The World of an Abecedarian
Written by Horror Novelist Daton L. Fluker
Criminal hearted but enacted in a guitar’s thrusting crown.
The belly of society is around.
The abecedarian faces the devils’ house on their own.
As the warriors prepare his or her norce for their nations final war-zone.
She dresses in her gown.
However, the roses of serenity are gone.
Because of ordinance and predetermination,
The flowers are violently grown with the hellion of heavy metal sound.
…………. Extended words……
A new world will be built. And it will be designed on the pedals of drum beats and with the vaccine of words. It’s my world. In Daton L. Fluker’s portal of abandonment; in his dreams of opportunity, as many hearts pound in sacred fire. The new world will be finish in due time.
Rock me out baby.
“Please, no Black Men”
written by Daton L. Fluker
I am the muse, and I apologize that my tongue ashes with the fears of nightmares. But still, beauty can be found in my gums.
Put your ear to my chest. My heart beats slow. Blood pumps through my arteries. You have proof that I’m yours and evidence to prove our existence.
However, you’ve forgotten me. That hurt. So, do you think I’ve forgotten your actions?
And the night is like a dark storm. Nothing’s perfect. And the mirror’s image is low, but the dark reflections are still accounted for.
Only if darkness fears you and I. What spins blind-servants are playgrounds that attempt to house the frugality of entertainment.
It tilts, it turns. She’s beautiful. They don’t know what to make of me. I blew stardust in their ear. I’m lighting their imaginations on fire. I’m destine to be a burning star.
I post sincerity in my words.
Forever is forever.
They won’t accept that you are a star. They want accept that you are a lovely day and a crumbling heart.
The truth is only as raw as It can be. The lost can only lay naked in front of you on a bed of flowers but still not accept.
Hear the sky with your heart. Let rocking roll music blaze my sweet darkness. I’ll be your whisper baby. I’ll be your muse.
You don’t believe I have a heart? You tell them, no Black Men, please. But you are still sucking me off at the midnight hour.
Thank you. I need it. You are a heartless whore. And you’ll die heartless. Using me for your pleasure is heartless, and you’ll be buried that way.
I love what you do to me so much. As the muse, I’m grinding concrete that’s why I’m your mortar. That’s why I’m your toy. That’s why I’m filthy.
I’ll do it again for you. I’ll be your muse again, and again. Over and over again. I’ll be your nightmare. My love, you are an Angel.
I’ll give you my heart. I’ll give you my bush ridden tongue. I’ll give the world my crime. They are magic. Here, take my written words. Kneel to me!
Tags: British Rock, Daton L Fluker, Horror, love, nightmare, passion, poem, poetry, rock, Tori Lamour
Dedicated to the lovely Tori Lamour
Tori Lamour Twitter
“The Soulless shall Love Again“
Written by Daton L. Fluker
I know it’s real. I know you are serious. I know you’re beautiful.
Darker than anything I’ve ever seen. What do we say to beautiful when the night says that beautiful is dark, lustful, even got damn nasty.
They are tedious. Yes, they are serious. That’s why they look at you the way they do. Monsters they call men.
My dear, I am not an evil man. Those names you called me hurt. I’m a horror novelist, not an evil worshiper. But you believe that we are the soulless.
She’s beautiful. Oh, the things I’d do to her in the dark. I’ve seen her in the light. She’s more than welcome to the pleasure she anticipates.
And thy forgets me when I close my eyes forever. An angel sleeps.
Nightmare woman abstracts kindness into my affliction. When rain comes, a shadow of darkness puddles over the earth.
Every minute it changes. Every minute it breaks. Every minute it lumps. And every minute it bleeds in cracks. What am I?
I gave you my heart my love and not thy tongue. I speak through my flesh thy love. I write through thy bone and not thy fingers thy love.
What am I?
When the sun rises, dream under Mother Nature’s tall vegetation. When it’s night, follow the brightest star. Follow the North Star.
Thy should understand thy wrath of thy actions. I speak faithfully. Did not my tongue get cut out.
You asked, “why do I write dark words?”
Beautiful women fancy many sexual positions with me and my tongue. I’m a sinner. I’m cursed to be a muse. I’m the darkness, and I’m the light.
You did not see her like this. But you worshiped her that way. You gave her your soul. Do you see who I am now?
Are you entertained or fighting me? I’m not your enemy. Do you hear my sniffles now? Do you see my tears now? Do you see my love?
We are not afraid to speak our hearts. That’s what makes us human.
If we can’t speak, then we are sleeping in our own hell.
My razor heart was stunned with warts, there are sequels, with dreams that never won a part.
There’s no blood on my tongue, for the blade is dull. There’s no action in my words, for the night is unsaid. And we conceive thy soulless love.