Archive for the ‘Finished Cries’ Category

20140309-085115.jpg

20140308-133240.jpg

20140308-131744.jpg
20140308-132008.jpg

“How Degradation kills Love”
written by Daton L. Fluker
http://twitter.com/datonflukers

Hate me my beauty, and I will hate you. Forever is forever.
People stop loving you after a while. That’s what hurts the most.
Those who do nothing shall witness a kingdom rise.
Those who stay shall progress.
Those who leave shall be lost and buried under innovation.
Darkness came after love left.
It was the beginning and the ending. Our shadows are the only thing that sustains truth after all.
They become meek. They say “the balloon blows away hard. You’ll explode just to be touched.”
But no one ever comes to help with your sensual desires.
The 2014 man says “I did not want to comfort her.
When I needed beauty to comfort me she left me cold.
Leave I say! Then I did not need beauty anymore.”
Things that are torn ain’t dead nor worn.
Sow it with needles and mend it with patches, open your dreams and break the latches.
When I was ready for her, beauty was lost.
“You are not ready for me” she said.
Buildings ash in flames, dead bodies powder the streets.
“I love my country.”
A phrase that can destroy an entire epic era if what you state is not true.
Maybe you are too commensurable to be loved.
Baby, no one can love you if you believe that you are too exquisite to be taking serious.
The fire that expands through your body when someone touches you, how can you delete that from your essence, from your existence?
I’m weak, but my friend, love is free. So is meat. Nightmares shine on me. I burn in heat. I go forward for I am beast.
I call out to her. The dark one is better seen in flashing lights. Once nightmares are gone, only the final hour exist.
And who am I to say I love you, to say I care. I am nothing. I’m only the muse. I’m a horror novelist with no ability to control my feelings.
How can I adore something so precious and beautiful when I have a mind full of darkness, treachery and hatred. I’m not suppose to, but I love you.
I am strong, but yet I am weak. I cried when you said, “No you can’t love me.”
I’ll become a freak. I promise you, I will never feel again.
It’s right, I speak the truth. I’m rotten because I’m outspoken.
I can make tears fall from your pretty eyes baby-doll because I am corruption.
Your heart divides in pieces. Baby, there’s no way to fill an empty fuel tank after there’s no more stations. Degradation is how it broke.

Advertisements

20140228-102552.jpg

20140228-102426.jpg

20140228-101420.jpg

20140228-101446.jpg

Dedicated to the lovely Tori Lamour

Tori Lamour Twitter
http://twitter.com/ToriLamour

Home Page
http://www.torilamour.com

The Soulless shall Love Again
Written by Daton L. Fluker

Daton’s Twitter
http://twitter.com/datonflukers

I know it’s real, serious, and that you are extremly beautiful, darker than anything I’ve ever seen.
What do we say to beautiful when the night says that your majesty is dark, lustful, even got damn nasty?
They are tedious. Yes, they are serious. That’s why she looks at you the way she does.
Monsters call us.
My dear, I am not an evil person. Those names you called me hurt. I’m a horror novelist, not an evil worshiper.
But you believe that we are the soulless.
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.
When angels go to bed she forgets us when we close our forever eyes.
Nightmare women abstract kindness into our affliction. When rain comes, a shadow of hatred puddles over our sweet Earth.
Every minute it changes, breaks, lumps, and bleeds in cracks.
What am I?
I gave you my heart love, not thy tongue. I speak through my flesh. I write through thy bone, not thy fingers.
What am I?
When the sun rises. We dream under Mother Nature’s tall vegetation. She tells us to follow the brightest star. Follow the North Star.
Thy should understand thy wrath of their actions. I speak faithfully. Didn’t my tongue get cut out?
You asked, “why do I write dark words?”
Beautiful women fancy sexual positions with my tongue. I’m a sinner. I’m cursed to be a muse. I am darkness, and I am light.
You are told to see her like this because you worship her that way. You gave her your soul.
Does she hear our sniffles? Tears roll down their tearducts.
We are not afraid to speak our hearts. That’s what makes us human.
If we can’t speak then we sleep in our own hell.
My razor heart stuns with warts. Sequels made with dreams never won parts.
No blood is on my tongue; for the night is unsaid, and we conceive thy soulless love.

 

 

Dream Master

 

 

 

Dream Master

What is a Dream Master? We are the ones that make scares and death come to life in your dreams. If you want to know the thoughts of a true Dream Master then get Daton L. Fluker’s short story fiction Finished Cries. It’s a story about parents who struggle to protect their family on the mean streets of Baton Rouge. John battles through the darkest hours of his life as these prismatic events circle him in the web of unrelenting terror. It begins with a beginning and ends with fire. What will be the outcome of two parents that loves their children with residual circumstances? Be prepared because this book is rated R by the Author. There is uncut violence. This book was made for the adult mind. It depicts the emotions of hate, sadness, and love. How can someone love when there are ample amounts of bloodshed? You will find out if you read Daton L. Fluker’s Finished Cries. Anyhow, be-careful because this book has been written by a Dream Master and only nightmares can exist in a Dream Master’s memories.

 

Sincerely,

 

Daton L. Fluker

Finished Cries Commercial Break

Posted: February 4, 2010 in Finished Cries

 

 

 

 

Cool Beats By Young Carter

Click the Banner to take a Commercial Break

 

Read Camelot Dimension 360 It’s a really good Story!


Books By Daton L Fluker

 
 

 

Add Daton L Fluker to your twitter!

Add Daton L. Fluker to Myspace

@datonflukers

myspace.com/deathkeeperworld

@horror_writer

 

@dkboymr

 
   

 

Designer Daton L. Fluker