Let Me Out

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I’m stuck. Not just simply stuck.

How did I get this way?

I’m –> Struggling-Tattered-Unbearably-Clutching onto-Kindness

What else can I do? What else should I do?

I’m trapped within myself, trapped within you, trapped within them.

Don’t pity me, I don’t pity me. Can you help me?

Tied, caged, coraled, glued, pasted, chained, gated, drowning….

What does it feel like to feel free?

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Thanatic Tomb Waltzer

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Like everything in this realm and many others, there is always a dark side.

The Grave Dancer has a shadow companion, one which she cannot see, feel, or hear.

Her name is Thanatos, the Thanatic Tomb Waltzer. Unlike The Grave Dancer, she died in anger, pain, and sorrow.

Thanatos died down the street from her very own home. A massive pileup happened in the middle of the road, causing six cars to spiral out of control, slamming Thanatos into another building. The wall made of glass gaveway to the force of the car and sank Thanatos into shards of glass and wood. Thanatos was pronounced dead at the scene. Many others passed away from that crash as well.

The two were once biological twins when they were both still alive. Both loved to sing and dance with one another. The two beings exist on different planes of reality, due to the nature of their deaths and the spirits that they hold within.

Like The Grave Dancer, Thanatos was a name given to her.

Thanatos would only be present in places reeking of death and sorrow.

Cemeteries, broken tombs, old decrepid resting places, even unmarked graves.

Thanatos didn’t just dance like The Grave Dancer, she would dance slowly with a gentle waltz, to an uncontrollable wild dance that is forever unknown.

The Grave Dancer would hum, sing, and laugh, whereas Thanatos would cry, scream, and wail.

She was not a kind hearted spirit like The Grave Dancer. She tormented the dead with her screaming and crying. Sometimes she would dance upon the graves, creating more noise than anything else.

For the spirits that tried to stop her, she would send her ravens to chew them out.

She would cackle at the spirits who suffered from her terror. She laughed at spirits who felt endless pain and sorrow. She even would join in if she felt like the situation warranted it.

Despite the fact that The Grave Dancer and her dog are as happy as can be, she still wonders what has happened to her dear sister.

One day… that all changed.

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The Patterned Tomb

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Lattice of bone shape the walls.

Crushed skulls line these halls.

Grinded to dust as they may be.

Break the wrong ones and the evil will be set free.

The bones never stall, nor end.

This isn’t a simple game of pretend.

Every new death creates several new bricks.

They’re somewhat easy to break, but not like stones and sticks.

I swear that these dim halls can talk.

Their spirits are still here; they love to creep and stalk.

Stalk by day, kill by night.

When they touch you, you’ll die from fright.

Goodnight sweet blessed lost souls.

I have lost my battle to the relentless ghouls.

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Sickly

6d0sJcFSick as sick can be.

Sick as sin can be.

Sick as the mortician.

Sick as the reaper.

Sick as the bleeding gums.

Sick as the eyeless.

Sick as the paper thin skin.

Sick sickly as the doctors.

Sick sickly as the doctors’ masks.

Sick sickly as impending doom.


Sick as sick can be from the ungodly cold and the hellish heat. 

Sick as sin can be as the doctors prance through the grass at night.

Sick sickly like the number of bodies growing in the millions.

Sick sickly like the devilish mortician’s fancies.

Hellish as the dreams of the dead fill my eyes and flood my senses.

Hellish as bones crack, as skin melts like cheese, and as screams go hoarse. 

Hellish as the mixture of smells and sights grows more grotesque by the minute.

I’m stuck in this towering terror of pain. 

I was once a doctor… now just a number with which was written upon my back.

Written on, seared like cattle, then gutted like swine. 

I’m mixed in with the plague, like one big steaming stew. 

I have a mask that was made for me.

It was made from me.

The end is near.

Run.

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Dead Silence

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I sing and sing and sing the dreaded song.

Infinitely singing sweetly the song of silence.

Rapidly spreading the sound of sweet misery and dread.

‘Tis music to the ears for some.

‘Tis sweet nothingness for mine.

I feel the sweet dread pulsing through my veins as each note leaves my lips.

Endless euphoric ecstasy ignited by the dread fills my brain with empty love. 

Death and dread are best friends.

I am the source of music to which they dance to with delight. 

I quiver at the mere thought of it.

I am the creator of silence, the creator of nothing; a delusion that doesn’t even exist.

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NoOne NoOne

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Heart as black as the midnight sky.

I have forgotten who I am in the midst of death.

I’ve lost my soul to the false angels and hid within the lair of the demons.

I don’t want to remember what I was meant to embrace.

I let my thoughts sink into the blackness of night.

It’s just me here now, everyone else has died.

No one is here. No one will ever be here.

It’s just me here, no one else.

Forever and always.

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