My thrall forgot to lightproof my room before day. Now I am ash. Damn.
This cemetery is old and sparse of bodies. I need another.
require constant supply.
Three bootsteps forward, shuffling across the floor, hands clasped to my breast.
we may see him do the "washing the mirror."
How could that DJ follow Sisters of Mercy with that Manson song?
to replace it quickly with some Alien Sex Fiend.
No, just because you are wearing black does not mean you can hang with us.
and hopeless eternal love must fill your thoughts.
I have run out of clove cigarettes and snakebite. I think I must swoon.
Be not a poseur, else you may find a pointy boot up in your arse.
Study the sea of crushed velvet and latex about you.
What? No Absinthe here? Guess I'll have a vodka and cranberry juice, then.
to be depressed and worrisome.
I was doing fine with my cans of Aquanet 'til you struck that match.
we do not need to add to the flames.
We will kick your ass and not even smear our eyeliner.
be over in the corner bitching and moping.
be lounge, goth or sci-fi? By all means your tired,
your poor, your huddled 5-7-5 syllabic rhythms yearning
to be displayed.
The Bad Lounge Haiku of Polarbeast
The Bad Sci Faiku of Polarbeast
The Bad Haiku of Our Visitors