Thornography

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Howitzer glare and spitfire blade wooed by Dresden serenades, her soundtrack now a bombing raid bored of Vaudeville. God was six days sober on the night that she was born to the glistening star of a bible class, an icon now in religious porn. She was Alice through the glory hole, an ejaculate misconception. Disney-esque, the high priestess of greed and deepest dark deception. All best to bury whims for Miss Libertina Grimm. Libertina Grimm! She, that little red riding crop brer werewolf at her stocking tops, beneath the tightened leather strop of the basque of the Houndervilles. At the stroke of midnight come she polished verse and hearses, in a poisonous pen dipped in omen to her surgeon full of general curses. In the hand of morgue redeemers though the dead always pleased her more, squatting in their coffins flirting curtsies to the thirteenth floor. Tip your hats for sweet Libertina Grimm! Fantasy and candy stores, Snow White and the seven straws, smoke and mirrors on all fours. Libertina Grimm! Her brothers grim her sisters through, the final dance will be the cue, she amputates to fit the shoe. Libertina Grimm! Libertina Grimm! Mystery kindled in a blackened room, nine candles lit to improve the gloom. She sees the dark as she feels the womb full of hidden secrets. They haunt her heart, those precious few, those Count Lestats and Betty Blues. Those tortured souls just like me and you full of hidden secrets. Tip your hats, for sweet Libertina Grimm. Fantasy and candy stores, Snow White and the seven straws, smoke and mirrors on all fours. Libertina Grimm! Her brothers grim her sisters through, the final dance will be the cue, she amputates to fit the shoe. Libertina Grimm! Fantasy and candy stores, Snow White and the seven straws, smoke and mirrors on all fours. Libertina Grimm! Her brothers grim her sisters through, the final dance will be the cue, she amputates to fit the shoe. Libertina Grimm! No, don't go! Don't you leave me here so alone, Libertina! No, don't you go! Don't you leave me here so alone where the dead are free to roam.

Submitted by Corpse Grinder — Apr 23, 2025

As lonely as a poet on the walls of Jericho, or the moon without the comfort of the stars. I am loathe to know it that a man without a soul is nothing but a spilt canopic jar. I proved it, improved it, drove a sonnet right through it. And in this state of bliss Evil kissed with wet lips pen-filled fingertips. Which drew me for through me, Illuminati usually pissed. But with words of some hurt worth I threw a party that extended God's list. Exciting new flames that my fame would claim for me, reciting back the almanac of travesties. They call me bad, mad Caliban with manners dangerous to know. A passing fad taught in all debauch, in excess and in canto. Grown wild this childe, whole harems defiled. Faustina's and Mina's, Lady Libertine and her sisters between her. What spread of lies arise when lovers die, which circle of Hell is mine when I arrive? They call me bad, mad Caliban with manners dangerous to know. A passing fad taught in all debauch, crow against the virgin snow. Grown colder, my shoulder like a boulder beside her. And bolder not wiser, my dark seed took up root inside her. That mouldered, where older, beddings would hold a passionate sigh. But laudanum and soda, Lord Numb Coda merited a forest of inherited spite. Fleeing grief for foreign maps, I still played vampire aristocrat, unloading my gun in hot promiscuous laps. Then shooting swans in a gondola, I tripped my foot on a fallen star and there's nothing like a mouthful of Venetian tar to let you know just who you fucking are! The patron saint of heartache! You can't see my world is falling, the world is falling down. The patron saint of heartache! Can't see the world is falling, my world is falling down. Ever after can they hear my laughter? The patron saint of heartache! Never craft a better bed of disaster! The patron saint of heartache! They call me bad, mad Caliban with manners dangerous to know. A passing fad taught in all debauch, in excess and in canto. They call me bad, mad Caliban with manners dangerous to know. A passing fad Where upon I tell them to go fuck their mothers. As so on my grave!

Submitted by Corpse Grinder — Apr 23, 2025

The needle in the eye of the hurricane, the poison in the font. The nail in the coffin of the profane, I am the lot! Maniacal the fire that weaves inside my soul when dripping tongues of hate envenomed roll. Like carpet bombs in vast bazaars my blood runs with the beasts though no crescent cross or wandering star shalt witness my defeat. Born of jackal in the Vatican to a loathsome flock, I have crept behind the drapes and a wizard there is not. Just a white flag blackened by singing weapons that have led a faith that soon dominions over desert kingdoms of the dead. I smell the fleur du malcontent, the hellish stench of Judas in the dozens. Bouquets for greed and twisted law, handmaidens of a holy war. Bring on a thousand roses more, I am the thorn! Tangled are the thickets that spare the virgin heart from the waking grasp of rapists in the dark. Mountaineers that strive so far for a Heaven grown from reach, that love herself is fabled to be missing from their peaks. Save in one sole tower where the presence of a rod stays the sleeping beauty from the prying fingers of the mob. I smell the fleur du malcontent, the hellish stench of Judas in the dozens. Bouquets for greed and twisted law, handmaidens of a holy war. Bring on a thousand roses more, I am the thorn! I am the spear of Longinus, the sword of Damocles. Kali up in arms, a bleeding sinus, the hammer of the Gods in the prophet's teeth. I am the thorn! Saint Disgustus, President Evil, great white hopes of a shark-eyed people, lights of the world now flicker and die. Impaled in the race, in the paling face where forked tongues pricked the skies. Choking on these words as I slither to their ear as lightning strikes their blinded minds. I am the thorn! I am not the hand of God... Territorial thieves ever stealing thunder for religious causes, I will bring you all down to your knees and fuck you over! Bouquets for greed and twisted law, handmaidens of a holy war. Bring on a thousand roses more, I am the thorn!

Submitted by The Void — Apr 23, 2025

We rise with the sun in the underworld, we suffer from a graveless name. We prise wide lids and wounds with lips curled over teeth that have tasted shame. Cemetery and sundown! Against the flora of nightfall we gather like the fauna of war to curse Aurora so spiteful with her stake in the coming of dawn. To conjure forth the past, those heady nights of pain resplendent in the service of the Goddess of Death when her sheets ran royalty-red. Moons lengthen our crypt-kept silhouettes, shadows dance, eyes flicker in descent. Unveil the greed, our needs are bitter spent on upturned mouths and haunts of wickedness. We walk this Eden a secret, faces hidden under leonine pride. In dusk's embrace we find it hard to keep it when blood and lust and waking worlds collide. When waking worlds collide! Cemetery and sundown! Too long have we skulked like drifters in the cities of the neon sun. Vagabond dogs and graveyard shifters, Mona Lisas where the paint has run. I miss our glorious past, our nightly flights on fear dependent. Phantoms in the eaves for Miss Christine when the song bird broke her neck. Wolves howl their fogbound serenades, churches arch their backs with balustrades. Praise be to the shedding of masquerades when we hunt these vestal vermin unafraid of the covenant made. Draw the blinds on the floors of raw meat, there is murder in the thirst. Rich red vascular tapestries hung in gilded frames of nuns asleep in dreams where themes of bestiality are a blessing on their Sunday sheep. Sermons hang a black gown over cemetery and sundown. Now the clock is harrying midnight, and the ghosts of yet-to-come. Will she show rewrites of dark delight, or the sewers we've overrun? I see a winter palace cut diamonds at a porcelain neck. When Swan Lake crushed poor sanity's spirit as I threw her to it bled. We rise with the sun in the underworld, we suffer from a graveless name. We prise wide lids and wounds with lips curled over teeth that have tasted shame. We walk this Eden a secret, faces hidden under leonine pride. In dusk's embrace we find it hard to keep it when blood and lust and waking worlds collide.

Submitted by Grave666 — Apr 23, 2025

One might see in Mina my disease, but it is she who has infected me for all eternity. As the sun slips the tearaway stars into the scented scheme of night, I kissed her mouth like a dark red rose set upon a marbled dream of white. So pure of thought like a Vestal statue jewelled with a God-lent grace. I was close to coming when she bid adieu, fuelled by the heartache rent upon her face there. Oh Mina, obscener! Thoughts obsess my days. Oh Mina, obscener! Thoughts possess me, that I must now obey! They say the darkest hour is that before the dawn, when nothing in one's power can dissipate the great forlorn. Shadows of fire that haunt me like risen whispers of her name, for dawn is a dusk wherein needs must erupt from the grave aflame. Written in the dead of night, and riding on the burning wind. Smitten by her read delight, my words alight like leaves of sin. Stepping through a mirror, the princess of the emerald glass brought me one step nearer Love's infernal past. They say Hell hath no furies like a woman scorned by life, when the heavenly judge and juries participate to chain this wife. With forced virtues her secret needs drew on my foreign blood. On warm wet nights with storm-wracked bites, I gave her Eden after the flood. Written in the dead of night, and riding on the burning wind. Smitten by her read delight, my words alight like leaves of sin. Verona, Marishka, Aleera, brides of old and Goddesses all, forgive my wishes to be always near her forever or whenever seas recall. This Aphrodite from my embrace for as Mars whom her lips placate, I tore these shores with wars of hatred. Before our Paris set his fate in Helen, one might find mistake in winning tragedy for all eternity. I am still lovesick for Mina, I am still so lovesick for her, I am still lovesick for Mina, I am still so lovesick for her.

Submitted by Warbringer — Apr 23, 2025

I'm chaos international The writing on the wall A Lazarus in parable A dark and sullen lullaby Whispered softly as you die Promising torments are nigh Danger warning levels hissed out loud I saw the silver lining hidden in a mushroom cloud Now I'm reeling from the shock at ground zero If yesterday you would have stood up proud Then why tonight have you thrown in with the stoning crowd? I'll breathe through the foetus of a new day kicking The foetus of a new day kicking It's true that Jesus cannot save I'm rising from the grave To put my double cross to shame A poison rush, a heart attack A white assassin painted black You'll fear this reaper coming back Danger warning levels hissed out loud I saw the silver lining hidden in a mushroom cloud Now I'm reeling from the shock at ground zero If yesterday you would have stood up proud Then why tonight have you thrown in with the stoning crowd? I'll breathe through the foetus of a new day kicking On a night like this You laid the serpent's kiss In this garden of Gethsemane You played the traitor well In a dawn to come I will blind the sun To grant you pardon as my enemy Before damning you to hell Danger warning levels hissed out loud I saw the silver lining hidden in a mushroom cloud Now I'm reeling from the shock at ground zero If yesterday you would have stood up proud Then why tonight have you thrown in with the stoning crowd? I'll breathe through the foetus of a new day kicking

Submitted by Celtic Frost — Feb 06, 2026

One dark afternoon like a shadow I flew through the rain that fell sick with lament to this house of incest, for when we undressed, blasphemies against Venus were rent. Though her sister removed, her white body approved the barade of my heavenly quests. Yet all tongues are not true, some are forked or askew like an uncivil serpent's at best. For ousted from Eden I fausted all reason, hook in mouth like Saint Peter Pan. To horned fairy groves and hot virgin coves where in the promiscuous swam. I elected lovers and rejected others, Mathistrises that don't give a damn. But for those that still do my deep interest grew. The rise of the true pentagram!

With the snow fallen thick and bonfires alit, and shooting stars portents of rips. I ascended to spur a mere glimpse or murmur from her precious celestial lips. "Be it sun to your moon, be it moon to your sun. Together we promised to come. With a turn of the screw, and a slip of the tongue we eclipsed one another undone." Through the mist, through the woods, with the night-wraiths I've stood atop murderous peaks calling you. On storm-lashed beachheads where the fishermen dread the things your bewitchments accrue. Those deep creatures bring her cut diamond rings, a girl with a pearl necklace her. Advancing in fevers, tsunamis and myrrh. Will she wreak bloody vengeance or purr? Or will she purr, or will she purr? She lights the skies! Dressed in silver scales plucked from the ocean to spite her thighs that Lucifer snuck inside. And with his pride enclaves were upgraded to Goshen, so paradise could shine from out her skirts. "I adorn myself at dusk with ornaments to close the noose. A kiss as red as blood and cold as Hell. My body glows with lust, anaemic as the flag of truce. I raised at dawn to catch you in my spell." With every twist I cannot resist her fertile female mind control. This wanton witch, white-rapids sister to whom I pour my wine and soul. And here we go again! From a copse of black yews where the moon was drawn through like a sword through a Gordian knot. She descended to me, claiming swift victory over the heart I had near-soon forgot. With every kiss this huntress whispered: "Yield to my sweet embrace, one night of bliss." I could not dismiss her, once her beauty shot me a darker face. You mesmerise my soul, Diana. You mesmerise my soul! You mesmerise my soul, Diana. You mesmerise my soul!

Submitted by SerpentEve — Apr 23, 2025