Aria-Of-Regret

I found Heaven. I found Heaven. I found Heaven. Heaven is not what white-robed Christians preach, it comes in the form of the Beach. Where red torii stalwart stand sans fear, And diamonds dance in the sea, Please lover bury me here, Near Niigata-shi Heaven is not what white-robed Christians preach, it comes in the form of the Beach. Waves softly serenade the rocks, The sun seductively catches my eye, Boats slowly approach; to dock, Within the expanse of virgin sky. Heaven is not what white-robed Christians preach, It comes in the form of the Beach. Fear of death shall be allayed, If an afterlife here is stayed. I found Hea

My senses are in shotgun collage, Nerves tangled up; live-wire camouflage. There's no bomb, you must have misread-- It's only in my head. I keep picking at frayed straw-brush hair, Have the bags under my eyes started to care? Pupils at a thousand-yard stall, My mind is playing at slideshow crawl. If you lit one up to mend sleepless seams, Freud wouldn't mind, he likes Mary Jane dreams. OH! Goddamn neuroses in a forest fire! Keep me at bay until I've had my say! I'm TIRED!

It was all the same to Michiko Shiro. You cracked a smile, opened your oh-so-dazzling eyes, and fed the audience a cheesy line. And then you played as best as you could after god-knows-how-many drinks. You'd have to sing, of course. Make sure you didn't slur anything. Make sure you didn't break down into a crying wreck, either. Then you'd do an encore, and do a phony sort of wave. Then you'd wake up tomorrow and do it all over again, maybe just a tad more drunk than last time. But hey, you got paid. And the more money you had, the more drinks you could buy. That was probably the job's only saving grace. And tonight, Michiko was drunk, real

Joshua poured a generous helping of cherry syrup over his pancakes. William cringed as he did so. No one in the house liked the stuff, save for Joshua himself. It was another quiet Sunday morning for the family. Andrea was probably still asleep. Joshua and William were up and busy devouring breakfast. Another ordinary day for an ordinary family. The wooden floors creaked and groaned, announcing that Andrea was finally up. As she took her place in the dining room, Joshua noticed there were bags under her eyes. It was obvious she hadn't gotten much sleep. "You okay, sis?" William asked. Andrea gave him a dark scowl, "Shut up, Will." she repl

She floated in a barely conscious state, down the well. Or was it a well? She couldn't tell. Things started to ripple and change color. The shadows transformed into white, and the white started to take shape, forming circular patterns with black dots inside of them. And they, too, changed into eyes, watching her battered body plummet to the bottom. She could not move, for belts tied her arms and legs together. She could not scream, for a cloth had been stuffed in her mouth. But just as the well had changed, so too did the belts. They slithered across her skin, hissing in contempt. The cloth stayed the same. She saw the eyes dissipating, fadin

A swollen gut, frayed nerves and red eyes. We'd guess it runs the gamut, of some split brains or amnesia. It would be for the best if we put his broken wits at rest, in anesthesia. Oh, his thoughts might remain. But the bulging, breaking, breaths he's intaking, soon shall be in vain. Something stronger for his head pains, euthanasia.

Mummy and Daddy talk nothing but lies, can't you hear your soul wilting as you utter bored sighs? You lost, stupid thing, we'll take care of you, for we know a place where you'll have great fun, too! My disfigured features? Why, you shall never stumble upon an uglier creature... We'll be the carriage and you be the horse, a mite bit of whipping won't do you for the worse. Those cries in the darkness are children in pain, a fate you might share if you refuse to play the game. Now come, we'll be the carriage and you be the horse, a mite bit of whipping won't do you for the worse. Ah, look, other children just like you! Truly, they'

------- March 4, A.D. 1857 House of Fortescue, English Countryside "Cigarette, my Lady?" the blank-eyed butler asked, the usual greeting in the House of Fortescue. She muttered a string of curses under her breath. Staring into his eyes, white and devoid of any pupils, she answered,  "No, my friend, and if you could kindly kill yourself, I would appreciate it." "Of course, my Lady, and what exact method shall I use to end my existence?" he asked. "Drowning yourself would be a good idea." Spike suggested, rather innocently. Marjorie sank into the rosewood side chair, "Just do as he says, please." she muttered, head in hands.

---- I think you'll see in the churchyard, I think you'll see in the churchyard, I think you'll see in the churchyard, those tombstones splattered red, and from the filthy, desecrated snow, those shallow graves of the dead. And I think they're in my head, of you and me and all the people, suffering from that screaming steeple. You say it's just disturbing psychosis, I'd hazard that something might be wrong with us, because my faux facade starts slipping away. I roam the empty town today, watching the passerby's run, afraid, terrified of my disturbing actions, my darkest side commanding me with grim satisfaction... ...and h