Maybe I see a lot of beauty at night
The night is my father
The stars are my brothers and sisters
Maybe the moon is my mother’s womb, which gave me life?
Death is my protective uncle, because I can never die.
Perhaps your blood turns into rubies, when it slides down my throat.
Causing me cursed pain, nightly.
Yet still, I crave for more!
Beautiful blood!
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Representations in the Gothic Tradition
Writing of Life, Art and Music
playful panda
academic retiree re-invented as fiction writer
Seldom original. Often wrong. Occasionally interesting.
My literary zoo of magic!
Random thoughts, posts and pictures that inspire my writing.
In depth amateur film reviews
Read And Enjoy
Intreccio parole e ne faccio poesia
Sci-Fi / Fantasy / Horror Movie Reviews
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