Wednesday, May 30, 2007

Obsession---Poem

I want to be your only obsession,
Without thought nor will nor cessation.

Command me, force me unto your will,
Consumed until I submit and lay still.

Devour me, consummate me as your own,
Leave trepidation behind closed doors.

Bring your soul to my open embrace,
And lay it upon my waiting breast.

Your heart should be my daily sustenance,
And darker prayers my faith’s dance.

I want you to beg of me as I beg of you,
To be washed clean in your desire.

Believe in this burnt temple and altar,
All gold and brass and silver stone.

Bring me the hearts of old lovers,
And lay them still beating for sacrifice.

Deceive me not with words prettily said,
But lay out your pain for me instead.

I want to infect you like a sickness,
Burn slowly within a still-beating chest.

Breathe against me and I will be consumed,
And leave this temple tied against the bed.

Infect me in the depths of pure darkness,
To be worshipped as a goddess.

Press warm lips against silent eyes,
And bless me with calling sweet depths.

Force your hand against my temple,
as you worship at this trembling altar.

Tomorrow, Little Devil

It is about ten thousand degrees in this dark confining space. My skin is boiling and blistering. It slides off my body in slippery masses of flesh. I feel as though the heat itself is a knife, cutting into my flesh and separating the skin from the muscle. The burning invades me, deep into the very bones of my body. I trembled and cry out, slamming myself against the hard metal door. There is no solace for whores like me, and the pain continues without answering my screams.

I would have prayed, but prayers to a lesser god are for the weak. I breathe the heat in, letting it seer into my lungs. The contents of my stomach boil and force themselves through my throat. The scent of my own skin burning is almost too much to bear.

Then coolness comes suddenly like a friendly kiss on the cheek. It reminds me of the times, in some long forgotten childhood, when virginal youth would plunge naked into the lake on those hot August afternoons.

I am not a child, and this is Hell, not August. I have to remind myself of that. The failure to recognize my surroundings for the truths they hold, the utter pain and anguish and honest death, is a mistake I refuse to make.

There is a voice in the burning darkness, deep and throaty and…scintillating. I do not know where the voice comes from, it positively emanates from my surroundings.

“Come now, little devil.” The voice says, grating into my ears. “Don’t you want to taste death? Don’t you want to kiss the pain?”

“Oh,” I whisper, my throat still raw from the cleansing fires, “Oh yes.”

I cry out as my skin slithers onto my body. Small monstrosities climb over my body in unknown numbers. The claws and mandibles bite into me, sewing my skin taunt across my pale body.

I lie down. I did not need to be told, for I am a slave to the darkness and thus I know my place. My arms spread out, exposing my small tits and thick red nipples. My legs are forced open by impatient hands. They grasp me, flood my body with desire. The groping is soft at first, almost welcomed. Then the moment of tenderness passes and the devilry begins to dig into my skin. Its claws sink inside of me, ripping across my breasts and thighs. The unseen hands hold my body above the ground. They bite into my arms, pulling me apart with unhindered ferocity. My legs suffer the same fate. I stopped counting the number of sharp fingers that drive deep into my body.
I am spread taunt, held up by the hands I cannot see.

Then death enters me, forcing hard into my cunt.

I cannot scream, my voice has left me. I gasp with the pain as the demon tears into my body, ripping its hard skin across my soft white cunt. I try to pant, to scream, to thrust myself away from the demonic claws that hold me in place. Each time I move, the pain is intensified. I cannot help but move, even though my mind is screaming for me to hold still. My thrashing is involuntary, and the knife-like fingers dig deeper with each move. They are so deep inside my skin that I can hear the nails scraping the bone, and it is enough to push me beyond the brink of sanity. The demon entering my body does so faster, harder. It does not stop.

I feel my legs splitting. My torn, bloody cunt is the line of separation. The demonic phallus thrusting inside tears me asunder. It comes through my body, stabbing so deep inside my vagina that I can feel the tip entering my lung cavity.

My breath is stolen, and there are no words for the pain.

The demon explodes inside of me, mingling its brutish sperm with my intestines. I taste it erupting through my body, a thick spear of death and decay.

Then the dark things laugh. It is a terrible laughter. Their laughter sounds like Hell, it is the screams of a thousand deaths, the blood of a million victims, and the pain of innocence lost.

“Tomorrow, little devil, we shall try again.” The voice says, and I can smell its desire. “And again until you learn to be still, to submit to my will.”

It leaves me, alone in the eternal flames. Deep inside my broken mind, I cannot wait for tomorrow.

Sunday, May 27, 2007

According tooo Quiz Galaxy









DGZ
Highly Dangerous
Highly Dangerous
Extremely Insane
Extremely Insane

Click Here to Find Out YOUR Psychiatric Evaluation
at
QuizGalaxy.com

Friday, May 25, 2007

Zombie Blow Job

For centuries or more, the dirt of the earth laid silent except where it was molested by the hands of man or by the deep rumbles of the low tectonic plates.

That, however, was all in the past.

Now the dirt positively broiled. It was alive, coming up in waves of death. Opening itself to the air and exposing the rotting corpses beneath. Hands of bone and falling flesh burst through their coffins and scratched through the dirt. They clutched at the night air, grasping for a hold on the well-maintained earth.

“Did you hear that?” Candy said, blowing smoke out of her whorish red lips.

“Nope.” The boy answered, slipping into his pants. “You want a ride home?” He leaned into her, pressing his rough lips against her thick paint.

“No, I think I’ll just walk.”

“Out here? Alone?”

“What, you aren’t afraid of the dead, are you?” Candy grinned. She adjusted the bosom of her pink halter top. Her tits never seemed to stay where they were supposed to.

“Mmm. Let’s do it again.” The boy said.

“It’s late, and you are broke.”

“Yeah, but” he stopped. “OK, now I heard THAT.”

The sound, a low rumbling like a thousand hungry bellies grumbling at once, slipped through the moonlit graveyard.

“Me too,” Candy said, suddenly aware of more than the fifty dollars she stuffed in her leather skirt. “What the fuck is that?” She stood, slipping on her six inch heels at the same time.

“We should get the fuck out of here.” The boy, already poised to run, nearly shouted in her face. Behind her, he saw things---evil things, rotting things---coming to them. The boy did not bother to pull her along. He turned, pumping his shoeless legs as fast as he could.

If the boy would have bothered to look back, he would have seen more than sweet, gentle Candy.

If the boy had stopped for even a second, he would have joined the soon to be dead succulent Candy.

Candy did not take that extra split second to run. The sound had intrigued her; she had always been one for a good, gory tale.

A skeletal hand grasped her neck, yanking her to the wet earth. Her tits, white and pale, bounced out of her pink top. Nipples pointed to the starry night sky as her head hit the ground. Hands, some rotting, others already void of human flesh, ripped into her clothes. They tore her smooth, creamy skin. One pair of hand yanked her honeyed hair so hard that the only sound heard above her screaming was her scalp being rendered free.

Her legs split open, exposing her recently fucked cunt to the monstrous things. The exploitation had been so fierce that quite literally her pussy was wet with bloody lacerations, straight up the center of her clit and through to her tiny, buttery ass.

Fists, bone-sharp and unending, stabbed up the delicious velvet of her cunt. They forced their way inside her, one at first, then another, and another, until her insides were filled with the hands and arms of the dead. The skeleton fists burst out through her chest cavity, reaching up to twist her pink nipples. The wretched claws curled around her frothy teats until the skin split, exposing the white fatty layer beneath.

The things, demonic living dead, sucked the blood from her breasts, biting into her with animalistic force. They devoured her bloody, cum-covered flesh.

**********

*********

The boy already had his keys out. He unlocked the ’86 Honda, jumping into the front seat. Sweating profusely, he stabbed the keys into the ignition. The car, never being a fan of the cool weather, turned over but refused to start. Pumping the gas pedal harder than he had fucked the hooker, the boy gave a startled look around him. The graveyard was eerily silent. No screams from Candy, no unearthly moans greeted him in the darkness.

He faced himself in the rear view mirror. “Get a fucking grip, Ulrich.” He said.

Ulrich turned the keys again. The car refused to roar to life. “Motherfucker!” He shouted, throwing open the door. “I hate this fucking piece of shit fucking car.”

Ulrich, barely out of high school and about two minutes away from joining his older brother in the Army ranks, should have left his door shut. He most certainly should not have popped open the hood of his rusty Honda, and he should not have bent over to jiggle the battery cables.

But Ulrich had never liked horror movies, and he did not know the basic rule of survival---stay in the fucking car.

“Ulrich.” The gurgled voice came from behind him. “Ulrich.” It said again, unlike anything the young man had ever heard.

He turned.

“Ulrich,” the thing that used to be a hot little piece of ass said, “do you want to fuck me?” Candy smiled through blood painted lips.

She reached for him, far enough away that if Ulrich had his wits about him he could have turned and ran. Her breasts hung in torn rips of flesh. Her stomach, once all smooth and welcoming to kiss, was ripped open from the inside out.

Candy stepped closer, gore and blood dripping from the center of her legs. She limped to him, and Ulrich turned just a moment too late.

His face in her supernaturally strong hands, the petite whore forced his head against her mouth. She kissed him, licked him with her tongue. Candy bit into his lips and tasted him.

Ulrich tried to struggle, his arms flailing against her, his legs kicking her as she pulled him to the ground.

Candy held him there. She straddled him with her torn and bleeding cunt, letting her intestines press wet against his flannel top. The un-dead whore severed his shirt with sharp fingers, cutting into his taunt flesh.

Ulrich was screaming now, begging for her to leave him alone with more force than he had begged for her to fuck him only hours ago.

“Do you like me?” Candy said through mouths of his flesh. “Don’t you want to fuck me?” She bit a ribbon of his muscled chest, ripping it down to the top of his still unbuttoned jeans.

Her teeth wrenched the dick from his pants. She remembered this, remembered how to make a man hard. Her hands, suddenly merciful, moved against the shaft of his pliable cock.

Against Ulrich’s will, and surprisingly regardless of his blood loss, the nineteen year old cock became rigid, solid.

Candy brushed her forked tongue against it, writhing her mouth over his manhood. Ulrich moaned with pain and pleasure as she moved her claret colored lips up and down the shaft of his cock. Candy did not have to breathe, and she crammed his hard dick deep inside the swarthy abyss of her throat. She stopped there, for unknown minutes or hours---just under the time it would have taken Ulrich to bleed to death—moving the muscles of her throat against his cock. Candy’s severed tongue split around his shaft, stroking him with inspired lust.

Ulrich groaned, his hands grabbed the top of her head, grasping honey suckle hair and scalped flesh at the same time. He was too caught up in the bitter sweet mixture of agony and ecstasy to be disgusted. He thrust into her throat, rupturing down the back of her neck with lifeblood and frothy cum.

In that last fatal moment, Ulrich exhaled a hot, wet breath. His eternal rest would have been an utter oblivion, but the Grim Reaper was on vacation.

Hunger forcing them to seek out a new victim, the dead and sex absorbed teenagers stalked into the night.

Fucking the Fairy Queen --Poem

Fucking The Fairy Queen


Not quite where the sky fails

Not quiet when the earth flails


Between words unsaid

Daylight, twilight, nightlight

Life is as fleeting as it is dead


Fucking the fairy queen

Cunt lips festering and keen

On that taste, like time forgot

From sex stolen by rot


Can’t quite help the thrust

Upwards, inwards, homewards,

Cumming into festered rust


Not quietly screamed the silence

Not quaintly raped the pestilence


Again, into the in between

Death, life, hate, love

Deeper secrets unseen.


Truth’s a lie’s smoke screen

Whore’s a fucking machine

On that skin, a pussy clot

Cummed with infested rot.

The Bewitching of Babylon

The Bewitching of Babylon

Prayers to a lesser god fall and twitch on the floor.

The destroyer, the evil mouth full of vomit.


Begin through the ending does bewitch an open sore.

This is not what was meant, the gods admit.


Born from darkness, a lost light, and the dark shall adore.

Cross the heart with such a vile and cursed wit.


The lost beg with the mouths of those who have come before.

From the stars fell a princess amongst the thirteen:


Thief in the night, a demon on twilight, a fire in the moor.


Prayed a lesser god, writhing snakes in foul lots.

Nothing more than and nothing less would fit.


Rape souls, the body to fall amongst graves of maggots.

Leave hate to face the void, to lie within a stone pit.


The tongues from mouths tied in silent, slithered knots.

Princess, a weary and wonton little chit.


Bless the children born into a land that lies and rots

Bewitched Babylon beneath a fiery spit

First Post

I promise I will be posting some hot zombie porn (in text until I get an artist) soon.

Please be patient.

In the mean time, have some poetry.

I Like Those Girls

I like those girls with the long, painted nails.

Their hair perfected, breasts and ass

bobbing and jiggling like ninety pound whales.

Once I had dolls with eyes of perfect glass.

When I opened their heads, a hole grinned back.

They are like a plague of Americana,

and perhaps, in truth, I am a bit jealous.


But they are not as innocent nor as promising as I.


I wait to cloak myself in night, far from the bolting

daily blame of living my controlled corporate welt.

washes away in the uncontrolled erotica

When I wake, this would have been a dream of occult.


The act itself rescues me from certain fate

Death of boredom, if you will.

The tightness against my wrists

and the pain is sweeter than the taste of

my own blood seeping in my mouth.

I am the perfection of shamelessness,

rising against him in my own filth.


Here, I am not in control.

I am just a girl lost beneath him, drowning in chaos.

Sweet and innocent, red locks and green eyes.

Little pink bows in my piggy-tails

and I stare wide eyed.


The taste of darkness penetrates deep against my soul.

Pure beauty when I can not escape the binds.

Hands thrust above my head bound in cold steel.

I cry out but taste only leather in my mouth.

Those places others would shy away,

I beg to go farther.


This is now my religion, my faith, my god.

The world does not pound at me in the night.

It does not scream to be fed my blood.


I lose who I am and become another girl,

with small, pouting lips.

And innocence swaying in her hips.