Brewing||Storms

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Brewing||Storms

Post  Tempest on Thu Apr 16, 2009 5:47 pm

UNHOLY GHOST


.my headstone says. . .Unholy Ghost.
.heartbroken. . .7 times.
.built like a. . .steed.
.a bloody mess of a. . .spanish mustang.
.this feeling is going to . . .no one.
.covered by. . .moonlit peltage.
.covering my face with. . .alabaster tresses.
.looking into . . .empty blue eyes.
.marked with. . .scars.
.known to be . . . a mysterious, lurid, vexed white mass luring amongst the unknown wilderness. Looking aimlessly into open pits of violence and massacre. Circumstances of atrocity are not casually rare, indeed, along with sudden outbursts of indocile moments.
.the missed. . .nothing.
.imagrey:



Last edited by Tempest on Fri Apr 17, 2009 7:55 pm; edited 2 times in total
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Re: Brewing||Storms

Post  Tempest on Fri Apr 17, 2009 3:17 pm

Let's Cause a
MANIFEST!


|they cuss. . .Manifest.
|shot in the head. . .eight times.
|came into this world as. . .a damned male.
|cut my throat. . .and I bleed andalusian.
|I devote myself to. . .no one.
|rotted my skin a. . .dappled silver.
|covering my eyes. . .is a burnt cream.
|hollowed out. . .emrald green.
|imprinted with. . . a manifest of ringlets and scars.
|looking back. . .at nothing.
|as i'm discussed as. . .a wicked soul.
|spare another thought. . .and listen to my theme song.
|imagine me like this. . .
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Re: Brewing||Storms

Post  Tempest on Sat Apr 18, 2009 6:51 am


;how do they know. . .Bellicose?
;how many times. . .7, I think.
;who is. . .she.
;was she decented from. . .an arabian.
;her heart belongs to. . .no one.
;when they dusted the body. . .it was alabaster.
;they found wafting in the breeze. . .a mocha brown/black/cream.
;and they observed. . .with empty black pits.
;stitched onto the body. . .were lightly blackened appentages, and dapples.
;they discovered. . .nothing of the past.
;they said. . . she was timid and quiet. . .
;anything else. . .yes, her song.
Picture

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Re: Brewing||Storms

Post  Tempest on Thu May 07, 2009 7:44 pm

.a murmur in the summer air...Caída- [Spanish for Fall]
.caused a riot...7 times.
.I will sass you back, because I'm a...mare.
.I speed like a...thoroughbred cross.
.I fall over...no one.
.she weares...a light chocolate coat.
.they styled her hair...black silk.
.she sees with...brown contacts.
.accesories are...a white daimond on her skull.
.there are rumors...of nothing in the past.
.she proves herself... a sweet and sour thing, unlike most equine who are somber.
.she twists her toung to...her theme song



If you cant deal with something you can't control, don't try it...
She can change you're life, if you let her help you..
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Re: Brewing||Storms

Post  Tempest on Sat Jun 27, 2009 11:05 am




Mauvais

wounded to the chest, bled

Andalusian

be warned, violence occures to this

Stallion

waywards they go, silenced with fear

7 1/2

such a beast, uncanny feelings

E V I L AND M E N N A C I N G SIDE
Spector has a nasty demeanor. Just the very odor of his flesh and musk from miles away send quivers even to the most experienced of equine. A solitary steed, with a verily unpleasant wall of just pure enmity and vexation. He is not skeptical, and prefers the darkness that corners the edge of the earth, swallowing everything in it's path slowly with a rapid beat. His fixation of framework is kept imprinted under moon's dilating light mixed with a matinee` of clouds. Poison words melt from the acidic and raspy vocals of the medieval creature. An unusual sensation of anger can be pulsing through his veins, all the while his hair may fluctuate like black silk under the glare of the sun. Foolish mare fell upon him, but even he had led them under the wings of decrypted souls and personality, and eventually left them, not a fleck of love being held present. Suffering from a paranoid state, and a sequence of battles, inflicted wounds, and even near death, humanitarian issues, wild creatures of the unknown, disease, you name it.

An airy haze of a Cole black heart can be generated easily. The impulse of it is just radiating off of him. He has coned shaped fangs, more sharper than the usual stallion teeth, do not ask how they were formatted so. He speaks in riddles, myths and hopes that never are secured, because of his unsteady state.


D E V O T E D A N D P L E A S I N G S I D E

Trying to provoke under distasteful and menacing blackness of layers is almost impossible to achieve with this poltergeist. He does not being it easy when it comes to love, it had never been shown to him. He will and can let a little loose, depending on who his black hole deprives itself to a small, unintentionally diminutive heart. So help him, his foaling descents will always be nasty and evil. No matter how forsaken and devoted his banshee'(s) heart may be. He has never proven himself, and because of his demeanor, he will most likely never find love, unless someone can coax him into it. Very lithe things can turn him into a monster, but his patience is wide spread, and is a master in intelligence.


sadly, images remain vivid

As the mistress contracted her muscles, one last time, the young colt had been rattled into this cold earth. Slowly, he began to thaw his way out of the film that suppressed him from doing anything, in-taking his first breath of oxygen. Moments later, he was walking. Taking note that his mother was an obsidian mass of a dead carcass, on the ground. Attempting to nurse from his mother while she was dead failed. Thinking that his mother avoided him, he slowly wandered away, knowing that predators may be drawn to his mother's scent. Hours later, he found a lithe mare gnawing on jade blades of nutrients. A limp whinny was attempted, but it caught the Miss's attention. Carefully trotting over, a stallion hovered under the brush, looking at the small colt. He sneered back his teeth, and lashed out, grabbing him by the scruff, tossing him to the ground.

Something had clicked inside the colt's head, and he stood, sore. He wrenched his teeth, very small and barley there, he chewed through the skin of the furious steed. Pulling back, blood dripped on his whiskers and his lips to the ground. He snorted, his eyes dilating to slits. An evil glare was erected at the mare, and they both fled.

As he grew older, his stallion shape was coming out. His foal fleece was gone, his age 3 years. He was powerful already. He glided under the shaggy black clouds that growled and drooled rain, and approached a herd of wild equine. The scent of estrus was in the air. He quivered, and turned away. It burned him, like a snake bite, not the type of stallion who will force someone to do something unless necessary. But, as usual, a stallion, suttle, gruff, 9 years old approached. Turning his skull around, to glare, his eyes narrowed. The stallion did not look pleased. He attempted to attack, but it was too late. Like a bullet, his jaws were already gnawing the skin of his throat, the stallion fell to the ground. This was near impossible for a horse to do. He just happened to get lucky. He cast a dark glare at the mares before leaving.

Years later, his hair was onyx fleece, his coat skewn of velvet. And his handsome figure was so eerily handsome, that mares drawn to him, untill his musky scent of danger entered their nostrils. Challenged many times, and even had a human's gun pierce his flesh. Now he waits, lurking in the shadows. His darkness is slowly prevailing.


the image that describes him

This image is copywright to ME only. Do not use this image what so ever. The credits are on the image to the Deviants. I am spectress on deviantart. I will not hesitate to take action if used.


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Re: Brewing||Storms

Post  Tempest on Mon Jun 29, 2009 10:59 am

.::Human::.

And since when did you care?
Lies have Intoxicated me,
Fear is abundant in my soul,
Tinnitus burns my ears, from the years of arguing,
And screaming, swallowing me whole.

But, How do I accept life?
That concept, my friend, is unknown.


So, the story ends. . .
ask me who...i respond..Alexis
I can steal you're boy..for I am..Female
I have been hiding for...Unknown
My heart? Has it been tied?No, it is still alone
My veins pulse cold under..Light tan skin
In a hell of a snowstorm, I was born..February
My makeup runs from teary..Black eyes
My hair is.. As black as the midnight sky, but is hilighted vaguely
I stand..5'4
A face can be deceiving.. But mine says Beware
Stories behind the scars.. Are untold mysteries.


I've become so numb from keeping it all Inside...

Please do not use the image below, for it is me.
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Re: Brewing||Storms

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