Below are the 10 most recent journal entries recorded in Darling Filth's LiveJournal:

Monday, July 23rd, 2007
5:30 pm	Breath of thunder I haven't breathed your name since the night I saw you crashed hard into the mirror, your junkie breath leaving moist spots on the cool surface. I wrote names I wanted to call you into the moisture, writing new ones every time you exhaled and covered up my homemade etch-a-sketch. You remember how long I talked to you that night? Of course you don't. You only responded with alcohol laden sighs and groans as I ripped open every vein for you. I spent the longest night of my life holding your head in my lap, spilling forth the tragedies of every bad decision I ever made on the cold bathroom tile of some hellish motel you've managed to strand us in.  I don't even know where we are, you woke me up in a fit of anger and lust on bed full of someone else's memories. I could smell them I told you. You said I was crazy and shoved your lips onto mine. I wasn't counting ceiling tiles that time, I was counting the gun shots next door. It's all quiet now. That terrible sort of silence you feel when even the animals have scattered and you know a storm was coming. I need you to wake up baby, we've got to go. I don't remember how to hot wire cars and there's only three dollars between us. You've got to wake up baby. Even the walls of this rickety building are starting to hang heavier with the weight of something terrible. They're closing in on us, I told you I could smell them. I can't play these games anymore baby, we've got to get out of here. Can't you smell their desperation? The storm is coming. I think it's... me. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, April 25th, 2006
1:58 pm	Down on the Ground I haven't stepped foot in a church since the night I kissed a priest in front of the alter. Under the eyes of long dead saints and our saviour, holy flesh exploded beneath the touch of the tainted. He tried so hard to save my soul and all I cared about was losing it within the depths of self denial. I'd lose myself in his robes, tasting the proverbial forbidden fruit, and indulging in his secrets. He swore he had visions when we made love that night, his orgasm erupting into a sea of tears when he described the wings he saw behind me. I ran from his cries when he tried to touch my halo and recoiled back, the flames still hot on his fingers. No one would ever believe his stories of the night he made love to an angel, nor the visions he would see afterward. They revoked his collar and would have taken his sanity if there were perhaps anything left. I found out he took his life almost a year after he was institionalized for nailing one wrist to a homemade cross. It's not to say I ever believed his stories either. I learned where associating with crazy people can get you. If I thought I stood a chance of proving his actual sanity, I would have stayed, but the fact remains that people will believe what they want to. And no one believes that angels are seducing priests in a holy place of worship. Not even I. I was no angel, I saw no wings and no halo on my face that night as I tore through the rainy streets and collasped in some piss infected alley in a heap of broken bottles and day old Chinese take out. All I saw was a mascara stained face and a bum who began to pray before me. (Comment on this)
Monday, April 24th, 2006
10:34 am	Furious Angels The taste of vodka was still strong in my throat, that familiar burn in my heart had siezed my lungs and stomach into a knot of fire. It was still dark outside, but time felt more parallel than anything at the moment, as I pushed through the liquored haze and found the bathroom. It took a solid five minutes to figured out I was bleeding. The best nights start out this way, or end this way. Just depends on which side of the bed you pass out on. I don't bother cleaning up, I've got no one to impress, it was my preference people stayed the fuck out of my way. I rummage through the mini bar and load up the remaining travel bottles into my coat pocket, except for the bottle of tequila which I use as mouthwash except I forget to spit it out. I never was good at that. I've got a bad feeling about the man in the bed. I fight back through the fog of memories to see if I can piece it together, but all I can see is his smile and that dirty look in his eyes. It's always a surefire way to get me going, but you'll never know if you're turning me on or pissing me off. Judging by the stillness in the air and the sweet stale smell, I'd say he pissed me off. I don't want to stick around to find out for sure. I grab his wallet and quietly slip out, putting the maid service requested sign on the door handle. Laughter eases up the velvet flocked corridors from several directions, and even though I hear the alcohol in their voices I still hear my name slipping beneath their lungs, in that low, raspy echo I first heard in the bowels of the church. Pushing past the party goers I shove my way into the elevator and manage to close the door before anyone can join me. There's a glimpse of something glimmering in the reflective elevator walls but I keep my eyes focused ahead, anxiously waiting to hit the lobby. I don't even blink when I hear that voice come behind me. I blame it on the tequila mouthwash and pretend it's not me. It will take me years to figure out the voice is always coming from within. The chest pains I mistook for anxiety attacks were their furious wings pounding against my ribs to escape. The scars I covered myself with were only attempts to give them what they wanted, yet I always failed. The voices multiplied until I now carry a symphony of horrific joys with me. My flesh crawled with their desires and I tasted their memories. They lock up crazy people you know, it's why I keep running. I am the keeper of angels they said of me. But they never told me what was expected. -------------------------------- © 2006 Anastasia Heonis dba Acid PopTart (Comment on this)
Wednesday, November 9th, 2005
2:58 pm	The AntiChrist Revisited It's done. It's over. And you know this. Life after life I've raped, pillaged, and murdered with you. For you. I've bathed in the blood of thine enemies, drank the blood of their children and dined on their infants. I've rode proudly on stolen steeds of queens you've turned to whores. I've felled the temples they prayed in, destroyed the fortresses they hid in. I've uncovered their lies and buried their truths. In terror we've reigned for hundreds of years. Even the passions we shared in each other were ripe with violence and we eagerly fed off the other when the battles failed to satiate us. It was these horrors that made me the warrior I am. And pact after pact we made to each other to return. You knew the tide was turning, so you sought to draw down the moon and make it all yours. I reneged on my debt, I fled and made my next life more difficult. You know this life was not meant for us. I stopped the apocalypse, this one at least. I stopped you; your would be greatest triumph. This debt has been paid, Mastemah. We are done. You are done. Do not invoke my name. The winds flung the words out toward the horizon that cracked open with a steely white flash like a jagged sneer. A single form stood the storms as the torrents gnawed at her ghostly flesh illuminated by the lightning. Thunderous winds grabbed at her dress pulling out the tendrils of fabric, her hair whipped into twisted serpents, her voice a raspy siren song lost on the waves. She remained on the hill, a modern day Medusa, as she called the storms and threatened the gods. Alone he sat, letting her words wash over him, over and over till he felt he was babtized in that holy whore. The only light was the familar cast of the computer's screen. He reclined in his chair, lazily tracing the symbols of a lost language in the air with his left hand. The screams of the storm outside intensified with every movement of his hand. He let his lips curl into that familar smile that some would see as a snarl. "Oh no my dearest, it's not over. It's not over by any means... Analiel." --------------- © Anastasia Heonis dba Acid PopTart Productions 2005 (Comment on this)
Wednesday, August 17th, 2005
9:46 am	Rust Everything has just stopped. Well, outside it's still going, but I've just stopped. Dead halt yet my legs keep walking and I go through the motions of a useless daydream everybody believes in. They seem to move faster than I, they in their shiny lives and pretty peroxide looks. They don't seem to notice the rust. The slow decay of the chemical breakdown that starts with tiny small holes and eats away till the shell is nothing but dust and a memory and there's no body for the morgue. No soul for that matter, but I begin to wonder it there was to begin with. I see it. The rust that is. I've come to play a game with myself, guess how long they've got before they realize what's about to happen and by then, it's always too late. "Ma'am, your time is up." His voice was a bit harsh I rationed as I pulled myself up from the sticky vinyl seat, nestled deep within the pleasure capsule. "I don't think it's working properly." I answered. "We'll look into it." "But my money?" "Than you ma'am, have a nice day." I can see your rust you know. No matter how fast you move, it's always there. Run, run little man. Take their money, give them cheap thrills in your pleasure capsule, that worthless piece of technology. Only works if you believe. I don't want to think about what's on the seat. What's your pleasure he asked me. What's your pleasure? Wait. I felt that. The break. Someone else stopped too... and they're watching. You can see the rust too? Has it gotten to me? ©A.Heonis 2005 (Comment on this)
Thursday, July 28th, 2005
10:43 am	I'm sorry sir, I think she's dead So that's all it was? A technicolour sewage of pills, booze and cum brought forth by a hooker's stomach's rejection? I'm sorry, your wife, my mistake. You know it's just a bit dark in here, glaring neon and what not throws a deceiving light on the entire situation, don't you think? What's that? Uh huh. Well I guess it being daylight does kind of blow that theory to dust. Maybe it's just the bruises on her face that had me confused as to who she was. Oh... that's her make up. Interesting choice of colour there, don't you think? I guess it does go with her Halloween costume here. Oh, she wears open crotch latex bunny suits and diapers with cum stains often? Sir, on second thought, maybe you should have just gone with a hooker. I think I would have wrapped up this case by now. ©2005 A. Heonis (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Thursday, June 23rd, 2005
6:07 pm	Old Crushes Die Hard My mouth was dry and raw, stiff with pain, all the blood had drained or just clotted and dried to the inside of my mouth. It hurt to smile, but lucky for me, I didn't have much reason to. His name was Manual and he had something of mine. Mainly my innocence from when I was only 15 and kissed him when he was 9 years my senior and had come to work for my father. But I wasn't here looking for his high school ring so we could go steady. What I wanted he held close to his heart, literally. Although I had full intentions of taking the half of kilo off his hands. I'm an opportunist, not stupid. Problem was I got into a betting game involving too much tequila and a gun. Although this is rather routine, at least for me, the person I decided to tango with turned out to be his body guard, who I might have also slept with the night before. And I'm almost positive I made some disparaging remarks about his mother. Two bottles of tequila and some odd shots of mescal later, I had convinced him I was a man, and I had photos of us having sex. This is why I'm down to three bullets and one very bad hangover, nursing a sore jaw. I've noticed a lot of people don't really like my sense of humour. I need more tequila. I need something to numb this pain so I can walk out here without too much trouble. Except I don't have a fucking clue where I am. Smells like piss and rotting eggs. So that narrows it down to any bar, resturant or even home in.... in... fuck. What city am I in? My head is throbbing, fighting with my jaw about which feels worse. And for some reason, all I can think about is the first time Manual kissed me. How he'd whisper to me in Spanish, teaching me all the dirty words I shouldn't know. I'd proudly recite them to him and he would just smile this crazy ass grin that should have been my first warning to stay away. But I couldn't keep away and would sneak out of my bedroom at night just to steal shots of tequila and more heated kisses until eventually it all gave way to that one night when I didn't stop him and let him keep kissing me till I was standing before him naked and decided I was ready. I never saw him again after that, until now. Fuck. I've got to keep focused. Alright, get the gun, stand up, get going. Fucking bastard! I'm tied up? My legs were bound tightly by some dirty rope, cutting into my flesh and wrapping around to my waist. How in the hell did I not notice this before? So where are my hands? Tied, of course. Oh Manual, just like old times, huh? © Anastasia Heonis dba Acid PopTart 2005 (Comment on this)
Friday, May 20th, 2005
8:22 pm	The ClockWork Seduction tick tock tick tock tick tock It's never very often, which means quite little, if even at all, that I can remember just how these things come to pass. I know that Sheila has her version of the story which is quite awash with romance that she likes to punctuate with her feathery lashes, batting them almost orgasmically when she reaches the part when he first walked through the door and kissed her fingers. I, on the other hand, felt rather impervious to his arrival, despite perhaps his best attempts at otherwise. I wasn't fond of the sudden rush of activity, including more people, that served as the announcement that he was finally here and was content to concern myself with any other activity that took me to a separate wing of the manor. Sheila tells me how lovely he was to her and all the girls and how absolutely capitivating his eyes were. I tell her the library was in terrible need of dusting as I don't believe those books had been touched in at least a decade. In fact, I believe possiblely I was in the library when I first heard the noise. It was quite faint and I recall it was a bit of a tick, tock sound as I searched around for the nonexistant clock. I thought perhaps I would ask someone about it as I carried a stack of books down the hallway. As I rounded the corner and headed for the west stairs, I heard the tick, tock sound become just a bit louder, but then fade away as I continued my way down. It was easy to find everyone as their echos of laughter took me straight down the dimly lit corridor, tripping at least once on the stained red runners no one had bothered to replace. They had candles lit in the parlour where he was proudly perched on my favourite tarnished yellow reading chair. The fire I had started earlier was beginning to die down and I bent down to stir it and tried not to be sour over my reading area being disturbed. His eyes flashed up at mine with a certain kind of transfixion that would certainly make one's knees go a bit weak, except that I was use to flashing those kinds of looks, not receiving them. © Anastasia Heonis dba Acid PopTart 2005 (Comment on this)
5:50 pm	Rose This is not what she had planned as she leaned back on the bathroom door, still drunk from the hot tequila. Voices came from outside, seeping underneath, there might have been a knock or two but for once, she was trying to focus on the voices inside her head. She staggered to the jacuzzi tub, started to run the water and crawled beneath the faucet letting it soak through her whore red shirt and jeans. Outside someone was banging on the door and she distinctly heard a female's voice that seemed to cause her a great amount of irritation. She slid her face under the stream of water and held her breath till the voice she wanted to hear started to talk. One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three, one thousand four... Talk you bastard. I didn't come all this way for you to lose your voice. One thousand five, one thousand six, one thousand seven... There was a loud but garbled sound that resembled a voice but it sounded it was coming from under water. Then she realized she was under water. She brought her head out and dragged her fingers across her mascara stained eyes. "I said are you dead in there?" She assumed this was the voice coming from under the water. "Not yet! Give me five more minutes and you might get lucky." "I gotta pee!" came that annoying female voice. Rose scanned the bathroom counter, taking inventory of every thing she could use to cause harm to the bitch outside. Hairspray, bingo. She crawled out of the tub, some dripping wet junkie angel dressed in red, and stumbled to the mirror. "There you go angel." The voice wasn't underwater, it was inside. Rose slammed the mirror leaving a wet print next to her own reflection. "Out with it bastard!" "I love your temper. It's a blue hot flame with..." "Shut it with the flattery and tell me!" "You're trapped in the labyrinth and he's holding the cheese." "Enough with your goddamn riddles! I will fuck you up six ways to Sunday if you don't cut this shit!" "The only riddle is the paradox you insist on creating." She let loose with a banshee scream and hurled herself into the mirror, shattering it and causing the door to be broken down by two somewhat concerned and most decidedly drunk men. Behind the ambush was a tiny blonde with a Tijuana tit job barely constrained by the excuse of fabric she might have called a bikini top. The two acting bouncers were appraoching Rose when the blonde opened her mouth and out came that annoying voice. Rose shot beneath the outstretched arms of her would be assailants and knocked the peroxide mess to the floor, she nailed several hits to the face before she felt someone prying her off. "Senorita, no mas! No mas!" Francisco pulled her wet body toward the corner. "That fucking bitch was trying to kill me," cried the victim on the floor. Her unlicensed bodyguards, seeing an opportunity to show off their days at the gym and win a spot inside the bleached blonde's squalid underwear; made a move toward Rose, announcing loudly, "Step away from the girl." Francisco didn't move, in fact, hardly paid them attention. "I said step away from the girl." Again he received no response. "Who the fuck invited a bunch of dirty Mexicans to this party?" The entire room fell silent except for the salsa music coming from the small boombox. All eyes turned toward the beach boy duo, including Francisco. Rose cleared her throat, pushing her comic book red hair off her milky white complexion, "Who invited the gringos?' She was going to point out they were in a room full of Mexicans not to mention that two men beating up on a woman was hardly an admirable act in any circumstance but when Francisco threw the first punch up through one of the gringo's chins, knocking his jaw loose, she just assumed that now was not the time for witty speeches. Instead, she rushed for the beach bunny who had commenced to screaming in the corner. Rose deftly placed apunch right in the huge gap between her fake tits, knocking the wind out of her. Before she took another punch, she felt Francisco's familar grip pulling her off one more time. "No mas. It's over." "What do you mean it's over?" Rose took a look at the two drunken gringos crouched on the floor, spitting out blood. "Damn these things don't take long! I barely get one hit in and you're calling me to quit." "Senorita, women don't fight." "No, we kill. I was on my way to doing that till you interupted me." © Anastasia Heonis dba Acid PopTart 2005 (Comment on this)
Thursday, April 7th, 2005
8:56 am	Mr. Love Kills I don't stop at the bar, I head straight for the back and push my way into the filth ridden closet they dare to call a bathroom. Three trickbabies are huddled around the lone mirror, smearing the contraband lipstick across their lips, their nose, their eyes, wherever there's an empty pore left so they can feel that rush one more time before they die. They're not what I came here for. I came here for you, but that's gonna have to wait. Some days I envy the trickbabies and their skin touch highs, I've got to dig the razor in deep to feel the rush. You did this to me. But tonight is payback darling. Tonight I kiss you with a mouthful of razorblades and I'll piss in every papercut. The bass is pounding the walls to this hellhole, as I dig deeper till I feel the power that only andrenaline can give you. I want the music in my veins before I face your devil's smile. You do it every time, don't you? God knows you've got the goods to back it up, I've seen truth to that in every neon infected back alley hotel room. But this time I say no and you say yes. I swear that's the only thought in my mind as I slide by the bar and find you sitting on your throne of whores. It's the only thought in my mind as I touch the piece on my hip and recall the placement of every syringe in my jacket. But you have a way of making thoughts your own, don't you? You do it every time, don't you baby? And they love you for it. "We need to talk." My words are calm and cold. Your eyes are on fire and I'm dying to burn. "Music to my ears darling. Did you want to talk with or without your clothes on?" You even make sucking down carcinogen and hallucinogens look good. "Come on, I ain't got all night." "Then clothes off?" "Save it for your whores darling. I ain't got no use for a spineless devil in hand me down priest's robes." Now that got your blood boiling, didn't it? You're still like every other man when it comes to ego stroking. An insult will either get your attention or get me a fight. Either way I'm ready baby, let's do this. "This better be good." "Hasn't the past always proven such? But in private, I work better without an audience." © Anastasia Heonis dba Acid PopTart 2005 (Comment on this)