Hεя ทα๓ε ïร Dεαтн

Death pounded in his ears incessantly, beating her montonous rhythm as she sipped on her victim’s life. Its delicious thickness wrapped around her tongue and down her throat. He laid at her feet, staring unseeingly, yet knowingly, at the clawed feet that didn’t match the pretty pink face above him.She had been the weak once, until she chose an evil type of life. This, she offered to him, by offering her bloody wrist. He winced, and turned his head from the intoxicating red wine, refusing the life of a να๓ρïяε .


A woman to her husband:

” Remember when we danced provocatively with the fairies in Inglaterra? How beautiful I was, dressed in naught, but white sheets from our wedding night- my hair frizzled and controlled by the wind. If only, you could have seen in my eyes’ mirror how handsome you were in your chocolate skin. I liked how the fairies threw sparkling cider on us, so we were both delicious and beautiful.  Remember how they smeared strawberry jam on the green grass, and hung cupcakes on the edge of stars for us? Remember me- stretching up on ballet point toes to pluck the ripest peach, remember how nice it was to kiss the sweetness from my lips? Do  you? 

The woman squeezed her husband’s hand,then tucked it into the coffin, along with the  heavenly fairy story she wrote for him, just in case he had to get off in Hell.

The Elf Nymph


The elf stared at her lover,ears pricked up to the epitome of queer perfection.Her grape green eyes unleashed the NILE at sight of his blood running dark with Death’s poison-suffer. He was at Hade’s gate. What hurt most was that she knew there could only be eternal coals in his resting place. A demonic boy, as he could never enter or smell heaven’s apples. He had slaughtered, with no lamentations, baby girls in their cribs and castrated innumerable poor men’s bulls as soon as a cow was obtained.To watch the suffering of others  was a sport he enjoyed. Or at least seemed to__it was difficult for her to remember now,as his bloodied face was washed pure by his tears.
I love you”the Boy whispered, hardly audible, reaching. Her heart stopped. She managed a weak smile as he breathed his last breath. When she dried her eyes-against  his lips was his dagger.

For Mr.Akinyele

After my favorite tutor’s death I thought all mental stimulation was over- I was so uncharacteristically right…for a time ,at least,almost a year.

But there’s another like him, no not as perfectly him as he was, but enough so that I may be strangely comfortable speaking to the new, younger, but not better Mr. Akinyele.

A week after the death of my Uncle,my favorite tutor, the most erudite man I’ve ever known, died of a heart attack. I cried, more than I cried at news of my Uncle’s Death, because for some queer reason Mr. Akinyele’s academic relationship with me inspired me more than my Uncle’s affections. At his funeral, I could hardly believe that he was truly deceased-in fact,I thought he was faking his death(yes,i was THAT delusional). After all, he had once told me, “The best way to find out how loved you are is to fake your death.”

    Every night for more than two weeks I cried, because his expected arrivalat exactly nine everyday forever to be unfulfilled. But still , I imagined that he was residing somewhere amongst archaic novels with a tobacco pipe in his mouth, humming ‘Pharoah, let my people go’. When I moved to Trinidad, months after,I had lobg stopped crying. Also, I had given up the belief that he was dead, afterall, I had seen  neither his corpse nor his coffin.

To stay

Its been a while
But i cant get over that winning smile
As dusk approaches tears well in my eyes. I can’t disguise your lies in my eyes. There’s no pretending you made a mistake when the love you risked was three years long-to long to forget.
I think I hate you for dying. I know I love you for trying to stay forever.