Wednesday, January 18, 2006

How to Write Goth Poetry

The Blackest Gift

It is a night of ethereal pain, a song of death,
wolves vent their cry. The dark one

Fog shrouds her pale form,
an eternal desire.

Her raven hair cascades over
pale shoulders, and her
full crimson lips part slightly, to taste the
life streaming from the
pale flesh beneath

Now a night of ecstasy,
I pine.

Created with help from the Goth-O-Matic Poetry Generator.


Blogger WinterWheat said...

Fabulous! Now go treat your goth self to some birthday 'fume at Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab.

12:55 PM, January 18, 2006  
Blogger cjblue said...

:D BPAL stuff doesn't really appeal to me. Maybe it's the carrier oil they say they don't use, which makes everything smell funky on me for the first hour. Or maybe it's waiting 4 months for your order...or stories I've heard about psycho CS. There are too many other wonderful places for me to be spending my time on BPAL.

Thanks for b'day wishes. ♥

gvxen: the g-vixen's license plate.

12:52 PM, January 19, 2006  
Blogger mireille said...

I think we're all pining for a night of ecstasy, honey. Um, you're probably getting one, huh? xoxo and belated *ashamed* birthday wishes! My head is stuck somewhere dark where news doesn't travel fast enough. ♥

12:18 AM, January 21, 2006  

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