Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Guest Blogger: Spotlight on Autumnforest
Here's my first guest blogger post. Feel free to read more about Autumnforest on her blog:
http://autumnforestghosthunter.blogspot.com/
Autumnforest:
I’m known as Autumnforest on my blog, “Ghost Hunting Theories” blog. I’m a ghost hunter, a psychic and a horror writer.
I write horror, but more specifically I enjoy writing atmospheric paranormal horror and erotic horror. I was a storyteller as a child, but later when I learned to type in my teens, I found myself writing fiction all the time. I couldn’t stop. I started out in romance and then went into doing a lot of published self help nonfiction, but then settled for the thing that has always been the constant in my life; horror.
I’ve entered a lot of short story contests and won a few at online magazines and a printed one, as well. I won the short essay contest for “Ghost Adventures” show last October having to do with their stay at Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum. Right now, I’m in the semifinals of the Kreepy Krawlys essay contest. It’s a really exciting one. One of my things on my bucket list was to have a hand in a haunted attraction’s creation. That’s what this contest is about; an essay that will be the basis of a haunted attraction.
I grew up in a 250-year-old mansion in Northern Virginia. It was taken over by the North during the Civil War and used as a field hospital and then the South took it over again and used it for the same. The wood floors were still stained from the blood. I grew up digging up relics and NBC did a special on the house’s ghosts and mediums came to do séances and newspapers did articles. At one time, it was considered to be one of the most haunted houses in America. It was during that childhood that I not only experienced many paranormal happenings, but I also developed my psychic talent for touching objects and reading their history. It began with relics I dug up around the grounds. I never knew it was a psychic skill until I was well into adulthood. I thought everyone did it.
A Short Story By Autumnforest
Wolves At The Door
They raced the pathways through the woods by moonlight. The lunar cycle didn’t matter. Clouds or rain, snow or new moon, they owned the forest. In a pack, the beasts kicked up dirt, tore at hiking trails, and pursued the abundant deer and wild turkey. Their haunting howls resonated back and forth from hillside to hillside.
“Coyotes?” The hitman pressed his face to the cabin window to glance out at the murky moonlight outside.
He stepped away and finished off the glass of Jack Daniels as he studied the gym bag. He had to think clearly about where to hide the cash just in case he was followed.
Collapsing back in an overstuffed chair, the criminal turned on the TV. The local resort’s channel touted the Olympic-sized swimming pool at the main lodge and went on to brag about how it was a giant preserve where hunting was not allowed and wildlife abounded. They encouraged the visitors to enjoy the woodland paths in total privacy.
Privacy. He chuckled at that. The resort was a nowhere place, a dead end mountain no one knew about. The criminals knew that cabin #5 was a special location. It was not only completely isolated by the woods, but the resort had a policy. If you were willing to shell out the cash, they’d protect your privacy completely. They had no records of a #5 cabin and no housekeeping. They liked to say, “this is the place to get lost.” In fact, the key was sent to him in the mail so he didn’t have to go further up the mountain to the lodge and be seen in public.
The hitman’s associates knew the in’s and out’s. He was learning them, but admittedly he wasn’t the brightest of the batch. He was no alpha dog, but he could provide a service when requested. Making hits was easy. Cash was plentiful. He never made this kind of dough in construction.
He ran a meaty hand over his grizzled face and sighed. The howling outside the cabin reached a crescendo. It unsettled his already taut nerves. He had no guilt about the kill, but he sure had fears about the cops finding him.
He got up and flicked on the front porch light. It shone on the pine trees nearby. Something shuffled by the side of the cabin and thumped the wall. He flicked the light off and held his breath.
“Just a raccoon.” He told himself, but his mind was seeing that strange black car that was following his car the last 10 miles to the mountaintop resort. Sure, they kept going on to the lodge, but they did see him turn down this road.
“I should check.” He grumbled as the howling stopped outside and he cautiously opened the door. Thinking about the coyote pack and their calls, the killer felt a bit of nostalgia. He missed his gang in Philly. It had been a long time since he could go home and run with them, intimidating everyone on the streets. No, his work in Jersey took him away from there and it was too dangerous to go back.
“Yeah, I’m a coyote without my pack now.” He commented sadly.
The area near the cabin looked clear in the half moonlight. His car was tucked in behind the building out of sight. The cabin itself was completely engulfed by huge rows of wild bushes and brambles. No one would ever guess it was there. Even the ground was gravel strewn and showed few tracks. Just in case, he walked over into the circle of moonlight and kicked at the gravel to be certain no car treads could be seen.
The hairs on his neck tickled. He knew he was being watched! He spun around, squinting into the woods nearby, a bead of perspiration rolling into his eye and stinging him blind. He backed up towards the cabin, surveying the area cautiously.
“Who’s there?” He called out, his voice cracking.
Something thrashed the bushes nearby and the hitman backed up a step, squinting into the darkness of the shrubs.
“You’re not gonna catch me.” He vowed under his breath.
Without warning, something yanked his shirt, pulling him to the ground with a thud. Shaking off the stars in his head, the hitman studied the dark figures above him. The half moon settled between their heads, casting them in silhouettes. There stood five man-like figures, hunched over, long snouts sniffing, smelling of wet dog and snarling lowly in threat.
“What in the hell are you?” He cried out.
The leader stepped forward and lifted him up easily with one gnarled furry paw as if he weren’t a 6’2″, 250-pound man. Claws dug into the hitman’s shoulder and he winced. When he braved opening his eyes again, he looked straight into the fiery red eyes of the beast, fangs exposed and glistening in the light. For a panicky minute, the hitman remembered the cries of his last hit. The man had been on his knees, begging to pay him cash, do anything to just live.
He whimpered hysterically just as his victim had.
Behind him a beast snarled loudly, another howled. Then the leader bent, teeth sinking readily into the hitman’s shoulder with a crunch. As his knees went weak beneath him, the beast leader grabbed the hitman by the hem of his shirt and dragged him deep into the blackened woods as the criminal lost consciousness.
The resort manager came the next morning, grabbed up the bag of cash, the traces of the occupant, and used the car key to move the vehicle to his cousin’s car shop where it would be parted out.
It never failed; crooks were looking for an easy out. He provided it for them. The pack of other thieves-turned- werewolves brought the criminal into their fold. They had all the fresh deer and wild turkeys they could want and the resort manager continued to give them new members. It was an amicable situation that helped both sides, as well as cut down on the uncontrolled population of wildlife in the preserve. In fact, he was feeling pretty pious about his life mission as he drove off in the criminal’s Mercedes Benz at sunset.
A stealthy creature followed not far from the bumper, eyes of fire, fangs exposed. He wasn’t the brightest of the batch and he was no alpha dog, but he served his pack well as he stalked their next member.
http://autumnforestghosthunter.blogspot.com
WTF....The Vampire Song???
OK, so I should be asleep, it's freakin' 3:35am and I feel like my eyes are full of sand...but I did a search for "Vampire Music" and guess what came up!
Well...just watch the video below. I don't know what I just witnessed...all I know is that I'm tired and I'm going to sleep.
Enjoy this weird ass video y'all!
Well...just watch the video below. I don't know what I just witnessed...all I know is that I'm tired and I'm going to sleep.
Enjoy this weird ass video y'all!
Monday, October 18, 2010
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Six Sentence Sunday: Vampire Love
Image Source: Myspace
OK, so here is another #SixSentence/#SixSunday creation that I've linked to on Twitter. I hope you all enjoy it and please check out the other wonderful writers who post to this hash tag!
Best of Everything,
Marcus
*****************
Vampire Love
By Marcus Twyman
She savored the taste, rich and metallic. His arms squeezed her tighter as her mouth worked at pulling the coppery blood from the vein she'd tapped. His moans rumbled through his chest and he worked himself up to a faster rhythm, as her lower muscles squeezed him, bringing him close to experiencing euphoria. Their eyes shone with inhuman brightness in the dimly lit room as they took turns biting each other to savor the rich fluid that mere mortals could only taste in their dreams. True immortals, children of darkness...vampires. She placed her arms around his neck as they reached their climax, both of them ripping their fangs from the other's body to gleam wetly in the darkness of their den.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
New Poem
Jealousy
by Marcus Twyman
It's the poison that stills the heart,
The violent memories that tear love apart,
With a chilling touch the blood will cool,
Reignited by rage, remade the fool,
Never happy, always a skeptic,
Strangers' eyes do wander, that's to be expected,
Though with you, possession is law,
They are yours, and for you they should crawl,
Then one day they up and leave,
Enough was enough, so they cut you free,
Couldn't stand your insecure tendencies,
So they washed themselves clean of your jealousy.
by Marcus Twyman
It's the poison that stills the heart,
The violent memories that tear love apart,
With a chilling touch the blood will cool,
Reignited by rage, remade the fool,
Never happy, always a skeptic,
Strangers' eyes do wander, that's to be expected,
Though with you, possession is law,
They are yours, and for you they should crawl,
Then one day they up and leave,
Enough was enough, so they cut you free,
Couldn't stand your insecure tendencies,
So they washed themselves clean of your jealousy.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Thursday, October 7, 2010
CONTEST FOR BETA READERS!
Hello Everyone!
I'm holding a contest for people who would like to read my rough manuscript and provide feedback on it within a month.
The prize is a Sony DVD Camcorder. It has an extra battery and a leather carrying case. It is in top condition and records onto DVD as well as takes still photos.
**********It is the same camera pictured on this post.**************
Let me know if you're interested in being a Beta reader. I need all contestants to send me an email to Marcus.Twyman@gmail.com by next Wednesday, October 13th, 2010. The contest will end on Nov. 10th and the contest winner will be chosen on November 17th.
Thank you all in advance for your help!
Marcus
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Khet Chronicles: Sunset Over Bloodied Waters
Very rough & unedited excerpt
I tried not to include any spoilers for the first book.
By: Marcus Twyman
Three mutts greeted me at the bottom of the stair's landing. Their nails clicking noisily against the hard marble of the floor. Che had found them running around out back in the woods that surrounded the estate. They had been half-starved as well as flea and tick ridden. She'd brought them in, cleaned them up, and made them the brats of the residence.
Chloe, is a large female pitbull with large dark brown spots that encircle each of her eyes, making her eyes stand out with their light gray coloring—giving her the impression of always being surprised. The rest of her fur is a fawn color. She weighs a little over eighty pounds—all of it solid muscle, thanks to Che's care and attention—but she is the biggest love-bunny you'll ever meet. She'd be more liable to lick a serial killer breaking into the mansion than attack him.
Bobo is a little terrier mix of some sort, standing no more than a foot at his shoulder. His fur hangs down in dark gray wisps, making him look more like an oversized, dirty cotton ball than a dog. He has bangs that cover his beady little eyes, and his tongue hangs out of his mouth every minute of the day, dripping drool in his wake.
Lobo, well—looks like a lobo. He looks like a damn wolf. His eyes are yellow-green, and the only thing that would make you think twice about his heritage is his fur color. He's the warm, blondish color of a yellow lab. He's huge standing three feet at the shoulder and weighing in at one hundred and ten pounds. I'm still up in the air concerning his lineage. I'm almost positive that he's a big, wild, snarly, beast of a wolf. His coloring is probably just a fluke. All I know is that as long as he doesn't eat me, I'm fine with him. He' extremely playful, and loves everybody in the house, but...sometimes I catch him staring at me—like he's thinking. Yeah, I'm gonna keep my eye on that one.
The three mongrels—I say this with compassion— were jumping up on me, making it impossible to move ahead towards the front door. Let me tell ya', half the time I had to move around the house using the inhuman speed of my race, just to get from room to room. They were adamant about having your full attention when in your presence.
“Shane!”, maybe he could take them outside or something. That would help them let loose some of their pent up energy. “Hey, bro! You around?” My voice echoed through the massive rooms of the mansion.
“I'm here, what's up loud-mouth?” Shane spoke into my mind using telepathy, or as he called it—as well as everyone else now that he's been pushing the term on people—brain-tapping.
Rolling my eyes at his name calling, I told him out loud, “Come take the pooches out, mutt!” Shane was half sape and half khet. Some of the other khet called him Half-Breed, I called him dork, boob, bobblehead, and lately, Mutt. He knew I wasn't serious, we always call each other names—we have a snarky relationship.
“Why can't you do it? I'm watching a cool show—some guy just got eaten by a shark and now his shipmates are tracking it through the ocean via the GPS on the dude's cell phone—Ooh...oh that's just wrong...Kalin you've gotta—”
“Shane!” God, he could be such a twit! Running my hand through my hair I shouted, “I'm leaving...take them out!” Before he could make an attempt at another mental rebuttal, I threw up my mental shields.
Che had been teaching me how to guard my thoughts. Living in a household full of telepaths and having other telepathic beings around who knew my energy signature—like the Sidhe and some of the witches—I had needed to learn how to deflect unwanted intrusions. One time Saru had reached out telepathically from New York and entered my mind while me and Krysia were...occupied. Needless to say, that was the equivalent of a parent walking in on you doing the bump unexpectedly. He was the one who requested that Che teach me how to block against intrusions. He was like an uncle to me and Shane and finding not-so PG thoughts flying at him like that must have been just as awkward as it had been for me. Krysia still blushes when I bring it up.
Shutting the door quickly so that the dogs didn't push past me onto the walkway, I tossed my keys into the air, catching them as the gravity pulled them back down towards the earth...
I tried not to include any spoilers for the first book.
By: Marcus Twyman
Three mutts greeted me at the bottom of the stair's landing. Their nails clicking noisily against the hard marble of the floor. Che had found them running around out back in the woods that surrounded the estate. They had been half-starved as well as flea and tick ridden. She'd brought them in, cleaned them up, and made them the brats of the residence.
Chloe, is a large female pitbull with large dark brown spots that encircle each of her eyes, making her eyes stand out with their light gray coloring—giving her the impression of always being surprised. The rest of her fur is a fawn color. She weighs a little over eighty pounds—all of it solid muscle, thanks to Che's care and attention—but she is the biggest love-bunny you'll ever meet. She'd be more liable to lick a serial killer breaking into the mansion than attack him.
Bobo is a little terrier mix of some sort, standing no more than a foot at his shoulder. His fur hangs down in dark gray wisps, making him look more like an oversized, dirty cotton ball than a dog. He has bangs that cover his beady little eyes, and his tongue hangs out of his mouth every minute of the day, dripping drool in his wake.
Lobo, well—looks like a lobo. He looks like a damn wolf. His eyes are yellow-green, and the only thing that would make you think twice about his heritage is his fur color. He's the warm, blondish color of a yellow lab. He's huge standing three feet at the shoulder and weighing in at one hundred and ten pounds. I'm still up in the air concerning his lineage. I'm almost positive that he's a big, wild, snarly, beast of a wolf. His coloring is probably just a fluke. All I know is that as long as he doesn't eat me, I'm fine with him. He' extremely playful, and loves everybody in the house, but...sometimes I catch him staring at me—like he's thinking. Yeah, I'm gonna keep my eye on that one.
The three mongrels—I say this with compassion— were jumping up on me, making it impossible to move ahead towards the front door. Let me tell ya', half the time I had to move around the house using the inhuman speed of my race, just to get from room to room. They were adamant about having your full attention when in your presence.
“Shane!”, maybe he could take them outside or something. That would help them let loose some of their pent up energy. “Hey, bro! You around?” My voice echoed through the massive rooms of the mansion.
“I'm here, what's up loud-mouth?” Shane spoke into my mind using telepathy, or as he called it—as well as everyone else now that he's been pushing the term on people—brain-tapping.
Rolling my eyes at his name calling, I told him out loud, “Come take the pooches out, mutt!” Shane was half sape and half khet. Some of the other khet called him Half-Breed, I called him dork, boob, bobblehead, and lately, Mutt. He knew I wasn't serious, we always call each other names—we have a snarky relationship.
“Why can't you do it? I'm watching a cool show—some guy just got eaten by a shark and now his shipmates are tracking it through the ocean via the GPS on the dude's cell phone—Ooh...oh that's just wrong...Kalin you've gotta—”
“Shane!” God, he could be such a twit! Running my hand through my hair I shouted, “I'm leaving...take them out!” Before he could make an attempt at another mental rebuttal, I threw up my mental shields.
Che had been teaching me how to guard my thoughts. Living in a household full of telepaths and having other telepathic beings around who knew my energy signature—like the Sidhe and some of the witches—I had needed to learn how to deflect unwanted intrusions. One time Saru had reached out telepathically from New York and entered my mind while me and Krysia were...occupied. Needless to say, that was the equivalent of a parent walking in on you doing the bump unexpectedly. He was the one who requested that Che teach me how to block against intrusions. He was like an uncle to me and Shane and finding not-so PG thoughts flying at him like that must have been just as awkward as it had been for me. Krysia still blushes when I bring it up.
Shutting the door quickly so that the dogs didn't push past me onto the walkway, I tossed my keys into the air, catching them as the gravity pulled them back down towards the earth...
Six Sentence Sunday
I'm bad about making time for this but I wanted to make sure that I posted something this Sunday. Here is my contribution to "#SixSunday" as they say on Twitter.
I hope you all enjoy it and if you do please feel free to contribute as well by posting on your blog and then labeling the post with the hash tag "#sixsunday" on your Twitter account.
Best Regards!
Image Source: xiongdudu.com
***************
The force is shearing through my being-- through my very essence. It's intangible blades hot against the fabric of my metaphysical mind. His attack is relentless but I am not so easily subdued. I am the darkness that the night imitates, the bitter cold that has made hunters huddle close to their camp fires for millennia. I am the fallen, the sentry that has prevented the light from burning through the darkness for all remembered time. There's a reason they call me “Devil” and now I'll have to show this pigeon-winged fool why his kind should stay in the light where they belong.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Old Journal Entry: February 15th, 2003
Poem: Untouchable
If you touch my spirit, you've accomplished a miracle,
My eyes have cried and my voice has erupted,
I could cut a diamond with the sharpness of my soul,
Life's pains haven't made me stronger...they've made me meaner,
Take a glance into my eyes and you will see not a glimpse of emotion or pity,
You will only feel the heat generated by lies and deceit from experiences long past,
You reach for my hand and I'll reach for your throat,
Trust, I give to no one,
My tongue shall spit acid words at any would be rescuer,
For, you can't rescue what has already been lost.
Finished February 15, 2003 6:53pm
If you touch my spirit, you've accomplished a miracle,
My eyes have cried and my voice has erupted,
I could cut a diamond with the sharpness of my soul,
Life's pains haven't made me stronger...they've made me meaner,
Take a glance into my eyes and you will see not a glimpse of emotion or pity,
You will only feel the heat generated by lies and deceit from experiences long past,
You reach for my hand and I'll reach for your throat,
Trust, I give to no one,
My tongue shall spit acid words at any would be rescuer,
For, you can't rescue what has already been lost.
Finished February 15, 2003 6:53pm
Old Journal Entry: February 13th, 2004
February Wind
by Marcus Twyman
I feel each cut as if it were the most sensual touch of a lover,
My eyes strive to focus through a slowly encroaching cloudiness,
The mud oozes around my cold, mutilated body,
My mind is searching for a way to put this wrong to right,
My body is twitching with an unconscious struggle to survive,
But death's power is too strong to fend off,
The cold has taken refuge in the marrow of my bones,
And the creatures of the woods have begun investigating my corpse-like body,
The only thing I am still able to acknowledge is the cold February wind,
Each year as I return to this spot for my eternal death, the wind is the only thing I am able to remember with clarity,
As the blood begins to slow its descent into the frozen, rock-like ground I feel the last pitiful beats of my failing heart,
For 20 years I have died on this night....maybe next year will be different.
by Marcus Twyman
I feel each cut as if it were the most sensual touch of a lover,
My eyes strive to focus through a slowly encroaching cloudiness,
The mud oozes around my cold, mutilated body,
My mind is searching for a way to put this wrong to right,
My body is twitching with an unconscious struggle to survive,
But death's power is too strong to fend off,
The cold has taken refuge in the marrow of my bones,
And the creatures of the woods have begun investigating my corpse-like body,
The only thing I am still able to acknowledge is the cold February wind,
Each year as I return to this spot for my eternal death, the wind is the only thing I am able to remember with clarity,
As the blood begins to slow its descent into the frozen, rock-like ground I feel the last pitiful beats of my failing heart,
For 20 years I have died on this night....maybe next year will be different.
Old Journal Entry: January 22nd, 2003
Old poem from my journal.
Burning Candles
by Marcus Twyman
Do you know what it's like for the dark to touch you?
I appreciate the quietness of midnight's virtue,
When the light comes in the morning, will I still be alive?
For, my soul's in eternal mourning no matter how hard I try.
Could it be that I'm unknowing of how my love should be released?
No one knows how I feel, maybe that's why I can't reach for peace.
*I have three dried rose petals pressed between the pages where this poem is written.
Burning Candles
by Marcus Twyman
Do you know what it's like for the dark to touch you?
I appreciate the quietness of midnight's virtue,
When the light comes in the morning, will I still be alive?
For, my soul's in eternal mourning no matter how hard I try.
Could it be that I'm unknowing of how my love should be released?
No one knows how I feel, maybe that's why I can't reach for peace.
*I have three dried rose petals pressed between the pages where this poem is written.
Old Journal Entry: December 26th, 2002
Old song I wrote on December 26th, 2002.
I Thought
by Marcus Twyman
I thought I heard you walking in the hall,
But when I looked, I knew I hadn't heard anything at all,
It must have been my mind playing tricks on me,
Life's been hard, keeps giving me grief,
But your perfume's scent still lingers on the air,
That's impossible since you aren't even here,
And why do I feel a gentle breeze?
Like someone just brushed past me,
Chorus:
Is it your spirit floating past me?
Clinging to the love it feels in me?
I know you'll always be near,
In this life you left so easily,
Late at night while I sit quietly,
I feel you there, but your image I can't see,
I tell myself that this can't be,
But it's true because your spirit lives on in me,
I never completed this one...it's only a partial entry in my journal.
I Thought
by Marcus Twyman
I thought I heard you walking in the hall,
But when I looked, I knew I hadn't heard anything at all,
It must have been my mind playing tricks on me,
Life's been hard, keeps giving me grief,
But your perfume's scent still lingers on the air,
That's impossible since you aren't even here,
And why do I feel a gentle breeze?
Like someone just brushed past me,
Chorus:
Is it your spirit floating past me?
Clinging to the love it feels in me?
I know you'll always be near,
In this life you left so easily,
Late at night while I sit quietly,
I feel you there, but your image I can't see,
I tell myself that this can't be,
But it's true because your spirit lives on in me,
I never completed this one...it's only a partial entry in my journal.
Old Journal Entry: December 25th, 2002
A song I wrote on Christmas in 2002.
Hold Me Close
by Marcus Twyman
I'm tired of waiting,
Tired of sitting by myself alone in the dark,
Tired of hiding,
Hiding my eyes and hiding my heart,
Which road should I of taken?
The one in the shadows or the one with a spark,
This is something I had no choice in,
I was thrown into the darkness that's corrupted my heart,
Chorus:
I'm clawing my way back up,
I'm tearing through my early gravestone,
Tried to break me, had some luck,
But the light's been captured, now I know where I'm goin',
I've lived before,
That life was a poisoned dose,
For this life I have the cure,
It's when your arms hold me close,
For years I've been dying,
Dying from the loss of my soul,
Life was full of hating,
And cryin' for a life that had nothing to show,
Then I met you,
A being who could set me free,
I found the missing clue,
Now I'm the person I was meant to be,
Chorus:
I'm clawing my way back up,
I'm tearing through my early gravestone,
Tried to break me, had some luck,
But the light's been captured, now I know where I'm goin',
I've lived before,
That life was a poisoned dose,
For this life I have the cure,
It's when your arms hold me close,
I'm getting through the pain,
Slowly but surely I'm on my way,
I'm feeling no more shame,
A bright future is on the way,
Please stand beside me,
I know I can't do this on my own,
You won't ever lose me,
You're the only good I've ever known,
Finished at 2:13am
Hold Me Close
by Marcus Twyman
I'm tired of waiting,
Tired of sitting by myself alone in the dark,
Tired of hiding,
Hiding my eyes and hiding my heart,
Which road should I of taken?
The one in the shadows or the one with a spark,
This is something I had no choice in,
I was thrown into the darkness that's corrupted my heart,
Chorus:
I'm clawing my way back up,
I'm tearing through my early gravestone,
Tried to break me, had some luck,
But the light's been captured, now I know where I'm goin',
I've lived before,
That life was a poisoned dose,
For this life I have the cure,
It's when your arms hold me close,
For years I've been dying,
Dying from the loss of my soul,
Life was full of hating,
And cryin' for a life that had nothing to show,
Then I met you,
A being who could set me free,
I found the missing clue,
Now I'm the person I was meant to be,
Chorus:
I'm clawing my way back up,
I'm tearing through my early gravestone,
Tried to break me, had some luck,
But the light's been captured, now I know where I'm goin',
I've lived before,
That life was a poisoned dose,
For this life I have the cure,
It's when your arms hold me close,
I'm getting through the pain,
Slowly but surely I'm on my way,
I'm feeling no more shame,
A bright future is on the way,
Please stand beside me,
I know I can't do this on my own,
You won't ever lose me,
You're the only good I've ever known,
Finished at 2:13am
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