fear in ever step true calling falling into the dankness of our manor.
I take a drag of the already lit cigarette, drawing in the aroma I take pleasure in destroying yet another pure child
Such listless existence, only cynisism left in the depths of this hollow heart to clearly hear the pin drop.
Conquesting movement rythmic only for your accord?
I treasure yet hate however this a pale paint brush stroke upon your canvas.
To find this odd love and learn of its secret.
Flow upon the diameter, oh crimson liquor tear the seams of what is reality.
The bell chimes, twlight is at hand.
The horrors of the night are to cease soon as this charade will rest in the weary morn.
The golden book of fullfillment will turn it's pages of unushered innocence and blind you to this never-ending banquet, to these rooms of lurking secrets, to this empty heart.
We raise our glasses to you in toast.
There is the door through which you came, marelle...such sweet sorrow to part in this isntant, for we shall never meet again.
You drive my paitence, here is your coat.
My last message: This manor welcomes loss for this is your retribution.
Racketering
Moonlight dimly filtered through a dusty window frame,the glass long since a cleared diamond brilliance.
The beams crawls, gently illuminating only what is in view.
The chaise lounge chair by the gritty window's panes seems to be crying in this silence.
The side table remains undesturbed by the aged lounge, quietly protesting to leave.
The cold wind carries this message across what is left of the ages.
A window, a chair, and a table near the night sky, the astrnomer's spot had grown cold from loneliness.
The scene etched on the moon is a rare secret ever shared in the mutual exchange of time and insistance.
Grit falls upon silken rugged floors and a piece of the window is bared to the harsh world outside oncemore.
In the astronomer's corner stands a shadow long forgotten, the void scenery of the outside world is viewed through transcluscent eyes.
The moon shines dimmly in the sky and the frozen earth below illuminates the message of sorrow as if no longer in grief.
The flow of a pathway through rivers of blighted crimson from that day, a moment in time continues anew.
The vivid description haunts the mind with no avail, dankly invisible wisps silently escape from the cracks in the walls of the infastructure.
Pain unknowingly staining the inner workings of my nightmares.
Chants in turn with smog from the candles in the last room, swindle the beating in the night, the city that never sleeps.
The rapping against the walls is all too familiar, the tiny noise grows louder and louder until the glass crashes into the room
and a steel chair lies overturned from the impact from the outside world.
We hear screams and giddy wails of barding.
The bangs against the floor, crackling the 400 year old tiles and splintering the table in the main room within this hell hole.
The loud bangs against the floors, course through the body as if no barrier existed, this turmoil rattles my brains.
I think I have a manmade conclusion from all the racketering.
Wires
The constant drip of some substance, bores into my mind like that of a scream in chortling agony.
The moisture in the atmosphere exists to cloud my judgemental thoughts suffocating them in a viperous chokehold.
There are echoes upon the dreadful scene that had been painted so long ago inside the puzzleboard of eternity.
The constant drip is irritating, lying around in a cracked daze, maybe a corner, maybe the earth,
will prove a warmer spot than the last to shelter from the piercing rain. All the moisture soaks
my near thread-bare rags, the rocus outside the darkened charade is a reminder of another doorway,
where tears smeared in bright hue of crimson.
Movement no longer draws the eye in curiosity,
the shuffle of air as thick as black ash rising strangely and staining once
pale flesh into sins that mar the face of a fallen idol.
Movement and scratches tear away at the previous silence slicing away at a distorted feeling I once knew.
I 'd rather destroy my heart than leave any strand of that slivered humanity.
I cannot help the reason of my tortured love, the essence of mortal dynamics.
The ashes of my tears burden the wayside table, knowing that the rain as crimson oil smeared in criminal obsession becomes my solace.
The movement becomes hushed, and as steady crimson rivers flow.
Raising my head toward the wall the scratches present salvation to my tattered soul .
The wings of an angel .
Rivers of crimson rise along the asphalt the constant drip still there my lungs fill with liquid fire,
a black sweetness draws near.
Echoes draw out cries and then the drip subsides.