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• 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




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myOtaku.com: sailorcrystal


Saturday, January 13, 2007

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.
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