The Lusty Argonian Maid

Since people won’t know what an Argonian is, I decided to include a pic. Yay.

This one's dead, but still an Argonian female.

Since I have nothing to do, virtually, I decided to put in a few books from the Elder Scrolls lore here. Books that you don’t need to really delve into the history of Tamriel to understand.
This one, is described as “A (mercifully short) excerpt from Crassius Curio’s bawdy play”

Act IV, Scene III, continued

Lifts-Her-Tail: Certainly not, kind sir! I am here but to clean your chambers.

Crantius Colto: Is that all you have come here for, little one? My chambers?

Lifts-Her-Tail: I have no idea what it is you imply, master. I am but a poor Argonian maid.

Crantius Colto: So you are, my dumpling. And a good one at that. Such strong legs and shapely tail.

Lifts-Her-Tail: You embarrass me, sir!

Crantius Colto: Fear not. You are safe here with me.

Lifts-Her-Tail: I must finish my cleaning, sir. The mistress will have my head if I do not!

Crantius Colto: Cleaning, eh? I have something for you. Here, polish my spear.

Lifts-Her-Tail: But it is huge! It could take me all night!

Crantius Colto: Plenty of time, my sweet. Plenty of time.

END OF ACT IV, SCENE III

A God’s Lament

Should I just obliterate all existence and be done with all the charades? I am after all a God left at the mercy of whimsical beings. Is the capacity to bear infinite pain my omnipotence? Why did I create when I knew that this day will come? Am not I above errors? Then why is my reflection not blemish free?
Why can’t the fountains of Heaven quench my thirst? Where did I go wrong? How could I go wrong? Why won’t the blood come off of my sleeves? This isn’t what I planned. This is exactly what I imagined. Who do I seek forgiveness from? Who do I pray to? Where is my Messiah? Cornered and wounded. I was. I am. I will be. The power to create. The power to sustain. The power to annihilate. And much worse, the power to remain. A passive observer to an experiment gone horrendously wrong. Witness to the pain and grief of a decaying civilization. A dying world. A voiceless potrait. An image to be afraid of. To be revered, yet never to be understood. Omnipresent and yet blinded.

Inside every heart yet doomed to be alone. Who decided my fortune?

The shimmering haze. The merciless sun. Everyday the same. A victim of my own ire. The humble vassal. The noble slave. The priest and the renegade.

The sinner and the scion. The god amongst men.

Words and meanings. Objects and intentions.
Life and death. To understand and to be understood.

To try and to fail. To fall and to get up again. The biting cold, the searing pain.
Tears drop like rain. Won’t see you again, but miss you all the same.

The tick tock of the clock. The sound of pages being torn. The beat of the heart and the poisoned dart. The singing drum and the exploding bomb.

To kill and to die.

Man Sized Rings of Smoke

My new poem, I was composing when I should be studying, God!!!111!!!

Buried in my tub with
eyes full of smoke.
I cough, its the proof that I am alive.
Life was a nuisance,
death ain’t no better.
I guess I’m bored.
My back hurts so do my knees.
Is it real, or all just in my head.
Tonight I die, take you with me.
Is it a ride that you want?
Gouge out my eyes, ease the pain.
Take my life, its all I got anyways.
There is so much light I can’t see,
All the air, I can’t breathe.
I desire the darkness.
No one to bother me except my thoughts.
And the voices they whisper in my ears,
tall claims and false lies.
Take me somewhere I can’t hear them.
And if it all fails,
take my life away.
I have been dead so long,
unnoticed and unmourned.
I speak the words they put in my head,
see only what they show.
They tell me life is but a dream.
Pry my eyes open, please
Wake me up.

How do I live?

I just close my eyes
and blow man sized rings of smoke.