I've got a pet daemon,
Every once in a while, I let him out of his cage.
I find it most beneficial,
If every once in a while the wise one gets to play.

I've got a bad desire.
I want to see you when you're out of your skin.
My bad thoughts are inspired
By the ugly, dark world I live in.

No matter what you believe,
No matter what you think you've been told,
There's nothing you know about me.
I have never been the one to be a tortured soul.

A bead of crimson forming,
I see it and my heart starts to throb.
The story few people know,
Is the tale of my midnight macabre

It's like a tale from Lovecraft, brother,
But I was never surprised to gaze upon my face.
And I have always known it.
To others, there was barely a trace.

I revel in self-adulation.
Your pleasure brings me such pain.
I look in desperation upon you.
I want to see your tears fall like the rain.

I understand my desires.
I know why I exist .
I suffer from no allusions.
Your soul is meat, I am a carnivore.

I've got a pet daemon,
Every once in a while I, let him out of his cage.
I find it most beneficial,
If every once in a while that wise gets to play.

My Dearest; Darkest Devotion,

Ah, but what a long time it's been!

And now, it is with a slender paled sliver of hope this letter finds you before I arrive at your chamber, for I must solicit your heart with the contents of mine.

This night I ponder upward to the twinklings amid the void and my thoughts do turn to that time we first met, before I knew you, and how you let me know you, and eventually I let you know...me.

Having learned the truth of my true vampyric nature, your reaction was not as open a reception as I would have it. I concede I have not been the same sense you drove that plank through my chest and deep into my very still heart. There stayed I until, alas...

A hapless young wanderer, a splendid morsel of a group of people on a retreat from the town, rummaging through nature to find kindling for a bonfire, took grasp of the parcel of wood that protruded from the shallow earth where I was left forsaken, and in his misfortune did un-stake me.

I assure you, at this very moment, I feel quite quenched of my thirst.
My hunger for the sweetmeats of revenge have yet to be satiated, however, I will see you very soon, My Pitch Blackness. And you. too, shall see me.

Eternally yours,

Vladimir Tepes.

P.S. Happy Halloween.

A star in  water
Washed upon the sunny shore;
Once wet, became dry.

I felt my world come crashing in.
All of your lies were paper thin.
Why did you have to go
And break my heart?

There is a full moon in the sky
Bigger than the hurt you left inside.
Luna, she knows
I was a fool for you.

I know it shouldn't be a shame,
That I have loved your life in vain.
You could never have been true,
No matter how close I kept you to me.

Your heart's been shattered like a vase.
The pieces, like tile, were mortered
back into place.
The slivers of your pain,
Like a window of glass stained.

Fragmented, and frail,
Contagious and strong,
Lacking conviction,
Can't help but be wrong.

Mosaic love,
You've turned your back on me.
Now I'm to blind to see
Just what I've got to do
To get myself over you.

I felt my world come crashing in.
All of your lies were paper thin.
Why did you have to go
And break my heart, again?

Hecate knows that I've been strong.
I should have seen it all along.
We were destined to fail in -
To each other's orbit.

How in the world will I
Get by with this lowly high?
Diana knows
All your changing faces,
Are a puzzle in the dark.

Mosaic love,
You've turned your back on me.
Now I'm to blind to see
Just what I've got to do
To get myself over you.

This is what it is to love,
And be loved,
By someone with a broken heart.

Never to complete,
The cycle does repeat,
Like a beam of moonlight
In a cathedral panel -

Night after night,
Night after night,
Night after night,
Night after night,
Never again to know
A day without a thought of you.

Mosaic love,
You've turned your back on me.
Now I'm to blind to see
Just what I've got to do
To get myself over you.

I felt my world come crashing in.
All of your lies were paper thin.
Why did you have to go
And break my heart, again?

Mosaic love,
You've turned your back on me.
Now I'm to blind to see
Just what I've got to do
To get myself over you.

This is what it is to love,
And be loved,
By someone with a broken heart.

Mosaic love,
You've turned your back on me.
Now I'm to blind to see
Just what I've got to do
To get myself over you.

Never again to know
A day without a thought of you...

I dreamt an Angel came to me,
To lead me like a child
Through a cement wilderness-
Through storms and weather mild.

Her skin was dark and wrinkled.
Her hair was sparse and grey.
Her hand held out, "Help me, honey."
Was all she had to say.

I passed her by without much care.
She would return to me.
To haunt my thoughts
And ease, someday,
My angst with her gris-gris.

I was tired of running,
And my fear was closing in.
She took me down, turned me around,
Then gave me life, again.

I fell in love with her.
She has a soul as black
As death on a sabbath morning.
Her eyes are deeply set in the astral-plane that is her facade.
She is the captor of the attentions of many.
She is not without agenda.
Neither is she not without heartache,
For the sun that shines the brightest is always the first one to burn itself out.
Tawny windblown streaks are waving in the  lavander twilight, as her arms would move to hold the sky.
She draws me closer to her.
I alone can see inside her,
And her secrets, I help hide.
It does not matter
That she does not love me.

Mr. Celest, won't you please entrance with your stories full of dropping names that I bet no one else could recall, even if the plausible is true?

Long men have a long time to build upon the craft of yarn-spinning , promising the archway, but never daring to get in touch with powerful ways of listening to others.

This prince has a story, too.

The crime of our age is how people live so long that they stop living to fantasize about the old days which were never as glamoruos as we recall.

The only thing you talk about is what you used the think about, when you  wished upon a shooting star that once trailed above the ocean blue.

This knave has a story, too.

An automatic pratter or the vocals in the air are not impressive to someone like me who has seen the sins and suffered wages of the ages.

The reason for your phonics is as empty as your wallet, but your name is never in the liner notes to the teary songs you try to sing.

This man has a story, too.

There is a beaker on the burner and it bubbles quite a lot, much like a festering boil, and the words that stream along are never ending.

You might learn there are surprises in the world still left to make you wonder, still there to give you feeling so you have enjoyment in your life.

This sage knows magic, too.