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January 18th, 2007 - Berenerchamion's Ink Well (Nocturne)
http://varo-borja.livejournal.com/2007/01/18
Berenerchamions Ink Well (Nocturne). Mueren ya las ilusiones del ayer. January 18th, 2007. We see each other. The ontology of you. Suffer me to dream. And in the process. The kiss of steel. Hard razor ripping revolution. Fire, sword, famine. Death knows innumerable names. Hold you closer than my own skin. Make a new life. Touch the hand of God. Tell Him that we hurt. Tell Him that we still need. Touch me and tell me. That I ever wanted to know. And all that is. Is that we’re going to be okay. The two Ill...
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Eyeliner - Berenerchamion's Ink Well (Nocturne)
http://varo-borja.livejournal.com/2108.html
Berenerchamions Ink Well (Nocturne). Mueren ya las ilusiones del ayer. A thousand ways to please your man. Don’t give me that. Take care darling not to spill the wine. Of memories half lived and forgotten. Quickly your scent lingers the woman. In red and the eye of the needle. Break another one for the road. And its fucking 3 am amateur night. All over again the tissues are dry. And the Lifetime channel silent. For this part time prison break. Send me down and shut me up. Kill me just a little lover.
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2007 - Berenerchamion's Ink Well (Nocturne)
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Berenerchamions Ink Well (Nocturne). Mueren ya las ilusiones del ayer. 2dcom (registration for Nirvana Music). Powered by LiveJournal.com.
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Touch - Berenerchamion's Ink Well (Nocturne)
http://varo-borja.livejournal.com/3966.html
Berenerchamions Ink Well (Nocturne). Mueren ya las ilusiones del ayer. We see each other. The ontology of you. Suffer me to dream. And in the process. The kiss of steel. Hard razor ripping revolution. Fire, sword, famine. Death knows innumerable names. Hold you closer than my own skin. Make a new life. Touch the hand of God. Tell Him that we hurt. Tell Him that we still need. Touch me and tell me. That I ever wanted to know. And all that is. Is that we’re going to be okay. Powered by LiveJournal.com.
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The Black Priest - Berenerchamion's Ink Well (Nocturne)
http://varo-borja.livejournal.com/4110.html
Berenerchamions Ink Well (Nocturne). Mueren ya las ilusiones del ayer. The Libetines: What a Waster. Bloodlust: The Black Priest. 1 The Sabat is no longer the Sabat, it is now the Illuminati. 2 The following changes have been made to the clan titles:. BLOODLUST Book Two: the Black Priest chapter 1. The incense in the ornate wooden sanctuary smelled slightly like jasmine and floated through the devout worshippers like a spectral ghost rising from a long dead king's tomb beneath the altar of a long dead god.
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Beautymark - Berenerchamion's Ink Well (Nocturne)
http://varo-borja.livejournal.com/2010.html
Berenerchamions Ink Well (Nocturne). Mueren ya las ilusiones del ayer. The razor’s edge is crystalline diamond. Shaped exit wounds and the scent of gun. Powder my face for you don’t you love. My new dress stained from our last encounter. We fucked on the beer scented sofa and. You asked to marry me with sentimental sirens. In the night the police took you away on. My birthday I’m twenty one and dangerous. Summers eve by the pond oh no you promised. Not to hit me again I’m dying for the back.
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Under Freezing on Top of the Hill - Berenerchamion's Ink Well (Nocturne)
http://varo-borja.livejournal.com/3605.html
Berenerchamions Ink Well (Nocturne). Mueren ya las ilusiones del ayer. Under Freezing on Top of the Hill. Under Freezing on Top of the Hill. Walks unassumingly and neutrally through the lack of warmth. Strategically trickin' the cold by not tryin' to stay warm. Welcoming the chill, coat unzipped picking out the finer points. So it admits defeat and regards 'em as natural, like snow. The thick soft street light makes the snow slightly luminous. Givin' 'er a naturally beautiful glow that comforts 'em.
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Gethsemane - Berenerchamion's Ink Well (Nocturne)
http://varo-borja.livejournal.com/3332.html
Berenerchamions Ink Well (Nocturne). Mueren ya las ilusiones del ayer. Tears of blood tear. The mantle of the hours. Spent in limbo silver. Sadducees linger in the. Temple of Diana savoring. My pain punish me. Like a saint sacramental wine. Drowns the soul’s vicarious. Virtue is foreign to the blind. Deaf and dead bones piled. On the cooling deathdark sands. In the pale glimmer of twilight. Dead Sea alive with the torches. Of my tormentors and the succulent. Somnolence of my companions drives.
