Cryptic Goddess Rises
by Count Von Bloodletter
CRYPTIC GODDESS RISES
It was nearly ancient now. The grave of my ancestor was broken,
lined with more cracks then crevices in the palm of my hand. I never knew
him. I just felt a bond with the grave site. I enjoyed walking along this
courtyard, feeling the presence of all the knowledge of a thousand years of
life, in a mere moment among all the dead. My great ancestor was merely my
excuse for coming here so often. I walked along my usual path, watching my
step, being sure not to disrespect a single grave. Each tombstone shined like
a pillar in Heaven as the beams of the moon beat down upon it. There was a
slight breeze tonight, it was rather pleasant although it made the night seem
all the colder. I zipped up my blazer and watched my breaths fade out of my
lungs, like smoke protruding from a factory; obtaining freedom. I took a pause,
and sat upon the cold, clammy ground. I could tell the soil beneath me was
fresh, for it was extraordinarily moist. I looked up, and gazed upon the stars.
Only a few here and there were shown between the canyons of each cloud. It
was a glorious night. Calm, quiet, and perfect.
I began to go off into a daze, reflecting upon my life. My life was full of
heartbreak. No one had ever loved me; not like I loved them. Women lied to
me. Was I so indecent? I don't think I ever was. Life never seemed all that
fair. Over all, life was enjoyable enough; it's just… I am lonely; I
am forlorn. I wish someone could care for me, as I would do for them.
I pulled myself together, and continued my walk among the graves. Now my eyes
followed each step I took upon the ground. The stars still lit up all of my
surroundings as if in candlelight. Did I perhaps enjoy this graveyard so much,
because I thought that I belonged here? I feel empty inside. Perhaps I am
just like one of the dead. They say it's better to love and lost, then never
to have loved at all. I disagree. If I had never have loved, I would never
have been so empty and depressed. I would never have thought so poorly of
myself. I would never have come to this graveyard, night after night, from
now until the end of my life.
A brief chill brushed across my back, like the feeling of icy fingertips.
I shuddered and whirled around, to see only nothing but my imagination scaring
myself. It seemed as though shadows appeared and vanished from everywhere.
Perhaps I was going insane. Perhaps I should lay down to rest, and join my
brethren in this forlorn tomb.
I used to be a poet. When my heart was full and pure, I could write the sweetest
words any man or woman could ever imagine. I was so gentle and delicate, to
read my poetry would be like to be nestled by your mother while she told you
a story. I still wrote poetry. Now it wasn't so nestling. Now every word I
wrote, seeped into you as though they were the sharpest pains of an eternally
tortured man's soul. To read one of my poems now was like dieing a thousand
times. My depression swept from myself, unto whoever dared read my works.
No one ever read my works. I had no one who cared enough to read them. I was
alone, but I know that's how they would have felt, because that's how I felt
writing them. This is my poem on love. This is what love is really about.
Don't listen to those movies, or any of that pampered deceit you see on television.
This is what love is really like.
Let me tell you a story about love…
Love is the slaughter of every last dove
Every feather is clipped from its skin
Your heart feels as though it's made of tin
You fall to your knees, soaked in blood
Your body is soiled, in the cruelest mud
Love is choking on your own heart's bile
Love is never knowing how to smile
It is like dieing a thousand deaths in pain
Love is bleeding from every last vein
Love is changing who you are
You scream covered in boiling tar
Love is losing your mind and sanity
It is when no one wants to be with me
Love is lies, more then you can conceive
Never being able to relieve
Any pain, any torment, anything you lost
For love is paying the highest cost
Love is the decay of all that is pure
Love is forgetting all that you were
It is hatred; it is pain,
It is all I wish had never came.
Do you now feel any less emotion inside? Do you pity me? No one knows what
love is anymore. That is why I hurt so much. That is why my heart beats with
such a skull-splitting ringing in my ears. That is why back is tense as though
to be warding off a thousand piercing knives. A thousand voices scream within
my head. They scream at me, and complain of the life that I've lived. Pain
never comes in few numbers, always in the thousands or more it seems. Does
no one else ever try to love? Does love exist? Not like in the stories. Not
like what you think you see in others. Love is deceit, nothing more.
My legs cringe under my weight. It becomes hard to walk, hard to breath. I
crouch down on the ground, and slowly I fall onto my face. My eyes flicker,
open and shut, as I look upon the mausoleum only a few meters away. I find
myself, almost paralyzed, staring at the structure of the thing. I had never
noticed it before. A fog surrounded me, quite suddenly, as though it had come
from the graves themselves. It grew denser to see, and not much appeared clearly
to me, but I continued my trance and stare at that mausoleum. I felt so tired,
as though ready to pass away. Through the wind I heard a crisp sound of rust
screeching upon rust. My eyes widened, and I pulled myself to my knees, still
staring at the doors of the structure. Clouds passed over the stars and moon,
so I could not see the color of the thing at all. I focused as hard as I could,
and then I saw what had caused the noise.
The door crept open, with a massive, ancient screech. As it came to a pause,
inside was left the darkest hall, where I couldn't see anything at all. I
had no feeling, perhaps I was panicked, I did not know. Minutes passed, and
still I stared at the open doors. No other noise had sounded. No movement
was made. I wasn't even sure if my heart still kept a beat. Slowly the blanket
of clouds unwrapped the moon. It sent a glaze straight into the gateway of
the doors, and it flashed an image, that I saw all too clearly.
Between those two, creaky old doors, stood a woman, whose pale skin was illuminated
by the moonlight. She lit up like a flower in its must brilliant bloom. Was
she standing there the entire time? My eyes never left her; I never even blinked.
Neither did she. The night was colder then it had been before, and the heat
of breaths never appeared from outside of her nostrils and mouth. My breathing
was much rapid now, clouds of heat whirled around my face.
I looked at her, from head to toe. She was barefoot, with the most tender,
little feet. Her legs showed from beneath a torn, white silk dress. They were
very thin, but I still found them amazingly attractive. Her gown was carried
and whirled along with the breeze that the wind had carried. Her hair had
matched its movements, long and flowing, black and brilliant. She was beautiful.
Her gown almost seemed as though it would slip off her shoulders, but somehow
it kept its place. Her lips were full, and they looked so completely irresistible.
Her eyes were outlined by dark, thick lashes. They kept stare at me. I felt
her seep into my soul. She felt all the pain within me. She slowly moved forward,
she did it so gently, so gracefully, that it seemed as though she wasn't walking
at all. The density of the fog seemed to lighten, with each step she made
closer to me. I found I could not resist, and I let the words in my mind roll
off my tongue to her:
From the depth of nightmare she had wake
I kneel before her for I'm hers to take
I admire the burlesque flesh
Completely draped in gothic mesh
If I could just have a taste
Of that beautiful face
I would die once more in bliss
From that final graven kiss
A succulent succubus sent from Hell
The demons could whisper, but would not tell
Her very sight drove me insane
My lust for her I could not feign
Her hairs strikes the air like serpentine
I wish so badly that she was mine
It's not fair what sinners dreamt
Why is she here to make me tempt
I lay before her, a living sacrifice
Her look was there to so entice
Her chilling grip I do anticipate
Soon I realized she'd hold my fate
Each word rolled of my tongue, hoping she would realize my want for her. Her
beauty was enough to make the most chastised man think of impurity. She came
closer and closer to me. My eyes did not leave hers. My heart beat harder
and harder, as though in my throat, nervously anticipating a kiss from her
most beautiful lips. Never had I seen anyone as gorgeous as this Mistress
of the Grave. She was as though a Goddess. Surely no one ever before had been
as beautiful as her. She stopped, inches away from me. I stood still, awaiting
that kiss that would make my life worth while a thousand times over.
Her eyes glazed, and looked deeper in me. I felt her inside, exploring my
soul. She knew what I hoped of her. I know she knew it. She looked upon me
for what seemed like a thousand lifetimes, but my eyes were in such bliss
that it didn't matter. I could continue to meet her gaze until the end of
time. I wish so badly that she was mine.
I realized soon she will desecrate. Slowly, gently, her hand reached down
at me. Like the sharpest talons of the mightiest tiger, they dug through my
skin as though butter. Her hand was within my chest. She found my heart. She
found me. She took my heart and tore it free. My blood had spilled upon the
ground. Where I had felt empty before, now all hope I regained was gone. I
had no heart. Was it so true? I felt nothing? I cared about nothing? My heart
was gone, within the hands of this gorgeous damsel of the mausoleum. Still
she had not made a sound. Never had I imagined such pain as this. All I wanted
was a simple kiss. All my dreams of love were never to be dreamt again. I
was never to be depressed again, although now I had no choice. I could not
try to care for anyone again. The woman I desired most, the person I hoped
would set me free, the person I hoped would be with me, had torn my heart
free. I collapsed onto the ground. My eyes could not see her, but once again
stared at the mausoleum from which the woman of my dreams hence had come.
Now I lay in my own decay, as a result of her own cruel way. Within beauty
was a cryptic beast; due to her my life has ceased. I'm another victim of
deceit. I'm another victim of this world's love. I'm another fallen dove.
No longer does my heart so beat. One of so many demises; Cryptic Goddess Rises.
A poem was written in my mind upon my death…
From the depth of nightmare she had wake
I kneel before her for I'm hers to take
I admire the burlesque flesh
Completely draped in gothic mesh
If I could just have a taste
Of that beautiful face
I would die once more in bliss
From that final graven kiss
A succulent succubus sent from Hell
The demons could whisper but would not tell
Her very sight drove me insane
My lust for her I could not feign
Her hair strikes the air like serpentine
I wish so badly that she was mine
It's not fair what sinners dreamt
Why is she here to make me tempt
I lay before her, a living sacrifice
Her look was there to so entice
Her chilling grip I do anticipate
Soon I realize she will desecrate
Her hand reached down at me
She took my heart and tore it free
My blood had spilled upon the ground
Still she had not made a sound
Never had I imagined such pain as this
All I wanted was a simple kiss
Now I lay in my own decay
As a result of her own cruel way
Within beauty was a cryptic beast
Due to her my life has ceased
I'm another victim of deceit
No longer does my heart so beat
One of so many demises
Cryptic Goddess rises