The rustle of her ballgown,
her footsteps in the hall,
the scent of white azalea
says Rebecca's come to call.
She lingers in the valley,
and on the twilit stair;
she drifts unseen and silent,
but I know Rebecca's there.
She was in the watching portraits -
she haunted me, and then
she danced in the inferno
with a whispered Je reviens...
All the Souls Who Might've Lived by Peghan, literature
Literature
All the Souls Who Might've Lived
'You know,' She said, walking slowly to the edge of the cliff, 'Some stories don't end.'
Startled, he looked up, 'Who are you?'
A small smile lifted the shy corners of the girl's lips, 'You might find out, if you listen.' Carefully, she sat down beside him. The wind knotted her coppery hair, waving it around her head like a flaming flag.
His eyebrows creased into a frown, 'I don't understand...'
'They never do,' Sighed the girl, her bare legs swinging over the edge. Her sandal clad ankles scraped the cliff's face, 'Everyone has a little something to live for, or, at least, most people do. You can tell which people need to jump and wh
I found an old blunt needle and
A bit of thread the color of your name
So I embroidered you onto my heart.
Maybe I should have spent less time outdoors,
Since the sun leeched away the pigment and
Left my stitching faded and fraying.
When I can find a pair of scissors
I will pull out the worn string and wait
For the pattern of punctures to heal.
I hope the scars are faint.
Ashes to ashes,
Lust to dust.
Time sweeps the hours away,
And the years escape us.
I still remember...
First touch,
First kiss.
How my love for you,
Incomprehensible now,
Burned my wicked soul,
Ravaged my flesh,
Sordid, deviant, and obscure.
My bones were like tinder,
To the licking flames of your tongue.
How I still feel the pain,
For nothing endures fire,
Not love,
Not hope,
But ash alone.
Dark and Bleak,
Wind swept as time past,
Caked grey and smeared across my heart,
Empty and still,
Devoid...
Of love and of hope and swan song.
I still remember...
First touch,
First kiss.
Ashes to ashes,
Thus and thus.
Girl of death
With the skin of lace,
Will you lie with me?
In my final resting place.
Your fingers on mine,
Your lips as well.
Be my drop of poison,
In this burning Hell.
Girl of death
With eyes of black,
Look with me,
On the joy we lack.
Watch with me,
Look at their empty souls,
With their hearts,
As dark as coals.
Girl of death
With blood of stone,
Does it really hurt,
To be so alone
I'm here with you
No matter the pain,
We shall join our hands
Together in this forgotten land.
truth
is ladies sipping vodka out of teacups
wearing lace-trimmed gloves and smiling.
promises
are torn paper hearts and scribbled notes,
forgotten Valentines and tattered poems.
trust
is a child's word, in reality gambled for
sex or love and happiness or lust.
dreams
are graffiti on the insides of the walls we have
constructed to protect ourselves from the world.
hope
is tattooed on our wrists and hips, so that we
may not forget its charity, yet no one remembers.
wishes
are always wasted on the stars that will
not grant them. even so, we try in vain.
love
is butterfly kisses and cigarette smoke,
so why has it become syno