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<center>http://i104.photobucket.com/albums/m...ab0d7e3fbf.jpg
You walked around, thought yourself beautiful
Just too bad they stared, Just too bad they stared
Broke up your crown, called you unusuable
See how well you fared
Stole underground, To kick your heart around
Banished from above, banished from above
Forgot yourself, Your home and shot your health
Left it all for love
And on their lips
Delirious quips
Last seen with friends wishing them well
Delayed, seduced you listened for the truth
Just too bad they lied, just too bad they lied
O come around in form of future youth
Summoned from the sky
Ooo...
Ono Omode..
Refuse these cruel
Unusual fools
Leave them to rule
In hallowpoint Hell
You've much to do
Now listen to the truth
Cradled in a cry, cradled in a cry
Your light'll shine
Fire undisputable
Keep your head on high
Keep your head on high
Oh walk around,
Know your beautiful, aimless and alive
Broken and divine
O walk around know you are
Future youth
Summoned to the sky </center>
(TV on the Radio)
-
Isolde lay sprawled across the blankets and sheets, tangled in fabric serpents like the gorgon queen Medusa. Her dreams were warped fairy tales, perverse rabbit hole prophecies that made no sense to the sane. Though anyone who knew the gutter princess knew better than to assume sanity on her part. She groaned and stretched, slapping a hand onto her alarm to yank it close and eye the time. Her hand dragged down the front of her face and smeared the remnants of what little make-up she wore on a daily basis. There had been no knock at the door to wake her and he couldn't deny her disappointment.
"Maybe he got lost." If she was anything, it was a wishful thinker. Her hands pressed flat to the mattress of the too big bed. It was too large and lonely for the lanky optimist. Just shy of six feet, she rolled from the bed in a mess of fabric and managed to hop, skip, and jump out of the lasso of sheets. The studio apartment was small, but cozy enough to make her comfortable. She wandered to the bathroom and washed the smudged dirt and make-up from her face with soap and water. Refreshed, she looked at herself in the mirror and traced the curve of her jaw against the cool glass. Time had yet to write his name across her face but he had drilled it into her bones.
With a sigh she stepped away and shrugged off the sleep that clung to her body. It didn't go away easily and she soon found herself climbing back into bed. Though the absence of a certain willowy writer was acknowledged with a small frown. She slept face down, always, whether it was in the gutter or in her bed. Her own breath burst against her cheeks and turned them a shade of red. She didn't mind the heat. It was a reminder that she was still alive and while she was alone, she was smiling even in her sleep. She always smiled in her sleep; her dreams were beautiful, nightmares never plagued her sleep comatosed mind.
-
Circa 1997
She sat in a chair across the room from John Doe as he zipped up his pants and fixed his belt. Two hours of sweatslick bodies moving against one another had left her a hundred dollars richer. While he got ready to return to his wife and children, Isolde lit a cigarette and poured smoe through her nostrils to overpower the smell of sex and the dirty hotel room. At fourteen she couldn't count her lovers on her fingers and toes, but she didn't seem to mind. When she wasn't turning tricks in seedy motel rooms or back alleys, she lived a surprisingly normal life. When she wasn't holed up in her Southside apartment, she was busy flipping through clothing racks at the local thrift stores or swinging from monkey bars at the local park.
"When do I get to see you again, doll?" Her wheezed back in her direction eyeing the teenager up with hungry eyes. It made her stomach turn.
"Whenever you decide to pay me more." Isolde was a businesswoman after all.
He laughed. "I'll see you around sugar, it was as good as always."
She waited for him to leave before she buried her face in her hands and choked down vomit. Her cigarette was stubbed out on the arm of her chair before she climbed to her feet and locked herself into the bathroom. For hours she stood in the shower and cried, after all she didn't have to check out until eleven the next morning and it was rare she got a hot shower; hoses rarely had warm water.
And the next night she'd be back on the street doing the same thing.
-
<center>http://i104.photobucket.com/albums/m...urs/YGPC3E.jpg
If it stayed
I'd never leave it
If that turned around
I'd grieve the special dirty things
That we used to talk about
I mean that loving you is strange
And adored by me throughout,
Oh no it's you again
Someday soon you'll find that someone
Waiting for the chance to beat you
Drooling on the set to feel you,
Blessing you with every kiss
Tying yourself to me
Stitch up my emptiness
'Cause you're the death of me
So precious, loving the thrill
Tying yourself to me
Stitch up my emptiness
'Cause you're the death of me
So precious, loving the thrill
Such the patient one who needs me,
The spoiled one who wins
So shocking where's yours sense
Don't you know I hate you so,
Unsatisfied you little girl
Tying yourself to me
Stitch up my emptiness
'Cause you're the death of me
So precious, loving the thrill
Tying yourself to me
Stitch up my emptiness
'Cause you're the death of me
So precious, loving the thrill
Rolling dice and seeming queer,
Bastard love, a sick affair
Let's see what new disease you'll fetch
I mean that fucking you is strange
And adored by me throughout
Oh no it's you again
Blessing you with every kiss
So precious you know
This hate of mine exploded
I'm so deranged you know
I will never be the same
Tying yourself to me
Stitch up my emptiness
'Cause you're the death of me
So precious, loving the thrill
Tying yourself to me
Stitch up my emptiness
'Cause you're the death of me
So precious, loving the thrill
</center>
(Orgy)
<font color="#660000 " size="1">[ July 08, 2007 06:08 AM: Message edited by: lolita nation ]</font>
-
Circa Halloween 1996
While the children rushed from house to house in costumes, Isolde stood on the corner of King and 5th in naughty nurse attire with blood splattered across the white apron. It was hard to walk the street in stiletto heels, but it made her seem older that way. Her weight teetered from right to left and she sought out support against a lightpost. The laughter of children and the smile on her face were both disrupted by the squeal of worn brakes and the pulsing bassline of a car. Her eyeline lifted and caught sight of the ancient Cadillac pulling to a stop beside the curb. In a lazy sway and swagger, she approached the car and angled her body inward to peer curiously at the man inside.
"How much?" He wheezed.
"Depends on whatcha want, handsome?" She was all coy smiles and fluttering eyelashes. Her fingers fanned and her head tipped into the craddle of her palm. She listened with mild interest as the man rambled off ideas and locations. She shook her head at the idea of going back to his place and motioned toward the alley down the side.
"How much for a blowjob?"
"Twenty bucks."
He seemed pleased with the idea of cheap pleasure and motioned for her to join him in the car. They didn't even make it to the alley before a police siren wailed and pulled them over. While other children were trick or treating, Isolde was in lockdown at the county jail with no one to pay her bail.
-
The rabbit hole whirled and twirled and swallowed her whole, chomped down with rusted razorblade teeth; she screamed. The bloody blue dress was far too short and low cut to be considered appropriate as she was dropped into the tea party with the malicious mad hatter and rabid white rabbit. They laughed and spewed sin from between thin, cracked lips. Shackled to the chair, she watched them dropped carnage cookies and cupcakes onto porcelain flesh plates. Tea cups were filled with gin rather than tea and she couldn't decipher the riddles that rolled from their tongue in rapid fire fashion.
"The harlot queen lives!" They cheered.
The sun shattered and the stars rained from the sky and we celebrated her jabberwocky king inauguration into the house of horrors, king of the corpses and all it took was a whisper of heretic?s promises into the ears of broken people; their God had forgotten them but the king had not. They tipped a crown of broken glass and monster bones onto his head and a matching tiara of broken promises and shattered dreams onto that of the harlot queen.
Every night she strode nude through the streets, letting the tainted hands of wraiths grace her skin and paint her a myriad of colors in the spectrum of sin. They crafted their kingdom of nightmares and fractured promises and the queen of his court adored it. The way she danced through the streets people mistook her for the jester of their twisted court. Her acrobatics were perverse at worst and mimicked the Kama Sutra in bend of back and spread of legs. Instead of prophecies she spoke the lurid details of her cross-city escapades and sexual adventures.
On her best days she was indifferent, she had forgotten what it was to feel and wore the perfect guise; blood red lips and heavily lined eyes. Her throne was woven from the limbs of the unlucky, eager hands that grappled to grab whatever stretch of skin was available to them. Everyone hated her for what she was, but she haunted their wet dreams nonetheless. ?Come to my parlor,? whispered my spider to the unsuspecting flies who skeletons decorated their bedroom walls; prizes for her conquests.
Isolde sat straight up and screamed; her first nightmare in years.
-
Isolde stood beside her long time friend Maureen watching the children in the park scurry about in games of tag and hide and seek. Her weight shifted and her hands shuffled down her sides to smooth out the simple green dress. A child ran to her mother, a mop top of wild india ink colored hair spilling behind her. The little thing stood a head above the other children, though she looked no older than seven.
"It's been a long time," Isolde murmured to Maureen as the other woman slid a hand along her back and motioned for her to sit. They both sat side by side on the age splintered bench. Maureen smiled and draped an arm around Isolde's shoulders.
"Do you come here often, Isolde?"
"Everyday," she replied without hesitation.
"Why?"
"Just so I can get a glance of her." Isolde's smile was sad and her eyes glassy, Maureen remained silent. "Isn't she beautiful?" She asked with a turn of her head to face Maureen, who lifted fingers to brush the tears from her eyes.
"Just like her mother."
