Darkly Dreaming Demographic.

Where weird shit hits bizarre fans.


June 2021

The shadow

Shadow with arms outstretching

I see you in dreams sometimes,

Were you real or farfetching?

For now in sleep you reside.

Were you just my invention?

Would I do this to myself?

Despite the best intention,

I know I’ll love no one-else.

Then I’ll just dream forever,

Pray you’ll be at my elbow,

Your lover and possessor,

Sadly you’re just a shadow.

I look at you…

Looking, staring intently,

Look at you and see nothing,

Yet I still look frequently,

Praying that you’re just bluffing.

You left, you took everything,

My bestfriend and my lover,

I’m sure you were well-meaning,

Didn’t want me to suffer.

But I suffer nonetheless,

The clock on the wall ticking,

Need some time to convalesce,

For now I’m only looking.

To capture beauty

Beauty without vanity,

Your smile is pure and honest,

Eyes inspire me candidly,

Colour of leaves in August.

I just think you’re beautiful,

But my words fail to capture,

And seem almost juvenile,

When compared to this rapture.

Is your heart as angelic-

As your lips shine pale ruby?

Is this all just aesthetic?

And I’m lost in your beauty.

Cur 2 Chapter 15 ‘Limbs’

Pain; the words lights up his brain like a falling star. Pain; the one thing that kept him alive, kept him clinging on, reminded him what he had to do, who he was doing it for, all the pain, the endless pain.

Pain. Gone. Pain. Gone.

The pain was gone.

Cur awoke from his dreamless sleep, feeling nothing. Not cold nor heat, the pain was gone. The pain he had become accustomed to, the pain that was so familiar, the pain that had become his friend and only ally, the reason he woke, the reason he slept. His constant companion reminding him that there was still life in him. Still love, somewhere buried deep down under all the pain, all the scars, the broken bones and blood.

But it was gone.

“Awake, marvelous” a voice above him cooed, and as he spoke the sound of metal implements jossling excitedly could be heard just out of sight. “So this is the one that made Ogma the silver tongued so pretty” The voice laughed mockingly “And shortened that silver tongue no less”.

There was a silence, the sound of a blade scraping against metal. Cur opened his eyes but could only look up and all he saw was a cold flat stone. The room was dark, it was night time perhaps. He could feel a slight chill coming from a crack or window.

“You came to kill me, did my father send you?”

Cur strained and grunted as he felt his bonds tightened at his wrists and ankles and neck. His wrists.

A strange feeling, a phantom hand reaching out for nothing. He cast his gaze down and to his confused horror an arm of flesh and bone replaced what once was silver and filled with pain. He felt dreamlike and painless and almost giddy.

“What did that whore give me?”

“She tried to kill you but it seems death has no sway, it doesn’t want you. And that whore is my sister”.

“Then you are already dead” Cur cackled. His booming laugh filling the dark low ceilinged dungeon.

“I’ve had some time to examine this weapon of yours.” He said as he walked around the table Cur was strapped to. In his hands he held the silver arm, a small lantern dangled from his hip and was the only source of light.

Cur strained to follow his path with his fierce feral stare, like a caged animal waiting for moment to strike. The walls were damp, almost dripping, stained red with rust or blood and he could see the tuathan’s breath hanging in the air. The barbarian saw out of the corner of his eye a table next to his head full of bladed tools and implements. He could feel air but from his limited vantage could see no windows.

“Funny isn’t it? That I would use the technique I planned to use on Nuada on the very man that took his arm and his throne and started all of this.”

“I also took his head” Cur laughed wickedly.

Miach swallowed that bitterly but tried to hide his disgust. He regarded the arm clinically as one might a piece of art or some kind of experimental device. “Still it is rather elegant” He looked at the giant laid out on the operating table “Far too elegant for something like you”

Cur strained against his bonds but his new arm was atrophied, it was weak and had little feeling in it.

“I think I’ll keep it, as a trophy” Miach said as his footsteps echoed out of the dark dingy room taking the only light source with him. Leaving Cur alone to painless black slumber.

Good to love

It’s so good to love,

When you give yourself away,

Always hurts too much,

Pray to get it back,

Only God can give you that,

So just let me love.

Got a right to hurt,

Let me lay against your side,

It’s so good to love.

Wake me up at dawn

Clinging to you desperately,

Alas I was but dreaming,

I hold myself  dreadfully,

To stop myself from screaming.

Nights silence is deafening,

Its loudest when I’m alone,

Feelings inside deadening,

Without even strength to-moan.

But it seemed so palpable,

I could hear your heart singing,

Tricked again, so gullible,

Wake to my pillow clinging.

The virgin of Montserrat

Holy virgin Madonna,

I hear your voice and stumble,

Can it wait til Manana?

A smile so warm and humble.

Goddess mother deity,

Bless me with your hand divine,

Your touch inspires piety,

Kiss from your lips like blush-wine.

Your gaze could be breathtaking,

Watch your eyes open slowly,

Sleeping feelings awaken,

My thanks to the most holy.


Lament, my oath unfulfilled,

My heart shall not be replete,

My pain it goes unconcealed,

How I’ll never be complete.

Without doubt I’m defeated,

I wallow in your vestige,

Reached out but you retreated,

Now I’m your divine hostage.

It seems that I’m transparent,

My prayers to you are unsent.

You’ve seen through my sacrament,

And all I have is lament.

Cur 2 Chapter 14 ‘She’s still suffering’

Outside Ethniu’s window in her tower on the dreaded Tory isle, a storm brew over the horizon. But her body was too weak for her to lift her head.

A cool white hand touched the Fomorian princess’s forehead above her one beautiful eye as she lay in her bed.

“You’re temperature” Birog said. Her hand slowly and gently snaked under the princess’ silken bed linen and came to rest under them on her mounded belly. Soft it was to the touch, but also firm with child. The belly hummed with an energy Birog had felt only in her dreams. She drew her hand away and said nothing. She turned to a small basin next to the princess’s bed where a sea sponge rested, soaking up the pure luke warm water in the bowel.

Birog wrung the sponge out and began to gently dab the princess’ forehead.

“The quickening draws near” She whispered.

“But my father” The girl gasped “When he finds out-!”

“Your father will never know until it is too late, I have seen it” Birog said coldly, certainly, as she dabbed the the girl’s worried brow. “He cannot see that hiding you in this tower also hides you from his sight. He believes you are ill as I have lead him to do so and thus I can care for you and hide the child of prophecy from him, my part in all this.”

The girl had been slightly prone and tense and now with some disagreeableness she lay down. Still awkwardly staring out the window at the churning clouds, feeling them as if they were in her belly not in the sky at all. “What will become of me seer? What is my part after the prophecy? Will I be free?”

“Your destiny is not written my dear, no one can say, not even I”

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