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Text of the page (random words):
doomed poets doomed poets contact members archive pushkins mictlantecuhtli is the lord of death and his realm houses those all who have released their last breath he is just and capricious at once like most gods a ruler who treasures his own though his kindness is parsed out in careful measures prayers and crowns woven from humans bones are the offering to be laid at mictlantecuhtli s feet and all souls must one day come to face him buried eliot c aztec myths with thewinedarksea pushkins perhaps faustus muses as mephistophiles dislocates his shoulder with a pop it is the only worthwhile thing i did there is another pop a wet gurgling sound that is his and he looks at his left arm or rather what used to be his arm and is now trapped between the maws of a demon wearing the face of a saltwater crocodile teaching horatio he adds as the weight smashes ulna and radius together bones smashing together in a broken cacophony and faustus knows now that if hell has a sound it is exactly that next it ll be his soul and sins pressurised together ebony tinted beneath mephistophiles wings horatio out there in the world with his princeling monster his own faustian bargain beginning to reach the final stages of its own unravelling your despair manifested as blasphemy and a soul in exchange for your helen was not such a high price to pay then horatio who had returned to wittenburg with a masticated heart and a legion of ghosts a personal escort that shadowed his steps every hour every minute every second to that ticking beat faustus had sewn a tapestry with needle shaped bones and blood coloured thread promised himself that he d only waste time on one student and no more horatio and horatio s helen had been a porcelain pale prince with fissures beneath the fleshy membranes of ghastly skin there had been no dramatic return the earth had not split open and reconstructed hamlet from the curling tendrils of hell s flames rather he d come by moonlight his soft spoken manner belied by the wild look in his eyes his fine clothing now sporting serrated edges as if hamlet had been chewed spat and then sutured by mephistophiles own hands by flickering candlelight and billowing curtains was the last time faustus had laid eyes on them both he had recognised horatio s regret by the faint tremor of his bird boned fingers understanding and humility visible in the depths of his gaunt face but it was too late the agreement had been struck mephistophiles and his kind would have two souls in this bargain rather than one perhaps faustus would see them in one of ten thousand hells souls and sins waiting for the concluding cataclysm of this world or perhaps faustus muses as mephistophiles twists his joints and cartilage gives way under expertly applied pressure he is to be savoured and devoured slowly it was my one true unforgivable action there is the sound of splintered bones filaments of muscle caught between teeth their hunger reverberating in the hollowed spaces of his skull the rest is silence shakespeare remix inspired by x eliot c eliot archistratego pushkins scene there is an empty looking house it s a deception don t be taken in moon missing sun missing stars scattered broken glass on the floor luminescent there is a vase of zempazuchitl on a cardboard box note do not forget the first aid kit centre stage enter a slip of a being ambiguous with a flickering outline and eyes 4x8 stitched along the the front of their vest there is an awkwardness to their bones their sinews barely holding together as they stand facing the house they we never called them bruises you see because they burned extract of bruised an act published in xx poetry eliot c eliot archistratego pushkins your memories vibrate in the chords of our memory behind the barbed wire that wraps from ankle to wrist i loved you best do not forget as you hang as you bleed i still love you best and when your mouth calls for god your fist shatters my chest unable to find your remains wearing sand and blood they stripped me of your face our carved oaths on worn stone i wait for you resurrection and camelias bloom where i lie remission x commission from ibuzoo eliot c eliot archistratego pushkins there is a numbness that starts with the heart a labyrinth she breathed in the nights beneath the watchful gaze of a half boy half monster the cry of gulls alarm sirens the sea beckons girls and boys stepping on the shores of her home she wears a necklace of pearls from her father that goes missing one night when she finds herself running from a half man half murderer the phone rings girls and boys disappearing from daily excursions her pearls arrive at her doorstep inside a human heart neatly tucked within a newspaper the headlines bold black and smudged her fingers stained with ink and blood he s offering her an invitation into a world of red and black of terror and death and at the end a chance at immortality a maze and a murder x commission from ibuzoo eliot c eliot pushkins her name is unpronounceable to him she s running the tip of her tongue along the rows of teeth feeling the edges pierce the soft underside as it travels from one row to the next his name a constriction of whispers and hisses with vowels wrapped awkwardly over consonants where his hands become appendages slick and fleshy she arches obligingly her body half caught in his mouth now the flutter of her eyelashes like insect legs through his innards you thought you could eat me raw but i ve been to bed with many monsters and you re not one of them she turns her back to him vulnerable he can see the pulse of her heart the divots of her spine just go to sleep one row of teeth gently set over her shoulder in a tender gesture he watches the shoreline that separates her soul from his abyss fade into nothing and sleeps untitled prompt x from writing prompt s thanks for the awesome inspiration folks eliot c archistratego pushkins hestia is in equal parts perfect hostess and hooded stranger her enigmatic smile from across the dinning table as she brews tea to sooth the split arguments between her family for all her good graces exhaustion grips the folds of her skirt and pulls again and again until she s gripping peace by her teeth the plates shattered beneath zeus boots and hades raised voice and then then then she s had enough because this is her home her sanctuary she has that deep desperate desire to make them scattered into dust and the foundations of her home shake poseidon commands earthquakes that sweep away homes but he cannot undo the foundations of home when hestia makes those bonds shakes all olympians are brought to heel have you seen the spilt over ice in the hearth of a home eliot c commission for mademoiselle auger archistratego eliot pushkins ein the sound of their wings beating across the glass pane of her coffin she wears the name of tragic daughters before her lavinia iphigenia ophelia ismene they sit on thorn weaved thrones and watch the solitary fates of those that follow in their footsteps zwei there are six shapes by the water every dusk her heart is a trapped star beneath her ribs as the ripples touch her feet she waits toes dipped in the lake for her brothers to come home to her drei a princess of swans holds court by the lake they glide and the beat of their wings whispers her name elise dear sister little love whose hands weep red and raw vier silence is her only company the stretch of empty sky not a bird in sight no feathers to litter the cradle by her feet thorns become barbed lines of strings twisted in her hands each shirt carries a piece of her heart a king offers his crown but all she yearns for is home her brothers funf feels the lick of fate s anger turning her incertitude into something with teeth sechs it is a happy ending her hands torn if she reaches out she can almost feel their wings turning to flesh and earthly limbs elise rejoices on her way home despite her missing heart ground down and strung out to break the curse it would have been kinder to let her sleep by the lake six swans eliot c commission for avolitorial eliot archistratego the poetry has been silent lately mama i try to speak but nothing answers me all around me gather the colors i haven t had the courage to speak about and they don t look good on me maybe i m not good the poetry has been rotting mama or maybe it s just me i m tripping over words with passing days they start to remind tortured corpse maybe i m not the poetry is dead mama and so am i i think my pen is bleeding via asteriea pushkins salvation is crafted in debt when artemis pulls those girls from the mawling jaws of selfish men she expects to be repaid in kind she always brings them back her home is theirs with it s endless rooms illuminated by apollo s glow men use iron shackles artemis weaves them from gratitude and love and hope what more can a girl want than hope it is malleable flavoured passed from mouth to mouth bare ankles beneath the sun the water inviting inside the walls swells power artemis licks the rim of a glass condensation gathered in her tongue perhaps she will breathe a storm to life tonight untitled eliot c happy birthday ibuzoo inspired by x eliot archistratego next