Feature tag

This is definitely a tag that spreads the love, yeah? All you need to do guys is comment on this journal, and I'll stick up 3 deviations from your gallery that wow me. In return, you can continue this by requesting the same from your watches.

Bring on your comments!!


1. Jezabel OpheliaJezabel Cancer was her name
she waded through the sea
to find the voice that sung for her
a heartfelt aural plea
Nathan Sorrow was his name
he painted on his face
to show his mother what he could do
with rapid, sickening pace
Abel Whisper was his name
with a guitar, he sung
to a different kind of china doll
his final chosen one
Jezabel Cancer was her name
neglected by the sound
of crashing waves and howling wind
her peaceful place she'd found
Nathan Sorrow was his name
with everlasting tone
he ran away to the desert sands
the crumbling golden throne
Abel Whisper was his name
he left behind his face
and fell for the blood of never born
a mask covered his grace
Jezabel Cancer was her name
no longer she wore a crown
her head was filled with thistles and weeds
all poisoned did they drown
Nathan Sorrow was his name
a vengeful smile wore he
and cut the strains of his righteous fame
no longer would they be
Abel Whisper was his name
a guilty conscience struck
and so with piteous surrendering
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3.    PoppiesI cut myself the other day
And I bled words,
A hemorrhage of ink.
I let it drain into a well.
Drew my blood-ink and bottled it
For writing love notes and diary entries.
I splashed my face with icy water,
Ignoring my precisely-applied makeup.
Dripping, I look into the mirror.
Lipstick smudged in uncomical
Clownish smears.
Eyes racooned with melting
Eyeliner.
Ink-blood blot clots are hard to decipher.
Squint one way:
Severed, half-devoured limbs.
Squint the other:
A mass fairy-and-fish-spleen orgy.
And there were other things -
But either too horrifying or too
Unbearably erotic
To think about.
Painted grin swiped off sickly pale canvas
Hairpin teeth, writhing anemone tongue, framed by cracked lipstick,
All stark against the swollen, pasty full-moon face.
Mirrors make me want to stop eating.
Watch my flesh slowly drop away,
Watch my wrist turn to bone,
Watch my fingers whittle to brittleness.
The bloody ink (inky blood) tastes
Sweet, metallic, salty,
Intoxicating.
Like the essence of dyin AutumnI wandered lonely as a cloud,
The songs of the concrete pulsing through the soles of my shoes.
A collage of scarlet and gold
Carpets the ground.
Autumn sun filters through the sky,
Watery and cloaked in silver.
My laugh sounds brittle and too small
For the cavernous bones of the city.
Smoke dances off the glowing embers
Of a cigarette,
Pirouetting into my lungs.
The wind slices its way down my throat,
Weaving through my fingers,
Wrapping greedily around my wrists.
I feel winter's shadows lacing through my ribs,
Hungry.
But I push it away, telling it,
"No dear, not today. I'm tired." :bigthumb292479885:
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