Daily Archives: April 11, 2014

Satara Nill

Born: October 1st, 1976 Hair: Brown Eyes: Brown

Born: October 1st, 1976
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Brown

Superbia (Pride)

Satara Nill just couldn’t sit still

as she saw Rich Christopher instill

loyalty among the remaining Boy’s toys.

To watch one of her kind destroy

the fragile balance that existed

between her people that resisted

selling out their souls to live among

the persecutors who had drug

their ancestors through living hell,

exploitation, and degradation of self.

That balance of us against them

the ones that split the One Race into realms

that marked her people with a branding

that disintegrated communities with abandon

and turned us against us, in the name of scraps

tossed to us by those who are never strapped.

How could that traitor Rich see the Good in that?

My Lady of Truth, the Lost Child supports me

in my desire to crush all traitors who refuse to see

that our people are on our own and no one will be

our savior, not even that Boy of the disease

of hope that stunts our descent into chaos

while snake charmers continue to play us

the tune of invisible riches and ill equipped tools

that continue to block our progress from being fools

like Rich that licks the master’s hand like domesticated

bitch that he is, loving  those tales of the fabricated.

Hope is a four letter word for taking it in the ass

and begging for seconds in the name of a class

act of a species that is a culture of self laceration

and the illusion of social touch that is really masturbation.

How can that jerk off Rich see the Good in that?

My fellow Seven, they aren’t my family

they serve a demon who lives for insanity.

But I’m the wolf among this wretched flock

who uses the Beast and its crew as pawns in my plot

To free us all from the separation anxiety

that encourages us to sodomize society

and ream the Great Family a deep hole

where love should’ve been but only the souls

of dysfunction who can’t maintain peace

because our breeds are too different to release

judgments and  hates and reinstate a place

where I can love me without awareness of my face…

Why can’t that bastard Rich be aware of his race?

Categories: Satara Nill, The Piersdale 14 | Leave a comment

Robin Bills

Born: January 18th, 1976 Hair: Dirty Blonde Eyes: Blue

Born: January 18th, 1976
Hair: Dirty Blonde
Eyes: Blue

Magnitas (Envy)

With three of the Boy’s Seven behind bars,

The Lost One was in euphoria and seeing stars.

His soldiers of fortune allowed him the advantage

to take the fight to Light even better than he planned

and proceeded to organize a blitz on the remains

of the Hopeful Children. He told Robin to stay

play jailer to the captured swans shacked in a cell

comprised of a dilapidated store on the corner of a hell

better known as the district that time forgot by the old

who lived their whole life in a town that’s now sold

out its community to the will of the Anti-Matter

and his Deadly Seven. Robin watched on at his prey

in frustration of a life born into addiction and rape.

Forcing tears away at the memory of a sister

who was raped and used drugs to cover blisters

of emotional abandon and stunted self-esteem,

Robin wondered what kind of force denies the dream

of a young woman by way of brutality and curse her

to walk among those who violation will never occur

and see their untainted smiles and relative bliss.

With this thought, he wanted nothing more to piss

in the faces of the children of the Dying Light

and release the disease of tragedy and blight

the world with his sister’s existence tenfold.

For him that is justice in its ultimate mold.

Domingo, Patricia and James could only guess

at what was in Robin’s eyes but knew the rest

of their comrades would come, but it would be nice,

if the rescue could come before they paid a price…

But as just as Robin was about to relive himself,

he heard his fellow demon Lawanda give out a yelp.

He rushed from his duty to see what’s the commotion,

unable to realize the Boy had just put his plan in motion…

Categories: Robin Bills, The Piersdale 14 | Leave a comment

Stacy Childs

Born: March 19th, 1976 Hair: Brown  Eyes: Brown

Born: March 19th, 1976
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Brown

Iracundia (Wrath)

This raging raven, of a namesake coincidentally

similar to the Dark of a Beast, burned to break

the face of her eternal antagonist, Domingo.

Her twisted psyche, like that of the plastic flamingo

she snapped the neck of, on her way wicked

walk towards the Dominican’s Republic ticked

and shattered along the streets of Piersdale

broken by hopes and loves that were impaled

by a sense of suffering at the hands of a political

promise that betrayed Stacy’s desire for evolutional

human transcendence, but all she saw was Dark

and Ms Childs allegiance to the Boy was parked

in lot of delusions and decadent dances measured

in gutted angels burnt, charred and weathered.

Stacy dashed into Santo Domingo’s place

saw the little twit and expected to give chase

but in his eyes, all she saw was serenity and peace.

Her arrival stirred nothing in him and her anger increased!

“Get up and fear me, bitch!” she razed at Santo,

“Taste my retribution and violent dialogue, moral whore!”

 Dom looked at Dame Dervish with sympathy and declared,

“Well, Ms Overdramatic speaking person with a flare

for unneeded cursing  and lack of knocking skills,

I prefer not the taste of hate that takes away my will

to measure life with the right amount of perspective

and my patience will overtake your murderous directive

in time. But understand this: your weak ass victory this time

will in the future, wilt away like your anger and the crimes

you commit in the name of your hallucinogenic warlord

will tear into your spirit in regret and ask to fall upon the sword

you’ll forge in the melancholy mills of man’s transgression.”

Sadly, this speech did not stop Stacy’s rising aggression

as she proceeded to tear into Mr. Tom with her fists

and his deference of defense wore out her wrists

as she screamed in…

Dragging the beaten angel to her master’s lair,

the frustrated female’s focus on society’s despair

invoked a tinge of sympathy towards the Dominican.

How hard must it be to have that level of patience

in a world of inconsistency where justice is facile

and dispersed to a Race whose need for something tactile

is built upon faiths, values, and ideas drowning the humans

to sway along  to a choir of lies that the people demand

be upholded lest the stink of reality lingers in the open

destroying the faithful and achieving the goal of the Seven.

Second thoughts infiltrated her corrupted flesh tickling

her fancy thoughts of idealism for a second tricking

her into dropping her captive for a prolonged moment

but the residue of disappointment reinstated the component

that allowed her to carry on in…

…but the doubt WAS still there…

Categories: Stacy Childs, The Piersdale 14 | Leave a comment

Brian Oliver

Born: November 14th, 1976 Hair: Brown Eyes: Brown

Born: November 14th, 1976
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Brown

Desidia (Sloth)

After scoring their first against the Dying Light

The Lost Child and his Seven Decadent Tykes

wanted to celebrate in their hard on for Chaos

but had to leave one behind to watch prisoner Kwan

and the crew voted on that  flacking slacker Brian Oliver

the type so mother sucking lazy to be considered follower

for that title took too much for even him to live up to.

Lady Lost grabbed the lobotomized lay about by the balls

and warned that lazy ass his failure would meet its claws

and rip the anti productive punk into human venison

 and devour him sending to the hell of eternal production.

The slouching slickster mustered enough energy to wake

and give what little attention he could muster to make

to ensure that James Kwan’s escape can’t be his mistake!

Dying Light Teammates extraordinaires

Patty Walle and Domingo Tom affaires

in the breakout of James Kwan at the lair

of The Dark began when they stared

at the sluggish slacker before the pair.

Patty, offended by Oliver’s waste of time

and lack of direction to her was a crime

against humanity and found it insanity

but Domingo warned against her vanity

and preached that deliberate pacing  wins races

but to her, against the Sloth, she had all the aces

and with trademarked assertion she dove

unaware she was walking into a subversive flow.

Brian with an economy of movement reached

for his cursed harmonica blew into it a speech

the was a composition of confusion that hypnotized

Ms Walle to stall and with her enthralled,

proceeded to give to the perpetual mover shaker

a lesson about the nature of humans and their maker.

Domingo realized that reinforcements were needed

and the Dark forces skills were to be defeated

only by power in number and community

and they could swallow division but not unity.

Domingo ran but he would be back…

Brian spoke to his nemesis in measured mockery

“Witch, let me tell me about what I think is crockery

about your misguided beliefs about the value of time.

My master showed me repeatedly the limits of your Boy

and his crusade for the destruction of the spiritual void

that my wild leader worked hard to maintain save us

from a life of meaningless actions that we fuss

will provide Earth fertility and a sense of accomplishment.

I look around and see morons trying to give their best

to prove in their minds this is all going somewhere

when all I see is them running from a sense of despair

that’s deep in mind, body and soul of the collective.

To keep the mind busy is to run from the glaring truth

that to not lift a finger is equal to fruitful works

they both mean nothing but without the berth,

to be lazy ensures less chance of pain and hurt

that comes with striving for something of worth

that isn’t promised and you bust your ass off

while getting by a dream, no, a lie tossed

to the masses of happiness in a constructed bubble

of two faced backstabbing legions of Man, troubled

by conscience and exploitation. I love you too much

to compete against you, so I decided to deride such

competition and join the true Master to release us all

of this incestuous conflict that will lead to our fall

and kill the Boy who lied to my blindsided race

that ignored unity to be trapped in perpetual disgrace…”

In the recesses of her mind, the unturned Patty Walle

hoped that her comrades came to save them soon.

Cause she could not believe this bum had the gall

to vomit this backwards logic as mankind’s boon…

“Oh. My. God. Shut. The. Hell…UP!”

Categories: Brian Oliver, The Piersdale 14 | Leave a comment

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