The Undiscovered Evidence

The ship had no name. But was it unnamed? The crew did not speak. But were they voiceless? If someone would’ve seen it in water, it must have been too late to know the mysteries behind the scene, but would it have been too late to save them?

I read all the articles written about the devastating incident that had happened just two days ago. A cruise travelling to Puerto Rico disappeared. But just after an hour when the waters were searched, no remains of the ship had been found. So the cruise didn’t just disappear. It vanished. As if concealed under a cloaking spell. A mysterious enchantment. But all that I let myself wonder was that if the emergency call for help to save themselves was made in that fraction of a minute before they could drown and knew were in danger, why was the investigation made after an hour? After all, the crew captain only had to push four buttons and dial a missed call at the least.

It was when my coffee pot got drained of liquid that I looked up to the black-framed metal clock. It was some three hours past midnight. Having read every article ever written and all available database of the investigations, I knew one thing for sure – it was all false. It had too many loopholes to be true and I wanted to know the real truth, no matter how harsh, at any cost. The truth which comes from investigating the so-called truth and not accepting it under all circumstances. It’s all under the government after all. You never know what has actually happened. We live in a world where even an accident could be a setup, staged just perfectly enough with the accurate props and stage setting. I knew there was only one thing I could do if I wanted to unveil the masks and find the matter behind the curtains. I spent the remaining energy of the coffee I had finished in gearing up for my impromptu voyage tomorrow.

My ship had been travelling for quite a while. My phone still had a connection. I was going through my list of possible theories when all of a sudden my phone lost network. I checked the map. I was just about to reach Puerto Rico. If the truth was in sight, it was very simple. It was just the waters and a shore in sight. But who knew I was to enter what future generations would call “The Bermuda Triangle”?

I sailed the ship towards the shore and saw a vague vision of an abandoned ship and its crew. I couldn’t see the name of the ship. I reached the shore.
They were all still alive.

Five years of professional experience and twenty-six of existential experience had prepared me to deal with shock quite well. I went up to one of the crew members for inquiry. I wanted to get every minuscule detail.
“Could you please help me with the reality of the incident? I am Detective Liza Richards, and I am just here to know what actually happened at the shores of Puerto Rico two days ago.”
“You want the truth?” asked a pearly-eyed man in a husky voice.
“Yes”, I mumbled.
They all roared in laughter. Never in my career had I come across somebody who found the idea of finding the sooth amusing.
“You’re the perfect example for irony. You come to seek the truth and converse with your suspects like they’re humans. Tell me, do you even ask them if they want to be recorded on the camera you’ve hidden in your cloth?”
I was startled, and if I would’ve allowed myself, scared.
“I think it would be better if we showed you the ‘truth’ instead”.
The last thing I remember was his husky voice turning into that of a beast and his teeth turning into fangs. He sprang upon me as he bit my neck. I wailed in pain. Was this a human or an animal? Or neither? My question was answered when I could see my blood trickling down to my wrist from my shoulders like a stream of a broken heart, with my heart rate slowly reducing and a suffocation enveloping me like an innocent prisoner.
He was a monster.
The truth rotted with the private investigator but there was no body found. But Liza’s story didn’t end as a mysterious death on the shores of Puerto Rico,
she became a crew member who never would be counted.
She disappeared, but she didn’t die.
Not really…

Vampire Art | Vampire art, Female vampire, Beautiful dark art


Hey Guys! This is my first try at writing a short story and yes, another vampire fiction. I had written a poem previously based on the same theme i.e. related to vampires, named The Bloodbath of Our Love, do check it out. The ending in this story is that Liza was turned into a vampire by the crew member. Since this is my first time writing a short story, your open and honest feedback would be really appreciated. I would really love to know your thoughts on this one!

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The Bloodbath of Our Love

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Photo Credits – Pinterest

Our silence is more of a distraction than our love,
My longing for you drains the pure blood from my veins,
As I stuff my mouth with
The letters you wrote me,
Trying to quench my thirst
With the dried ink,
But choke on the yellow pages instead.
Want to feel your love through these words,
But your passionate words,
Now feel like venom.

Intoxication.
Suffocated air.
Lacrimal streams,
Flowing red in despair.
Blood boiling.
Blur transition,
From lover to bloodsucking beast,
As the poison,
Consumes every corner of the body you deprive.

Stone-hearted love,
Freezing fingers,
Heightened senses,
A deadly desire.
A vicious vampire under a hood,
Looks above the opaque shadows,
Eyes widening,
I’ve slumbered too much.

Nerves embolden emerald green,
Now I see clearly,
I desire the blood of your body,
Intoxicated by our love.

I pounce on you,
A merciless carnivore,
I suck the sweet nectar,
From your bleeding neck.

Lips luminous red,
An ever-growing hunger,
Satisfied for the time being,
My throat is now not parched anymore,
My thirst for you is quenched.
As I slice your throat and make you bleed,
The way you slit my brain,
Into a deluded madness.

I lick my lips,
Only to fulfill my thirst.
Maybe when I’ll wake up tomorrow,
I will wail my pain into demonic lakes,
But if this little adventure frightens you, my holy love,
You will suffer worse,
For these weren’t your last breaths,
As I’ve condemned you,
To a fate worse than death,
For now you are gonna join,
My human hunting,
Embrace your being,
Of a nocturnal beast,
Thriving on mortal blood.
As we dive into utter insanity,
The deadly kiss,
Of immortality.


‘Ello guys! First of all, this is completely my imagination and doesn’t mean to demean any beliefs. So, this poem is about a human who is driven into such insanity by a toxic lover and misses him so much, that she tries to give herself hope by trying to feel the truth in the words of his handwritten letters by stuffing her mouth with them. However, this lover being toxic, had mixed poison into the ink, which makes her choke on the pages. Technically, she should have died, however the goodness in her heart and her innocence prevents her death and gives her a chance to re-start. She is now reborn a vampire and is rid of the delusion that this lover was truly in love with her. However, she is in transition and has a choice. To trigger vampirism, she must feed and if she doesn’t, she would die a human. She decides to accept immortality and kill the toxic lover to trigger this power. However, deep down she is well aware that simply seeking revenge won’t make her any different than the evil lover. She would be as evil as him. Hence, she gives him a second chance by cursing him with vampirism.

What I intend to portray is that while vampirism is seen as a curse, it is a blessing for some. While the toxic lover gets stuck with guilt, as for her, she finally starts to see clearly.  The aftermath of the poem has three different paths. One, that the lover chooses not to trigger the vampirism out of guilt, other, that the lover chooses to take his brutality to another level by replacing his activity of breaking hearts with removing them out of people, and the last one, though a bit hazy, is that he unknowingly triggers it and spends his eternal life seeking redemption. Either way, what I intend to say is that we always have a choice, and happiness is a choice.

You can either be stuck in the past and not find peace, or accept its pain and not let it define you.

Everyone has their own perspective and belief, and you must always remember that they are unique and your own no matter how unpopular or unaccepted. I speak of vampires as if they do exist. And they do, however the way they’re represented in movies and shows are only for entertainment purposes. I wrote this poem having completed The Originals, and I was so deeply immersed in that thrill, that I had to write this one.

To know about how actually vampires live in real life, read here, which is an interview with a real-life vampire, and this, to know about their lifestyle, and a study of the vampires in New Orleans. 

And also, one more thing that I intend to convey through this poem is that as much great it is to give a person a second chance, it is most essential to give yourself a chance, and to believe that no matter how much painful it is now, no matter how tough this situation is, something good always lies ahead, no matter how far away the distance from it. You just need to give yourself a chance and believe.


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It’s night.

And the cicada bellows a horror tune,
Into the turbidity of thoughts of the chilled night,
That petrifying screech of intense terror.
And its horror,
Provokes the aeons and alerts their nerves,
With an abandoned pain
Of a long-forgotten tale.
And somewhere the oak leaves rustle,
Perhaps to calm the cicada’s call,
Or to soothe an ear bleeding velvet of woes,
Or to ruffle the rough pages inked with distorted handwritings,
Scratch poetry written loosely,
The pages repeatedly falling down,
As if the God’s way of saying “Nah, don’t write any further”.
Somewhere a broken warrior,
Loses a fight,
In the battlefield of life,
And the cicada is now the sound of vanquished hope,
But the wind is the voice of the Almighty,
Encouraging words of hope beckon this warrior,
To make her realise,
Broken she is,
But destroyed she is not.
The pieces though shattered are a part of her,
If binded well,
The battle ends.
And here I stand amidst this thick haze,
This hazy envelope of the mysterious night,
Foamed with the tales of broken souls,
Valiant, yet short of hope.
Eerie for some, comforting to plenty the night does sound,
But to me it’s sound of the ringing death knell,
As I stand up at the window sill,
And gaze up at the distorted moon,
Purposelessness crawling up my torn skin,
Hopeless eyes of archaic stones,
Shot with the hard-hitting lunar light,
The fire of this plight burns more bright,
My vision blurred,
Eyelashes drooping like showered rooftops,
My heart thuds against my chest,
Heavier than the crashed hopes of my past.
And I then see my destination down,
And feel the desire to taste,
The unfathomable joy of death.
Just one step,
And it all ends.
The final destination,
Of my psychotic pain.

I step ahead and fall,
A feeling I’ve never felt before I feel in my final breaths,
Freedom.
I hope you are happy now,
Do thank me for the boon I’ve bestowed upon you.
I thump down on the concrete ground,
My head hitting this pavement,
Has perhaps overpowered the cicada’s call.
My nerves bursting red in wrath,
I have pooled the pavement with demonic tears,
I feel the freedom through my deadened veins,
You.


Hello guys! So I’ve written this one about my perception of the night and what it symbolizes. The poem is grave, I do agree, and I would honestly love to know in the comment section whether my poems are now getting repetitive concerning themes and if yes, do suggest some topics you would like to read. I am planning to make this blog more interactive.😊

Anyway, this poem is about a person who craves her rightful freedom which has been stolen from her and feels the only way to now be free would be death. The ending of the poem, however, can have many views. In fact, this whole poem can have various perceptions of it. What I intend to believe, is that she wishes to be with someone whom she is not free to, and is so driven by that despair and so disturbed with confusion that she believes that it is impossible for her to be free with the one she wants to be, but wants to be free nevertheless. In the end, her despair overpowers the desire for the initially wanted freedom and she only wants to be free of the gloom which has sadly consumed her life, causing her to commit suicide.

Basically, the message I truly intend to convey is sometimes the best thing you can do for someone is let them be free. Give them their time and space. The freedom of choice and belief. Let them be them and love them for it. Of course, misuse of freedom is extremely wrong, but everyone deserves their rightful freedom to not make them feel like a prisoner of birth. Do share your views and perceptions on this one.


Also read: Before You End Your Life – Writing My Heart Out

And, the writing style of writing ‘You’, in the end was learnt by me through Miss Gabriela M.’s works, who is a US university professor and author of three novels and an exceptional poet.

Also, my friend has too started a blog and I was hoping you guys could take out some time to check it out here.

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Prey

Ruthless rage taking over my bruised body,
No self-control, as you have driven me into this rapt insanity,
Every wee fraction of a second,
When I’m lost in your tormentous thoughts,
Your vile face appears,
And dims the brightness in my welled up eyes,
Glistening due to the salty streams,
Regularly trickling down my cheeks.

And all I can think is..
How?
How did I deceive me into thinking your soul was pure,
Capable of loving me and to be relied on in need,
How did I fall for you unaware of where would I reach?
And now I’m aware what your love truly meant,
I trusted you and had faith in you,
And you betrayed me and left me to pay the price,
Now that I’ve reached a dead end.

My soul’s drooping due to the pain you imparted,
Every acrimonious word you gracefully curse,
From your torn lips burns my body into deeper wrath,
And I’m hurt ah, so deep!

Like a thousand needles piercing the peace of my pumping heart,
Enforcing me to bleed out the unbearable affliction of your so-said ‘affection’,
And my everlasting agony doesn’t seem to cease,
As I hallucinate into wild visions,
Believing my scarred soul deserves to be wounded.

You said that you would hate yourself if you ever made me feel bad,
But you don’t have to do that if even if you mistakenly meant it,
And now I am feeling hurt and I request you to not impose any hatred over yourself in all seriousness,
As I’m all ready to hate you without hesitation.

I was the innocent sheep in your pack of ‘easy’ prey,
But now the wild beast within me,
Has paused its temporary sleep,
And opened my eyes,
And ignited my true fire.
I’m on my way,
To fulfil my demonic desire,
For that’s exactly what you deserve.

And beware me,
Don’t you dare think I’m a easy, delicate person so I’ll be your delicacy,
Because I’m coming for you.

My ever-increasing vengeful conscience,
Wants to hurt you like you had,
I want to fiercely feast on your fiery flesh,
And quench my thirst with the finger-licking blood from your heart,
Which I’ll pull out from your hollow chest and rip apart,
Making you lifeless and alone,
Which is how exactly I felt when you did that to me.

But I’ll take my time.
With my eyes I’ll ensnare your limbs and hands and ludicrous fingers,
Which threatened me to be strangled to death and to rot within my grave,

My control won’t be deadly at first, but enticing.
For I’ll seduce you,
And tempt and allure you into irresistible ecstacy,
And when the time comes,
I’ll tear your body apart.

The sickness of your devoid soul will reside in the saturated blood of your treachery,
And I’ll drain every ounce of it.
And pleasure me with the skin,
Which used to hold me close and caress my shoulders,
Now left hanging from the brittle bones of your meek limbs.
As I get highly drunk on your ravishing red wine,
And my soul satisfies the gruesome greed of your fulfilling blood.

As now,
I’ll be the predator, and you’ll be the prey,
And my splenetic heart shall have its deadly desire,
And suffice with the lucid feast of your succulent bones,
And wrap myself in the comfort of your cries begging for help from your bleeding throat.

As I’ll have my cold revenge,
And bleed you to death.
And finish the deadly vice of your love.
Which you bestow upon your herd of sheep,
Veiled with false truths to conceal your true intentions of wild lust.

So,

Wanna play this archaic game of preying madness?

Babe🖤?


So, I wrote this poem inspired from one of Ed Sheeran’s songs named Don’t‘.

Basically, the main themes in this poem on which I tried to emphasize are Revenge and Betrayal. The poem tries to convey the dreadful desire of revenge which many people at times feel like seeking, due to heartless betrayal of someone’s love and trust. Even though I feel it’s better to forgive than seek revenge, but everyone at times feels like tormenting the ones who tormented them, trying to make them pay for their deeds, to reap what they sowed.

The main reason behind taking revenge is to gain satisfaction that the person who hurt you is hurt too the same way. However, in my perspective, taking revenge just indirectly conveys that you need someone to relate with you and support you, and give you a shoulder to cry on. Plus, revenge can easily lead to guilt, because when we feel vengeful, we do tend to not have a limit of the revenge sought, leading to hurting the person more than they deserve.

Also,

If you torture just the person just like they did to you, what will be the difference between you and that betrayer?

Only forgiveness will make you the better person. Otherwise, the person you take revenge against and you are just equals. And more than forgiving the ones who break your trust, one first must learn to forgive yourselves. It’ll make you feel less burdened and lighter. It’s the only true and appropriate key to peace.

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Dust

Your ample words, and the horrifying motives hidden vaguely behind them,
Act like a sieve for my thoughts and emotions,
My every bit of sanity you’re extracting from my brain,
You are making me lose control as I cry out loud to the forlorn universe in which I’m dying.

My ripped soul’s translucent tears,
Evaporating into the empty voids,
Precipitate the hazy atmospheres of my brains,
And it rains.
It pours heavily.
Their stone-hearted cold criticism floods through my conscience with rage,
With every puddle of anguish within absorbing my mind’s peace.

Yes, I’m different.
My soul’s scarred with a million miserable cuts,
Blood streaming out from these suicidal scars,
Red paintings on my parched skin,
And oh! Such an immense bittersweet relief I perceive,
From these habitual portrayals of huge, red masterpieces,
Painted painfully by my blue-green veins.
The veins which bind me to reality,
But I hate this reality,
because it has you.

Scrutinizing every deed of mine,
So unfairly you treat me and drown me in despair,
Hence today I shall free myself of this reality I’m enforced to believe are of my own choices,

You thrived on the thought that you could control me,
Use me,
Betray me,
Torture me.

But now I will finally be free,
For I shall expose the deadened veins of my neck to fresh open air,
Which I breathed in, and urged me to swallow, and not let out,
The blood I produced in every breath taken in this atrocious atmosphere,
But I shan’t allow myself these bloody lumps of guilt to taste anymore,
I will finally now bleed to my death and your profound joy and rest in your grim grave with pleasure.

My freezing body is collapsed in front of your feet,
I’m making you witness eternal peace,
You walked over my identity, my personality, my feelings and mercilessly hurt me,
You unreasonably desired to gain control over me.

So finally now my mortal body is surrendered to you,
I am dead.
Finally devoid.
It’s so easy

So walk over me,
“Bless me” with your chapped feet,
Stamp on my soulless hollow lungs and shoulders,
And make me bleed my heart out.
Puncture my limbs and eyes out of their places,
Tear my scars and bruises apart,
Wound me deeper,
Snap my neck and torment me further.
Grasp your evil dagger and gleefully into my soul thrust.
Fulfill your lust,
Finish me, demolish me, and crumble me to dust.


This poem is to emphasize on how intense a person’s feelings can get on being criticised on every single thing. The people judging them for everything they lack do not realise that they’re hurting them.

It’s important that people realise that nobody can be perfect or be exactly matching the expectations of perfection, and it is not even required to be perfect. We all are unique and have the right to have our own beliefs and the right to choose for ourselves.

We all have a spark inside us, a reason to stay alive and survive. Embrace yourselves. Nobody can do a better version of you than you yourself. You are perfect in your imperfections. Thrive in your inner beauty.

To all those people battling and struggling in all sorts of wars in their lives, you unknowingly inspire millions of hearts and give them hope and courage. So have courage, have hope, and know you’re the best💞

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