Our Dark Parade
By: Jonathon & Baron
“I lay here, naked… In the dark I remain faceless.” He states in amazement. He continues to stroll through this place in his basement. “I have aches and pains from years of tears, my peers would never understand; I’m scared they’d fear,” he pauses, “what’s that noise in my closet?” As he walks with haste his pace decreases, he notices the sun rising – so he hurries to bed before his body lays in pieces.
She stays awake – remembering her love, and on her knees she prays. “Dear, lord from above; help me pay my greatest respects to the one I praise best, and in the next few days, please help us find a way to connect.” It’s the least to expect from such a young bride who’s erect with hope that one day she could find a man who would select her for more than an object of lust. In god she trusts, but she lacks the facts that he hides behind his back. She knows love's confusing; it’s just the bruising that occurs in order to pull out the slack.
He walks her home- alone he stares at known fears
calm in the exterior- but inside his demons writhe- tears
escape his eyes- what will she say? Better for lies
to cover my path- as truth is a trapdoor made of glass
once opened I’m trapped- our pact broken won’t last
I’m not a crass man- but rash decisions make me so
will she forgive- or am I unforgivable? Misery is my foe
my woes claim me- my secrets shame & debase me
but so easily the words of truth could claim the love we
share- she’ll blame & flee- leave me lonely- but surely
it could be vice-versa, the curse might not faze her
I can’t face her- so write oh quill on this parched paper
Poison swims in my blood assured- gloating it floats
happily doting on my body- a parasite no antidote- hopes
lost I can’t cope- but to break down is to lose closed in blues
eyes slope- my genes ridicule me sluice opposed blood who’s
Gonna be my beau- who’s gonna save my soul so lost & closed
woes are my wife- I can’t let her love me oh the cost & opposed
Forces tackle- I become disjointed in the battle of men & beast
hands rip to claws, my feet break the saddle- to commit ten feats
of treachery & terror- terrorizing tenfold of ten people but the pen
which wrote a confession is broken- I can’t mend this steeple when
I’m the opposing force as well as the King in his castle
I’m closing down on the horse- drinking its blood no hassle
when the citizens can’t see me for who I truly be or am
the man the beast- the count the priest who’ll duly understand
that I’m not a lover- I can’t love so why try I can’t lie though
She may be beautiful- but her bloods more divine so
she may be a bounty- for a beast like me she seems
Beautiful- but as a man I’ll rot with guilt tugging the seams
of my heart, my mind a muddle I can’t peddle my 2 feet
away conscience don’t meddle as I drink this blood loosely
Once again I lay crumbled in stupor at the feet of my bed. My head covered with a matt of blood, my hair torn & ravaged. Instead of surprise, I feel the dull ache of the dead beating irreverently in my heart and my mind treads down memory lane. Will there be an end to this torment, an end to this pain.
“What have I done?” he asks, pondering to himself, trying to catch the ever evading tail of that elusive answer to his woes. “Why, you are finally awake” she merrily stated, ignoring the wretched condition of the man she had come to love. He turns ashamed, knowing full well that she has come to know of his illness. “Why have you come, am I not in disgrace enough, to yet have to be made a mockery in my own home.” His heart bled as he stated his pitiful disposition. “I love you for what you are or what you may become, please do not turn from me” her heartfelt reply rung in his ears, like the first chirp of the morning bird or the first ray of sunshine. Maybe his life wasn’t cursed, maybe she was right?
His eyes stoop like worn troops in the dessert sand -
lipstick-like colors cover his lips & weathered hands.
A sin he's committed - deep down he knows he's fitted for hell;
but quote man - like father like son; & he's beginning to tell.
He's not comprehending this well, his mind's a time bomb -
any second it could beckon & he reckons it'll find calm-
ness. A mess - through all of these obsessive blood sessions
& confessions he's made about his newest love connections.
His parent's left him confused - his soul was abused...
Not used to this pain it’s like his frame became bruised.
He realizes his fakeness - & makes this situation hatred;
after sacrificing his future wife's life for something sacred.
This man's placement in society is basically his basement;
he's lived his whole life in disgrace - & now he's set to face it.
Debased and angered at my weakness, I can’t breathe. Yet she seems unperturbed and at ease…She sees no illness or disease…my curse is my burden but this burden wants to unleash, ravage all in its way and make my love leave. She seems so innocent…when my first incident occurred she was there; she cleaned my wounds and lathered my hair. Yet it seems odd as to why she never found it strange and accepted all as pre-arranged. WAIT! It seems that every incident of aggression and this beast like carnation has either started or ended with her appearance…is she a trigger, or am I just a fool trying to shift blame on another’s shoulders.
He now loves her; but he's under a situation that's pending -
how long can he continue to hide this information he's bending?
Sending her all his regards for this large world that he wants for
this angel who dangles her life towards him - before he haunts more,
she reports the abuse, now she's safe, laced in this confused noose.
Down deep she was seeking his weakness; with lies she put it to use.
The girl turned him in; but burned from within. She knew this hoax had to be blamed on his folks, who had pasted away in earlier days. They were the reason for his illness; in all realness he had to have known he wasn't truly a bloodthirsty human. But as an infant they crashed & blazed, a vehicle ended their ways of pretending their fangs were supernatural, he was left with nothing more than the experiences he knew before he could capture them. The reoccurring of this stage's pace hastened, as the court ordered him life in prison for psychological fixing. His blood pump was broken; still round and thriving, but he felt as if he was dying. Still deeply in love - getting her back was more than worth trying.
Little did he know, she had a secret that was kept & never told. Before this dilemma he remembered the feel of her hands, which were usually cold. Both growing old, and going their separate ways; she's now fulfilling his destiny, roaming the streets living in her own blood parade...
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Originally Posted by Baron P. Mortuss
