madness is mainstream

there's twisted whispers in the darkness
and chaos by candlelight tonight
as the midnight mistresses dance their heartless songs in their antique dresses
a string orchestra of ghosts plays a haunting & melodic song
while the moon casts it's reflection upon the violent ocean waters
it serenades all lunatic creatures of the night
who come out to create mischief when the moon is full.
bathing in the radiation of the moon's ecstacy,  injecting themselves with beams of starlight like syringes, becoming intoxicated
sea serpents & mermaids partake in orgies on the shores
the mist of the sea outlines the ghosts of the ocean
the music then fades into a whimsical, gentle female voice
and they drift deeper, deeper into the hypnotic music
the blinking stars that blanket the skies are winking at the faces below
the blinking stars that are fatal.
at the gates at evening you will find keepers of the primrose
they decorate details of their minds with blossoms of senseless folly
an exhibit of passion for madness
where asylums are mainstream.

the drops dripping from her fingertips,
she tries to fill a bathtub with.
she desperately attempts to preserve them
it's all that keeps her heartbeat going.
connecting hope to her imagination,
where she hibernates from the world.
she takes comfort in the darkness
while rays of sunshine poke through her window
just to tease her,
remind her of how weak she is to face it once again.

vampiric demons of lust clawing at her soul,
she must cleanse her heart of this deceit.
she presented herself so sweetly, with such loving deeds
even her masks they could never resist,
(always the finest material, laced with diamonds and rubies...)
even when her lies was seeping through the edges,
she sins so gracefully.

her loneliness causes delusions
she cannot distinguish from reality.
impulses she mistakes for sincerity and truth.
all the faces in the crowd around her,
blurred with distorted television static voices.
but she once had a dream her soul was floating outside of her body,
where she could see the scars from sins she commited, and her heart wasting away like a corpse.
the long-lasting fantasy has faded
and now i can finally see you all for what you really are.

-shelly scene

demon, or savior?

the rain pit-pattered on the roof above her, the rhythm like a single consistent piano key.
vintage perfume bottles and victorian bridal hair combs scattered about in vanity.  fine art filled the walls.
the reflection starring back at her in the mirror; she did not recognize.
she couldn't identify if this emerging creature was the demon awakening in her, or her savior.  a constant identity crisis.
she thought she was trying to live in a dream, but maybe she was just trying to live life.
a million different people, fighting and tearing to absorb, from one day to the next.
to just close her eyes, let it fade into her.
she knew who she wanted to be, she idolized the creature her imagination created; but her imagination and reality differed.  her reality; her feelings would not allow her to be this beauty.
to only somehow collide both shadows, to form a single silhouette.
to only grow to accept this creature, trying to get out.
the drugs were wearing off:
the person underneath her mask; a becoming even more of a stranger by the day.  fading into the black of shadows.
maybe that person was what others wanted, though; not what she wanted.
when she was high she was able to alter into other bodies, other minds, to understand and even be someone with completely different philosophies than her.
she told too many lies.  she exaggerated, she stretched the truth; the illustrations in the book of her life a complete lie; the text, obscured with the finest handwriting.  she always told them what they wanted to hear.  her facade.
her actions, always motivated by impulsiveness, temptation, no longer by morals or values.
she'll do what she wants without batting an eye or stopping to think for a moment
she only wanted to protect herself; a cheap attempt to feel happiness.
but she knew tomorrow guarantees nothing; people change.
she'd seen the strong yearning for rekindling and strengthening friendships after love has passed.
love can be evil, sinful; for it makes us forget what was important.
what we want today will not always be what we want tomorrow.
she wanted to live for the moment; to not let yesterday or tomorrow influence her decisions.
perhaps love was nothing more than the right timing:  two people with corresponding feelings at the same time.  a big gamble.  everything is only circumstancial in the world of possibilities.  nothing is magical.


-shelly scene

new years resolutions

put more passion into the things i love and enjoy.  take more photos.  if something interests or intrigues me, try it.  if i have an idea, use it.  stop worrying about what everyone thinks about me.  stop trying to please everybody.  be the best friend i can be, but don't let anybody take me for granted, and say no when i don't want to do something (be more assertive, improve communication and social skills.)  don't let the insignificant events bother me.  work on my jealousy issues.  spend more time with friends.  be more wise about spending and budgeting my money (ask myself questions such as, "what do i want and what do i need?," "what's more important?," "am i really going to use this?"  get the fuck ouf of jamestown more.  don't expect things out of people that i should know better than to.  do more to help out my family, and do more to help animals.  appreciate and embrace the beauty of every simple thing i experience to the fullest extent possible.


-shelly scene

elevator eyes

she took his hand, and led him to an isloated spot in the field:
they collapsed together in a giggly and nervous manner as she laid on top of him.
inhaling delusions of warmth and passion through her intoxication.
his fingers, sent pleasurable bolts of electricity over her body:  his touch enclosed her in, made her so vulnerable.  all her defenses melted.
she was looking below at him and only him,
even though he was level with the ground.
tonight the sky was filled with smoke.
the smoke that comes after the colorful explosions in the sky
she tried to turn his vision black, to still his movement
hoping she would meet him down the dream she fantasized.
the bass was so loud it replaced the heartbeat in her chest.
she wanted make him listen to her one last time--
but she was too late.
he had already been deafened by the city noise
and blinded by the bright shining stars scattered about the sky above from months of previous evenings
he had his own dreams, dreams down a different path where they would not meet.
he was looking above her, through the smoke.
he had traded his last few heartbeats for a plane ticket,
way above and beyond her and her concerned eyes,
into the galaxy of beauty of possibilities.


-shelly scene

bloodlust

an old rusty pot fills with the pit-pattering of rainwater drops as the full moon's light beams in through the shack's dust-covered window
the warm air is moisturized with the sweet smell of spring: spider webs and spring flowers are beaded with evening dew drops
the shape and details of the trees slowly became less identifiable against the sky and darkened into a silhoutte as dusk had progressed to the dark hours
he had became more and more of a stranger to her every day as the ghost had slowly turned his broken heart to stone so he could never love again.
there's a sparkle in her eyes as they open slowly and her fangs gleam in the moonlight, she licks her red-stained lipstick lips: she's weak from lust and the long, dragged-out winter behind her where she slept, she's hungry for blood: she'll provide them with only a small taste of hers, just enough to get them addicted: then suck them dry before they'll have a chance to abandon her.
lust and gluttony are her deadly sins
finally free from centuries of being chained down by heavy, rusty metal chains away from the world in a dark dungeon
a firefly sealed away in a jar, emitting it's vibrant glow
ravens flock and sparrows flutter as her skirt twirls when she runs through the trees and stops to dance in the moonlight, it beams down and fills gaps in between the tree shadows
all the creatures of the night gather to bestow their gifts upon her, to worship her beauty
the air smells of smoke as the flames arose
her sweet nostalgic aura vanishing into the night

she remembers the days of being a human, before she became a predator that feeds just to breathe
growing tired of wishing for him with every penny she tossed into the wishing well and wasting her wishes on rare shooting stars, grew tired of waiting.
the concept of love became less and less appealing to them as they grew older together, grew more hopeless.
writing every song about him and thinking of him with every love song she heard
she became so easily attached and needed too much, she became so easily dissappointed:  felt so easily threatened.  using jealousy to impress and lure.
she wore her pain as sex appeal and was good at it
she had been only an entity, haunting the decayed abandoned home where her heart could not seem to escape all her memories, crayon scribbles and bleeding ink all over the bedroom walls
trying to send signals and communicate with the living with what little energy she had left, but nobody understood her: she could only slur and mutter out her dead language.
the need to nuture the notion in the summer of innocence had failed
and she makes the sacrifice: surrenders her trust to the bloodlust knocking at her door
she must kill and become their slave to be safe.

-shelly scene

where is the girl we used to know?

her eyes were exhausted & revealed all her secrets, her shame;
her lonely face, basked and blended in the shadows.
her heart, a broken record of sad songs:
her imagination, a cemetery of dreams.
her body, her mind:  full of ugly thoughts:  anchors weighing down her soul.
sinking, shrinking...fading into the echoes of the sad songs.  fading to nothing.
her bones felt heavy & weighed down the rest of her body
her bedroom; her dungeon.  hope lies beyond the outside of these walls.  the walls closed in on her, inside her mind. 
the walls sealing her in, her soul residing in another dimension; a prison.
when the winter gray skies at noon cast a dreary shade upon the room,
all turns to stone;
all that is sacred gets put on hold.
happiness and fond memories seem dimensions away
a cold-blooded being dropped in the middle of a snowy forest,
body stiffened and frozen to the bone:
making friends with the shadows of the trees to alleviate her loneliness,
the freezing winds screaming in her ear.
she feels like a ghost; just a ghost lingering among the company of others
she pushed her dreams to the back of the closet, watched them collect dust.
her skin dry from the familiar harshness of winter, cold to the touch.
for time is not something to take for granted:
flipping the hourglass over continually when it's near empty.
waiting for a few rays of sunlight to dwell in once again,
regain the life in her once again.
reborn every springtime and dies during the winter
a cycle like the leaves on the trees and spring flowers,
this is what winter feels like.


-shelly scene

(photo by deviantart user:  onesummerago)