I Went to the Beach

Don’t go to the beach.

I went to the beach and played in the sand

And sprinted all along the grainy land

I went to the sea and swam around

Until I sought refuge upon solid ground


I went to the stands to buy me some food

And sat in a chair, feeling so good

I went to the car to avoid a dreary tone

And drove myself all the way back home


I went to the beach and saw her there

Oh, Lord, I could not help but stare

I went to the sea to catch myself a gaze

Fantasized spending with her, the rest of my days


I went to the stands to buy her a drink

And sat with her at the bar, a daiquiri of pink

I went to the car to drive her home

And when she left, her eyes did shone


I went to the beach and spied on her there

Her smooth, little body had not a hair

I went to the sea to watch her skin shine

And dreamt of her body, fine like wine


I went to the stands to buy her a drink

And sat with her at the bar, a daiquiri of pink

I went to the car to drive her home

And when she left, her eyes did shone


I went to the beach and nobody was there

Except her, who was waiting for me there

I went to the sea to sate my desire for bread

And left her corpse to soak until she was dead


I went to the stands to ready my gun

And realize that this life, for me, was done

I went to the car to sit in it alone

And pulled the trigger, my head ablown

Mother Anne

Touch not dear Mother Anne

The waves crashed, a foam of white,

Slowly whisking into bright light

A body of complexion fare,

A beauty with an astral stare

Her body rested upon moist sand,

A man with a wrinkled hand

Covered her with salted weed

Doing unto her a most horrid deed

When the man was through,

He threw her back into the blue

Cursing her life from after death

And found no guilt with his every breath

But deep inside the woman’s womb

Lied a child within a fleshly tomb

Who harbored hate for this old man

For tainting his dear Mother Anne

Beneath the Deep’s tender swell

Broke free the youth of his natal cell,

And waited until the man’s return

For his death did he ever so yearn

A year had passed, the child did wait

Until the man had come only to ate

The salted weed caressed his leg

And shattered it like a lonely egg

The child feasted upon the broken leg

The old man, his life, did he pitifully beg

But with the face of Anne, the elder knew

He was to be dragged into the Deep Blue

The Drowned Doe

How youthful the doe who sits besides the sea. She of tightened skin and innocent gaze, looking past her own self and into the deep waters of Hiatum, anticipating the Mistress of the Sea’s returned scowl. She rests her tender legs upon that of a slow-moving dsis—the crab slowly fading away from life itself—and sings a song, not of the absence of love, but of mindless pleasure that which only the sots of Haui gargle as they march onto untidy cabarets.

As young as she, with beauteous visage and softened hair, she has yet to acquaint herself with the mysteries of fleshly, sinful pleasures but sang as if to commence an incantation of a being of that which would satisfy a desire unbeknownst to her. She supposed the name “Aeorn” to this fictitious being, calling—no, screaming his name as if no one where there to hear her. Her “Aeorn the Strong”, was her warrior, her knight, her guiding light, and her suffocating darkness; she could not contain herself with every utterance of his delightful name. Delight overflowed her entire body until she soon gasped with sudden relief and took upon a rest aboard the shuffling dsis, a wretched smile painting her lovely, exhausted face.

Enveloped in a beach of coarse grain, the dsis eventually collapsed and its true, occulant self woke among many of its other sleeping brethren in the Plane of the Council. It guided itself towards an unfamiliar ocean, skittering in fear like that of a newborn. Mother Hiatum rose from the foreign waters, her bosom glistening from heavenly light, and the dsis was pleased. It had nothing to fear. For it, this miserable crustacean of size like that of a horse, had finally reached the Sea of the Above, leaving the poor doe to wake up alone, the waters of the Ocean of the Unknown caressing her face that which can only compare to that of a whetted knife.

The doe awoke with salted water flowing within and without her mouth. She gagged with inscrutable language pouring alongside the ingested seawater and stood up, her clothes clinging tightly to her soft skin as though she were nothing more than a beautiful statue of immaculate marble standing before the Cerulean Keep—that which houses the Hauian royalty. Face red, chest shivering, she removed all of her clothes and stepped away from the chilled waters, where she found a tree upon which to hang her clothes to dry.

She was fancied with skin as soft and as white as the purest of snows and, much like snow, she shone with a great light, a comforting light, a light of purity that extended past the realm of existence and shook the very bones of Stu’ku. The Demigod of Wind, with perverse and childish whim, passed to her an icy wind that made her shiver with great intensity, stealing himself a chance to see her entire body, that which was once sealed, move like it would, if not obscured by mortal contrivances.

The doe felt exposed, not for that she was nude, but that she was alone, without a manifestation of her fantastical lover, Aeorn. Thoughts then returned to the idea of this false being, swaying the bare adolescent fool into a trance of desire of baseless subject. She could then no longer smell the scent of oceanic spice, but rather the pheromones that which only lovers can give off during the lighting of a passionate flame. She embraced herself, tears streaming down her face as she thus spoke the words “Aeorn” over the sound of roaring waves, which were then abruptly silenced upon this one iteration.

Disturbed by the silence, the little human looked up towards the now timid shore now blanketed in silence. The foam had settled and there lied that but a man wrapped around in nothing but seaweed, taking fetal form. As curious as prey, the doe tossed her feet against the sand and towards the man, where she began to unravel the grimy weeds off of the still man.

She abruptly hesitated. Could this be? She thought to herself, gripping one of her breasts which now panged with a slight pain originating from a series of slight strokes from the slime-ridden hairs of the rotten hazel. She had supposed that this was a result of her carnal song, a song unbelonging to such a maiden—nay, a child. She thought that the Mother of the Sea had given unto her was none other than her fantasy, Aeorn.

The foolish doe finally unveiled—unpackaged—the naked man and, licking her lips, she could not bear no more: she was to take him there upon salt and sand, as Permafrost did with Hubris. But before the lustful imp could partake in her savagery, a strong arm extended to hers and gripped tightly, breaking her ulna upon impact.

She screamed, but, alas, her cries were futile, as the doe had already been dragged several leagues underneath the surface of the ocean, drinking the salty solution of her blood as light escaped not only from above, but within her own eyes as a saltied knave of Hiatum, her “beloved Aeorn”, plunged towards the depths of the Abyss of the Below.

The Great Fog of Gray

A song about the Dreadfog, which houses the last surviving members of the sentient Dreadwraiths


Thick and dense,

From days of hold, hence

The Dreadfog trickles along

Hear out a wretched song:

Sticky tendrils of gray

Consuming they who enter its fray

The lost little lamb

Never again, the sand

Instead the barque of bone

A terror never to all be shown

Wraiths of Dread, a chittering skull

Shall lurk to you amidst the fog of dull

And scatter your flesh along the sea

Your bones bound, never you to be free

So fear the great fog of gray

Else you meet, your last and final day