Amor É Morte

"And my month long fascination with Necrophilia has come to an end. May this remain unfinished for my own sense of sanity."

My knuckles collided with the battered wooden door. Tap, tap, tap. I paused a moment... Nothing. I twisted the door knob; the hinges eerily creaking with each inch in moved. It hit me like a bullet in the mouth... The scent... The decay... I could feel my nostrils dilate and my lips curl up my cheeks as I entered the homely room; barely lit by an ancient light bulb, in an even more rustic lamp. The wallpaper was striped in a dull blue, green and white pattern. Though the white was tinted yellow from the years of secondhand smoke abusing it. Memorable nick-knacks and blank faced porcelain girls were piled upon each other on the dusted shelves. It was obvious to the naked eye that cobwebs and arachnids had made their home from the various doll hair.

A sudden rush of blood shot through my body as the wretched smell that stung my nose grew stronger. Surely the stench would stick to my clothes. My eyes began to water as I drew closer to the source of the smell. Like cherry pie to me. A disfigured shape lay motionless on the floor. The fermenting pile seemed to resemble the anatomy of what used to be an elderly woman. Her skin was black, and moist to the touch. Her nails had turned yellow, almost golden with rot, and her once exuberant eyes were white and deflated. Oh, what a delight!
I knelt down next to her, brushing the serpentine hair from her face. I chuckled ever so slightly, gazing at the discolored white and gray hairs that had stuck themselves to my palm. I rubbed the syrupy hairs off on my jeans. Then, as if by instinct, my index finger peaked open her mouth. I could feel my body tremble as my finger entered her opening, exploring the sticky bliss within. I got a slight dizzy as my nail scraped against what used to be her tongue. My finger removed itself from her dripping mouth; a creamy white substance lodged beneath the nail... from my last visit.
Heheh.

Such boundless glory she supplied me that wondrous eve. I could feel myself growing at the very thought of it. Violating the cadaver with such filthy intentions...

Graveyard Calling

At night I scale the cemetery walls, unseen I walk in silence
Among the still rows, dodging all but stony angels vigilence.
Just for a taste of the human trash our cities threw away,
Those slumbering beneath the shallow earth await my spade
That lifts the heavy soil from off their cripple backs,
And slowly into the vaulted capsule cracks.
Lift, and search, until my love I find. I know her now only by
the favourite flowers that her loved ones leave behind:
The blanchest lily, for its pureness they prefer,
Yet I leave nightshade blooms, that now better represent her.
And sometimes at night I crave the smell of decay sweet,
So outside and to my sanctuary, where 'tis her I'll meet.
And when I lie with her and hold my breath,
Then do I see: true love lives only in silence.
Although her beauty is locked in ages past, and flesh
Does fade, but still, her immortal presence does attest
To the innocence of our unfailing affair, and
I know in this lover's crypt I shall always find her there.
Who could doubt my love that does experience feel?
For undying love is but the only love 'tis real,
And when you hear the rasp of death against your flesh, passion sparks
Although the maggots writhe between your entwined bodies in the dark.
And what more intoxicating than the bittersweet smell of decay,
That haunts your dreams and drips lovestains unseen by day.
Her staring sockets burn the stutters in my speech, and I upstart,
That mimic stutters that once stopped her wilted heart.

DellAmore

Nekromantik

Your love is crisp, and clear, and cold,
Brittle as the ash of old,
And flakes and lovestains from your sweet,
Unto your bleak overcoat do leak.
You kiss the lips that never care
And fathom deep in sockets, true love there
How many coffins have you pried open,
In search of your perfect love?
And when you lay entwined at night,
And passion alongside worms alights,
Mixed with perfume of bittersweet decay,
How can you then dream of returning to day?