Icon of Coil: burn your wicked garden [sian]

July 11, 2002

burn your wicked garden [sian]

[in the forums]

-Burn your Wicked Garden to the Ground-

It was a face. [Silence.] Not the entire face but the carefully removed SKIN of a face. It hung from asiastic features plastered to her skin, [Something about silence makes me sick.] the congealing blood a blackening glue. Her head turns and red-brown-black smears against the carpeting Sian sprawls across. She was asleep, the television's cord yanked from the box and a deafaning stillness ['Cause silence can be deadly...] filling the room as she breathed rhythemically. THE BED beside still made and occupied by another outstretched form.

[--sort of like a slit wrist.]

The faux-lips were starting to rot as the night turned into day. THe suns steaming says cutting through the small cracks on the heavy drapery, slicing against the girl-creature and her terrible mask. Small flies begin to buzz against the skin even as mouth hung open teeth instinctively gnawing at a leather jacket, not her OWN. Perhaps an insect makes a fevered play, crawling against the whiteness of bared teeth--before it is sucked in like all things, to thier EVENTUAL end.

Not a silent one
But a DEFIANT ONE
Never a normal one
'Cause I'm the bastard son
With the visions of the move
Vocals not to soothe
But to ignite and put in flight
My sense of MILITANCE

[ ....shh.. ]

His clothes are splattered with that same blackened gel that slides along her features, he is the first to rise [ Some speak the sounds. ] his motions shattering the decayed [ But speak in silent voices. ] languish of the room. Its Asher's movement that sparks her to -dreadful- life, with a sickening sucking sound the skin is pulled from her face, sinewy limbs pulling sleek form upwards the leather chew toy ignored [ Like radio is silent though it fills the air with noises. ] in favor of the sweet taste of rotting flesh. Rolled skin, sampled so much as a crepe, while eyes watch the too deft [ Its transmissions bring submission. ] flow of of his words as tongue rolles over perfectly paired teeth and her face is wiped by sticky hand absently...

"--WE had a [here he goes with all the flowery shit] busy night, Sian. " Her nostrils flare briefly as she sucks on her lower lip, eyes fixating on his lips as the sounds pour forth. When he finally finishes speaking she is a breath away, electricity crackling briefly as arm extends to [ Aching for Amythyst. Violet swept violence. ] -CLOSE- on his ...shirt pulling him toward the door.

Kaj' would want to know.
Posted by asher at July 11, 2002 12:00 AM

Comments