As The Graveflower Consumes, a Glasswing Butterfly

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
Based Upon a Song and Old Sketches:
Song:"Graveflower by Acid Bath"
Sketch/Poem: "Tongue (Sold) by me"
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Submitted: April 27, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 27, 2013



My mom said that I was born in the first days of Spring, that I traced the exit wound by the sunrise light.

The first sunrise.

Growing up I've had a kind of poor family, and my mom always tried to motivate me into being a really successful adult, unlike my father.


My father worked as a blacksmith, and a really good one, too.

But he never sold any of his weapons, even though people offered insane prices.

He used to say, he made them for the beauty of weaponry, and would never sell them knowing they'd be used for evil.

This, however, screwed our family.

He often went hunting for food, rabbits, deers, whatever he could actually hunt, and if hunting didn't go well, he goes fishing.

I sometimes go with him to fish, it was boring, we barely catch anything, though if we did, it would take a lot patience, and we only paid time as a price.

My dad often talked about the sea, it was entertaining, usually making the stories up.

He told all kinds of stories, but the one he enjoyed talking about the most, is how we all came from the sea.

He was a great man, and a pretty good idol.


When I was around 9, my dad grew ill.

We had little money to bring a doctor, my mom tried convincing him on selling a weapon, but him being stubborn, he refused.

Eventually, in the middle of Summer's moonlight, my dad passed away.

He wanted his body to be buried beneath the sea, where nothing can harm him, his home; so he believed.

My mom started sewing to make a living, it didn't make much, but it kept us fed.


Years have passed, and it was about time I started working and leading my own life.

I knew just what I wanted to be, a blacksmith, just like my father.

A huge part of my childhood was me, just sitting, contemplating at him making weapons, so I kinda knew how to start out.

It took me a while to master it, it was harder than it looked, and my first weapons were simple swords, with a lot of flaws in them.

No where near perfection, but I gained experience as I grew older.

My very first weapon I made, the first fine one, at least.

I was so proud of it, and I kind of wished dad was here to check it out, I called it, "Razor Peak", I looked at it, and it resembled perfection; it would snatch the soul out of the body as fast as birds snatched earthworms.

I didn't wanna sell it, and I finally understood why my father never sold any of his weapons, and I was making the same steps as he did.


However, my family needed some money, something to eat, and I wasn't such a great hunter.

So I decided to be a swordsman, making my own weapons and fighting with them.

I trained hard, got into tournaments, and I often won.

Things got a lot better, and this swordsman's job was really paying off, I improved so much, that I was the best swordsman in my village, and the villages nearby.

I couldn't be defeated, I was invincible, nothing can shake my soil.

I was big, a God, if you might say; but as godly as I was, I had one thing missing from me, my very own girl.


One day, on an Autumn night, I heard something creeping, as cold as frost, as slow as grave moss, on the crumbled faces of the dead leaves.

I went out to see what it is.I walked blindly, yet carefully in the dark, following the mourns of whatever was there.

It was a virgin, barefoot she trembled upon the lonely bayou, hitting her head.

Ambulating through the inky darkness, I carried her inside my house.

She was lovely.


The lovely one had light brown hair, and mutated, blue eyes.

Thankfully, her wound wasn't that deep, it wasn't bleeding much.

I put her inside the bed, and I watched her, she so beautiful, so innocent, like the Greta Oto visiting Lantana.


In the morning, she woke up, drawing her insides on her face, it was nothing but confusion.

"Who are you?", she asked, "Who... Am I?"

The hit on her head made her forget everything, I guess.

A part of me wanted to tell her the truth, but the other of me screamed out a lie.

"I'm your husband, you fell down and hit your head yesterday.", I said, with a smile on my face, and I've felt the lie run down my chin like embryo.

She believed it, and that's when my whole life changed into a big role-play.

She was nice, she was perfect, actually, the perfect deity for a human-God.


I woke up in the middle of the night once, and she was missing.

I went out to look for her, she was just standing there, beneath the moon.

I walked to her, hugged her from behind, letting out a few breaths on her neck before eventually kissing it.

"What woke you up?", I asked, hugging her a little tighter.

"I don't know", she said, as she turned around and smiled like a ghost, then her heroin kiss consumed me.

We held hands and walked into our house of flames.

The winds blew, causing the trees to hiss, as the branches held hands with moon, I cut her with my cock, and I watched the open wound bleed me an ocean, we made love to the sounds of cockroaches.


One day, I came back home and found her in the corner, crouched down with her head between her legs.

I asked her what's happening, she said that some parts of her are coming, she was remembering.

I freaked out, I didn't know what to say... So I figured that, maybe telling the truth right now would be a good idea?

But what happens when you soak someone's head with gasoline and eventually drop the burning match? You ignite a fire, a burning truth.

I did just that, and I watched her eyes getting sucked out of life, like bottled glass scraping cross the pavement.


She screamed, the lovely one screamed like a butterfly, like a radio, but all she did was scream at the walls.

I held tight for comfort, feeling my way down to the back of her head.

I knew I screwed up, I knew this was gonna happen someday; I just never wanted it to happen so soon.

She held me close, and whispered in my ears, "I loved you"

Those words numbed me, and I couldn't manage to force a tune out of my mouth.

I let loose off her, and I walked away, not saying a word.


I went out to the forest, I ran through the chaos in that was in my head, with echos of pigs squealing, "Everything's mine!", looking for some mushrooms for a nice stew.

I ate them, devoured through God's flesh, and watched the sky slit it's wrist and bleed into the blue.

I got stoned, and collapsed like a new corpse, paling under the shade tree.

These vision in technicolor passed through my eyes, the memory of me, guilty; with blood on my fingers... On my hands, peeling her skull for comfort.

I somehow managed to walk my way home, it was already midnight, and I was wasted, and blacked out on the bed.

I had a dream, or a nightmare.


It was me and her, naked, under a bloody moon, dancing like painted puppets, twitching beneath the sky.

I forced her closer to me, sucked her like a vacuum.

Her spine started to twist, and her head caved.

I whispered, "You were born to die like this, baby, for me."

I kissed her, a crisp black kiss upon her forehead.

Then I woke up; still high on that mouthful of God's Flesh.

It was complete blackness, but my eyes soon adjusted the darkness.

I took a deep breath, and reeked on the new plague.

I looked beside me, and there was death.


I focused on her face, and it mutated into a lizard's skin.

Her mouth was wide upon, she was screaming, she had nothing left to say, she was dead.

I couldn't believe it; she can't be dead... I prayed, but my prayers felt like locusts that spawned through the sky, obscuring the moon.

I held her head, I pushed my lips on her forehead, her soul wasn't hiding, her soul was gone.

She killed herself... She took her time, and took her life, Razor's Peak conspired and took her life.

I was cradled, in an ocean of the lovely one's blood.


I held her bleeding body, and buried it beneath the moonlight.

I tried moving on, but I got tired of her sad today, the fact that she killed herself... That she's gone.

Her ghost is now following me, a dead spirit that haunts me, laughing into the a abyss.


I blamed myself for her death, this pale girl hungers for my blood, for me... To be with her again.

I remember, my old man always saying, the sea is the safest place, that we all go back to the sea, eventually.

I walked into the sea, staring at the nothingness, and the emptiness of it, it looked cold, it looked cruel, but how can a nothingness be cruel?


I felt the shallow water going down my throat, as the insects splashed blood upon my soul.

I felt the ripples grow higher, and I took a look at the sun marching from the sea.

The last sunrise...

The endless hum of blackness.


Then I woke up.

She was there, the lovely one.

Like a beautiful butterfly, she was free.

She took me by the hand, and we walked together to meet the light; bloodless... We orbit the sun, the orgasm of light.

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