A ghost walks...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A ghost walks....

These Oceanic Dreams...

 

Our thoughts have become like leviathans to us...

Listen and hear our tale,

of this flip-side Christmas...

that we have lived many a year,

these words sink down through earth and bone...

lighting the dreams of innocents and criminal alike,

and again and again we fall...

we fall.

 

We are the in-between angels of the coldest places,

of the season...

we are in the briefest of smiles,

a mug of soup handed to a wandering soul...

the impression of music that teases your ears,

from just around the corner...

enticing,

and leading you on...

and as the secret keepers of old,

in coercion of the Sinister Meeting Room...

we send to you a letter,

you should find its' Material Form...

at half past the third hour of the morning,

in a teapot or a casserole dish...

depending on the weather about your home.

 

 

In essence this letter is an invite...

to step away from the sanity,

of our unending reality...

a small break in time,

to celebrate the most gothic of Christmas gatherings.

 

'For those who are born of the cold and the grime...

for those who call the streets their home,

for the faded hearts...

the ones who have forgotten,

the ones who no one dare invite to their parties...

and the one who don't believe anymore.

 

We care not for your faith...

nor for how evil and dark you are inside,

whether you have celebrated this season alone before...

or never seen fit to leave,

we bring to you...

a celebration for you.

 

 

Come one come all...

our poisons are divine,

we know you will find a certain cavalier...

in our merry Hell-bell of this festive twilight,

of delights.

 

You shall be called forth two nights hence...

until then,

keep what hearts you possess close...

and set guards by the doors at night,

listen always to the clock...

for it will chime,

our call...

your cry.'

 

...Miss CLScarlett xx...

 



 

 

 

Post-Denial of the Christmas Kind...

 

We are what we are...

 

However,

sometimes masks are enough...

and superstitious diversions clever enough to warp our truth.

 

We are however...

the Creatures that stalk,

the first two or three weeks of December...

we do not speak,

and we can no longer remember...

What we once knew however,

has become tattooed upon what skin...

 they allowed us to keep.

 

So now we read our own stories...

as though they were stars that had been inscribed,

in the Heavens above.

 

So it began...

We woke first deep beneath the earth,

to darkness and freezing cold...

we felt hands against our new wings,

twisting and teaching...

Teaching us what it was to feel fear,

so we would grow...

We were taught there was no life,

without fear...

 

 

Yet my Brethren and I,

we resisted...

We clawed our way up through the clay,

through the centipedes...

through the bones of old monsters,

to reach that harsh air of the above...

So finally we saw,

and felt...

and heard,

and remembered...

as the rain fell,

and then...

They,

came for us...

the Ones of Law,

the ones of deeper magic...

than we could fathom.

 

They cursed us...

forevermore.

Placed us in human forms,

that were mere prisons...

for the indescribable beings we had once been.

They placed us under the guard of many...

bondages wrought through debt,

through price...

through love,

through fear...

and still we cannot escape.

 

 

 

These silver threads bind us stronger than any chains...

and we long to destroy and cut and unravel,

but instead we are appointed the thieves...

the waifs,

the orderlies of the night.'

 

Ignore us shadows...

dear Sir and MadMadam,

for it is merely us...

wrapped up within a myth,

and sending you the remnants of what celebration we can give...

to you,

for once you have been properly terrified...

no greater is the beauty,

than of something as simple as a Christmas tree.

 

Perchance...

to dream of a true new start,

to dream a new dream...

and allow these wings to take flight,

to run further and farther than anywhere we have ever been...

to where no one will know our name,

and time takes a breather...

from his never-ending task,

of counting the many hours and minutes that had passed...

 

 

 

 

Let us rest and dream and create and remember and laugh....

 

I wish you already,

a Merry Christmas,

as melodramatically gothic as I can make it...

and please,

if you are - like me -....

a memory junky,

watch Home Alone 2: Lost in New York.

 

I will tonight...

though more often than not,

I need to watch Sucker Punch...

someone please buy me it for Christmas?

 

 

Much Love,

 

Miss CLScarlett xx

 

 



A Small whisper if you please...

 

May I tell you a story?

May I tell you a small version of the truth?

Allow me first to introduce myself,

I am your host...

the monster of your soul,

you may call me Mr. White n S...

and ware,

for Miss Scar is temporarily gone.

 

I shall reveal to you something I know,

something that was told...

there is a secret you see,

for the world is not merely black and white...

 

The skeleton of the world was set,

many moons ago...

it was not an orb,

single in space...

but a hundred,

perhaps a million...

interlacing spheres,

the creep-ways and gaps between where they overlap...

we have always found the trouble,

to slip between...

 

What is the past?

But a note of dust...

We can only ever live within our dreams,

without them...

perhaps our minds would be lost,

our sanity rent...

for to live in pure reality,

is something that you as humans could never accept.

You claim to not have dreams?

Dear, dear...

who fills their eyes with moving images?

Of a thousand spectacular colours and stories...

you who surrounds themselves with infinite sound,

who meditate...

down the tenth bottle,

breath the poison...

kill,

maim...

torture,

even when you tell a Child...

of the mysteries of Christmas,

all dreams...

we are born into a reality of dreaming,

which you may never wake from...

perhaps that is better.

 

Than what would remain...

 

Tell me something dear friends,

Do you hear it?

In your blood...

its' quickening,

the painful shiver of your skin...

the noises that stretch closer,

when your back is turned...

turn again dear,

no turn again...

let it drive you insane,

again and again...

until you smash apart the house,

to destroy that presence that is ever behind you...

yet once all lies as fragments at your feet,

still you feel it...

breathing its' freezing breath against your ears,

and you know it cannot be killed...

for it is the voice of your fear.

 

 

 

Let me tell you another tale...

about the ward I have elected to stand by my side,

what is the benefit...

one would ask,

of such a thing...

why stay close to a person,

who is a mess of darkness?

Mayhem and un-luck?

Indeed...

she keeps her masks fine,

and really mentioning such things...

about her fragile lucid state of mind,

she'd no doubt bite-off your hand...

denial is also kindred to her heart,

now as for reason...

a creature such as me has its' ways,

and she provides ample payment...

I am the kind who feeds off the dark,

and so find it quite to my liking...

I have been with her so long,

she follows the smallest of my suggestions...

I branded her mind long ago,

and now she knows no other love.

 

Do you want to hear the truth?

What she hides so well?

She is emotionless...

except at a basic level,

like the deepest depths of the sea...

its' storms,

maelstroms and typhoons...

and as mad.

All you see however of her...

is the placid,

clear and open shallows...

of a beach in paradise,

don't be fooled...

she has the capacity for death,

and indeed death follows her...

all throughout her life.

 

 

 

This girl has cut away her sentimentality...

and what endearing qualities she possesses,

are flawed by the emptiness and agitation...

that fills her by the hour,

my strength is becoming hers...

and ours is a strength of darkness and demons,

so be the labyrinth...

I watch her scramble about,

wait for her to come back to me...

proving my words again and again,

you little Scar...

are but a ghost,

without me at your side...

yes I do not save you from the Daerk,

and yes I am the one who whispers...

'drink just one more',

'go faster'...

'try this,

open the right door...'

For I am a face of darkness just as the rest,

and better the demon you know...

especially one that is the only being she trusts,

for my truth...

that I give,

despite the lies...

I reveal,

is more precious to her than...

the horrors that lay out there.

 

 

The end result is far better...

for she was always my gateway,

my first physical step...

into entering this world,

once she gives in...

once she stops believing in a capacity for sanity,

for retaining it...

for the capability of good,

then I shall truly be revealed...

I whisper the truth to her,

that time is hacking itself to pieces faster and faster...

and you already feel in your bones,

the death that awaits you...

for when death accompanies and destroys,

when Fate brings its' insane-ridden tricks...

upon all you know and care for,

you choose loneliness....

and the company of a demon,

so as to safeguard those many lives...

that you now feel to be as alien to you,

as the planets...

and you know,

that eventually death and Fate...

will tire of tormenting you by their pain,

and choose to devour you instead...

Don't you long for that dear Scar?

Perhaps they will continue your suffering...

Because we know it is this you seek,

it is nearest my greatest pleasure...

to talk you into holding the knife,

the gun...

the noose,

to your head...

and watching as you fail again and again,

and when you finally give up...

I will give you a Daerk reason to live again,

for it is also my greatest joy to deny you this...

your freedom or your death,

for death is not freedom...

for a greater darkness waits for you there,

soon I will convince you to buy that ticket...

and disappear into that far horizon,

be away and apart...

and by your side I shall remain,

as you age...

and soon only my eyes,

see your beauty...

after it is long gone,

my esteemed comrade...

you certainly knew when you pulled me,

from the deep DreamTime...

that I would become your heartbeat,

and your portion of sanity...

the comforting hand leading you away,

from the abyss...

when it is all you can feel,

and taste.

 

Sleep well Scar,

for I am the only one tethering you...

to the here and now.

 

My cold embrace...

is your sweetest addiction.

 

 

 

 

 

  I travelled to a lonely beach the night past this one. My two friends and I

     Careful Scar...saying such things always lead to heartache...or had you forgotten?

found a small alcove amongst the mist and shore breaks to rest the night...

  I remember being awake at sometime past three and seeing the stars viciously cold and bright,

so close and beyond impossible...

   Tell them Scar, tell them why you no longer sleep...why you keep your lights on throughout the hours of Darkness. Tell them...or should I?

  You've never needed permission from me before to cut apart my life So...

  You really have lost your touch dear...I do not perform the cutting, I merely lead you to its' door. There I will be waiting...for you to come back out, and come to me for comfort...

  So you say.

 ...and so I do. Right now however, you need to accompany me away from here. We have a certain meeting that requires both of us...a possible signature, but please don't trouble yourself dear...I am well acquainted with this kind of contract...all we need is your assent, a small forgetting...

  I don't...

  Come now Scar...of course you do...

  Sh........................................

 

 

 This is a small notice of Apology from

The Sinister Meeting Room...

The enigmatic Mr. White n S temporarily overtook our System of Degrees,

all shall be returned shortly to functioning capability...

until then please remain in our Reception Room,

a summons shall be sent to your shortly.

 

S.M.R

 

 

 

 

 





12.30 A.M.

 

Smokers breathe into Destinies' Hue...

 

We forgot one day,

what we thought we could remember now.

We never did...

Some things are best forgotten and buried,

under the sand as time ruins for us...

what mistakes we make,

when our hourglass is almost up.

 

Time wages the wars of distance,

that we hypnotically fear and hide from.

Let this night cover us,

Lest our wings bleed our death.

 

So be the days of our sea,

a fleck of sand upon a million tiny islands...

that race our hearts' notions,

to intercept the borderline that consists...

between our reality and the next,

and we are swept up.

 

 

 

Immune to our days' end,

which flashes past us like so many notes...

and within them fills,

a thousand drops...

that only I can hear.

 

There is an ocean outside my window,

do you hear it?

Do you hear it?

 

Let our hearts fall like the rain,

and be buried beneath your wasted blue...

let the dandelions be your wish for a free life.

Apart from these lands.

Where we forget.

Anew.

 

Creaking wind and oak tales,

we have lit the fire in you...

your beacons harness our path,

through this night land...

and we wear upon our sleeves and skin,

the fate of those who we have known...

and loved for a time.

 

 

 

Words spin through my head...

a million fractures,

a million ways...

and all we see is Light,

here in this small hour.

No it is not a pure hope we feel,

but something darker...

of the endless ocean depths,

and this windswept heart...

we still possess.

 

Storm skids...

high above and we feel its' heat,

drawing our bones...

light years away;

where we float,

in celestial patterns...

and far into the secret,

of the cricket-chirrup delusion.

 

 

...Miss C.L.Scarlett xx

 

 

 



The Silver Road...

 

You wake at half past three...

in the hours when ghouls devour,

and blood is shed upon the streets of this city...

You walk out into the mist,

and you see the silver road...

stretching out before you,

into darkness...

you see him there,

a  pale silhouette waiting...

in the near distance,

you come close to him...

allow his endless white eyes,

to meet yours...

draw you away,

into the heart of emptiness...

his pale fingers take your arm,

wrap about your shoulders...

and with quiet words,

he leads you away...

along that silver road.

 

He takes you pass a solitary bus...

that glows with a faded light,

that waits for those disproportionate souls...

who know no peace in this life or the next,

who wait in the gutters...

and by the flickering light poles,

waiting for the Bus of Purpose...

to steal their souls,

and take them far away...

yet the pale figure,

his claws...

have already claimed your soul.

 

 

 

You are tugged through mazes...

created from the fractured remains,

of a glass chapel...

Bullets pierced its' side long ago,

cutting to shreds...

the people that had sought shelter,

within its' walls of light...

and in the end,

they were bled dry...

their blood a river that the Devourers,

drink deep from...

 

You shudder and the pale ones' fingers,

hold you tighter...

support you up with their cold embrace,

and though you feel your heart being swallowed...

the glow within you ticking out,

the cuts martyring your soul...

you feel the only way is forward,

along that silver path...

from which there is no escape.

 

Next you pass a lake...

beneath which darkness boils deep,

the hands and tendrils...

of shadow and despair,

wind and churn...

down deep,

you see at its' centre...

a small girl,

with eyes like the universe...

and the darkest of hair,

staring at you across its' expanse...

you try to run,

to reach and take her in your arms...

yet the pale figure holds you back,

grips his arms about you...

holds you down,

as he murmurs into your ears...

telling you to be still,

that there is nothing waiting out there for you...

but horror and death,

and so trapped...

you watch as the girl is taken,

as the strange creatures...

reach up and consume her,

and you scream...

 

 

 

Eventually the pale figure,

lifts you in his arms...

and carries you away,

down that long...

long,

Silver road...

Until it is quiet,

and you feel the memories...

slipping from you like the tide,

soon he sets you back on your feet...

and wraps his fingers about you again,

tugging you onwards...

 

Time passes,

you walk through the world...

you pick up a job here and there,

live to the bones of your breath...

fashionably starve,

as you slam out the words...

upon the typewriter the pale one brought you,

many moons ago...

and still he hovers,

pulling you through the darkness...

that plagues your life,

the sickness that is slowly killing you hour by hour...

and in the end,

what friends you manage to find...

leave once they discover the truth,

once they sense the death that is devouring you second...

by second,

each time they leave...

you see the look in the pale ones eyes,

again and again...

his claws find your shoulders,

and his eyes shine the dark truth...

that everyone will leave,

in the end...

for the monster that you have created,

of yourself...

 

He will remain,

for he sees and knows...

the darkness too,

and it is only he...

that finds more pleasure,

in feeding upon your weakness...

your desire to forget.

 

You grow old...

wars carve holes in the world,

and you see a thousand years...

of the leaves that die,

and burn and birth...

again and again,

and each step is slower...

takes more,

and your throat rattles...

the breath only a leak,

through which Fate swiftly steals...

and slowly ever so slowly,

you see the pale one...

replacing your strength,

with his own...

 

Soon he is the only one,

and in the dark hours...

as your days fade,

he waits in the shadows...

his claws about your shoulders,

and you see that hidden Silver path...

that doomed you so long ago,

and the words that are like prophecy...

that emerge from his lips,

and embed in your soul...

 

Soon you reach your last breath,

and the pale one comes to you with a smile...

you see the dark teeth he hid,

and the ghostly wings that he bore...

that stretches across the world,

he takes you again in his arms...

whispers that it is time,

and takes you finally...

beyond that Silver Road,

to a shade of darkness...

something close to light.

 

 

Miss C.L.Scarlett

xx

 

 

 

 



Confessions of a Spooked: Entry Three of Madness and All Hallows Eve...

 

Darkness boiling...

madness churning.

 

We are alone...

in the shadows and mayhem,

we stare at the broken walls of this room...

and we see the door that is swung wide,

the monsters have crept in...

within,

and now their legion fills...

our thoughts,

our heart...

our soul,

 

Scratched to pieces...

beneath water that boils,

chain down our limbs...

so that we may trail the knife,

stab the nails...

embed the poison,

and it eats with wicked teeth...

soon our eyes are black,

and our skin trails away...

Drink down the murk,

rip between...

ghosts that suffocate our lungs,

and the weeper that sleeps...

in our ears,

the claws that do not leave...

We set the match,

we watch it all burn...

the faces,

millions of screams...

as they writhe within the fury,

of these flames...

you lock the doors,

so you cannot get out...

and you take the barbed whip,

to your back and wrist...

so that the tension may release,

we watch as the souls are devoured...

and the heart of our city is drenched in blood,

for we see a new horizon...

a city there,

its' streets are paved from the dust...

of the bones that were churned down,

by the feasters...

the Devourer,

who once learnt this name...

for they do not forget a name,

and so now we dig into the earth...

at night until our fingers,

they bleed...

we tear out our teeth,

for we see their razor edges...

the way they cut and kill,

and now the forest is everywhere...

and it is alive,

and waiting...

about each corner,

each street...

do not blink,

do not run...

because it will find you,

to each corner of the earth you flee...

it is there,

for those who entered the forest...

the creatures they took,

they feed off our spirit...

leach us dry,

and bind them within their world...

for the trees,

are the Sleepers Deep...

cut off every wire that binds,

shatter all the mirrors...

watch in the darkness,

as the shadows sway...

and come for you,

again and again...

so we wait now,

for their total doom...

 

 

 

'Go ahead...'

they whisper.

'Build your prisms,

your reflections and masks...

your chains and bars,

to lock us inside...

to not show anyone,

the true madness...

within,

though how long can you keep us back...

really?

Soon you will love us...

and then you shall never wish,

for freedom...

we will be your dearest confidantes,

the ones you turn to...

as slowly we poison the way you see the world,

those about you...

those you know,

until you want to tear them apart...

make them hate you,

so that you can find the freedom...

that you seek out,

like the Holy Grail...

and sending you to insanity,

slowly ticking into insanity...

night after night after night,

and yet you will never find it...

for yours was always a cursed end,

we allowed you the illusion...

that one day,

it will make sense...

but dear dear,

there is no end.

 

This...

is your madness,

and Fate.'

 

Happy Halloween

xx

 

 



Confessions of a Spooked: Entry Two of All Hallows Eve...

Wolf of Night

(Story of a wolf)

 

 

 

Wolves are prowling my streets tonight,

they follow me wherever I am...

Trying to teach what I already know,

leading me through the corners of my eye...

Some are blind,

some fill my heart...

others I can't bear the sight,

Yet the one I know more than any other,

can fill up the very night...

His shadow it sways,

the moon dims glowing...

his howl,

the scream of wind...

His paws are molten,

while his fur leaks tears...

he is bonded to me by flight,

He was dying that first time – when I found him late one night...

His eyes lunging razor claws,

As I stooped into shadows when what I wanted was light,

 reached down and gripped hold...

His body wayed me down,

yet his bones were thin...

like splinters and his heart like ash,

He could not stand,

yet I could,

he leant on me...

took and took,

I cried my heart,

held him strong,

that black fur of night,

herald thereafter by a song...

Each night I write of him,

his ghostly beige eyes – they haunt my thoughts,

hiss – guide...

I took him to my deepest chamber,

wrapped him tight in mind and slowly healed his many wounds,

that were deeper than just skin and bone...

He raged in me,

filled me with black nights...

his claws slowly became mine,

I healed him but...

he healed me,

yet wounded me deep as deep,

Days turned to nights and black into light as slowly he regained his name,

Became not a beast of dust but a wiry strong thane,

Soon he could run and I ceased to try,

soon he could scream, my sound ceasing...

soon he could live,

while I could not.

He left, like a winters last day,

never-ending but gone just like that.

You couldn't see,

you couldn't think

I couldn't be.

Now he is forever and I am his past,

he can toss a stone for me and howl at night for the time I took my last breath.

 

 

 

Stillness

(Story of a wolf II)

 

I watched the fight from afar that night,

mist curling in my wake...

As I saw a beast as black as shadows,

curl and rip and shake...

He wore a hooded light and fought because he was forced...

Breath held fury,

 night held tears as those wolves,

they attacked him near death...

He bayed his call,

leapt like a deer,

swung back to hold his ground...

Only to be beset by teeth,

and calls for meat...

his very own breed his doom,

Fought and fought,

for hours they did until the streets were covered with murk...

A ghost-like yelp,

crimson fear and the fleeing paws of many a wolf...

Crept into silence,

and chill-cold night as he slowly lay silent...

forgetting his name...

After an hour or so,

once I was sure they had left I ran to the spot he had fell...

Looked upon he,

hurt not just in flesh,

and took him upon my soul...

I carried him,

and the night became still.

 

 

 

Him Or Me?

(Story of a wolf III)

 

Half his pain was his anger,

the way he'd scream and claw...

Ripping up the walls of his room,

tearing his own jaws...

It wasn't just hunger,

or the will to feel,

but a burning pain that screwed his heart...

kept it beating when he wanted death...

That wolfs' howl echoed,

each and every night...

Until it sunk,

impressed on my mind...

His eyes were the creators,

of his own demise...

His life the curse,

his body the chains...

His body hung limp,

not just from what they'd done...

It was because he let them.

His days had decided to resist,

though he begged them to stop...

He refused to eat,

to love, to live, even when I tried...

For him.

He gouged my heart,

after I had so willingly thrown...

He could not feel,

turned blind with hatred...

Each night I'd hear him screaming,

the dints in his walls the only clue,

The pulled out claws I was forced to ignore in the hope he would be cured...

I fought for reason, in a world where there was not,

Tried to love him, when my scars grew more than bones...

He was a beast, scalding to kill, not me, but himself...

I could only watch, as he drove himself from slumber, night after night, after night, after night...

Pacing a path in the floor,

I screamed at myself,

to let it go...

let him go,

keep me....

Yet he took what I had,

because I offered and gave,

My tracks matched his.

Who am I? Him or me?

 

There are wolves within my heart...

and how they howl.

xx