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#fungshoe
ex0skeletal-undead · 4 months ago
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How do you keep your bones strong?
By consuming other bones. No I won't elaborate.
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fungshoe · 5 months ago
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I will not surrender.
I will not bend nor break.
I've already been broken, I have seen the dark swallow the light.
I've heard deaths gentle whisper, asking me to come with her.
But I can always die tomorrow, I will not bend.
I've felt the crushing weight put me on my knees, I will not break.
I've prayed unheard prayers, spoken to those who did not care, I will not surrender.
In my darkest times, battered, bloodied, cut and bruised. I still hear deaths gentle call, I will not bend.
Where love once bloomed, it is now shrouded in stormy gloom, but I can always die tomorrow.
I will not bend nor break.
I will not surrender.
By fungshoe.
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fungshoe · 5 months ago
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Widow by fungshoe.
Finished this over a few days.
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fungshoe · 6 months ago
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Made this for a special friend, thought I'd share it here too. Materials are wire and blutack. The sunflowers and the rose. By fungshoe.
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fungshoe · 23 days ago
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1 can count 2 3
My mother taught me how to count to three, it was the first thing I learnt from her. We would go into the closet, sometimes under the bed. She'd place her hand over my mouth and whisper to me, "one two three".
I knew it was our time to count when the door creaked open and my father would stumble in, a drunken rage smashing things along his path down the corridor. My mother would grab my hand tightly and pull me into the closest, "a deep breath, one." Plates left on the table with bits of crust on them from the butter and bread we had, smashed against the walls, "two." A growl of anger echoed throughout the house, heavy footsteps thundered towards us, "three." Silence, utter silence only a shadow crept through under the closet door. He'd open it and drag my mother out by her hair, I'd sit still my eyes closed and remember what she taught me.
This would happen most nights, she'd have a different bruise or cut on her face. She looks at me with a smile and says, "honey, do you remember how to count to three?" And it was the saddest smile I've ever seen.
The door creakes open and in his large frame, filled with whiskey and rage. Tossed furniture around and shattered glass all while my mother and I counted, quietly under the bed. The floorboards would squeak as he paced around the room with heavy breath, he'd find us as he always did. I'd hear my mother whimper as he'd beat her, then the whimpering stopped and the crying.
The silence filled the room, a silence I've never heard before. I peaked from under the bed to see my mother there, lying face down in a red puddle. Lying there not crying anymore, I try to get closer to her but his hands dyed in red grabbed and pulled me out. I see my fathers eyes, eyes full of rage and sorrow. He tosses me onto the bed, his red hands wrapped around my neck gripped tight. I struggle to breathe but remember what my mother told me, I close my eyes. Look mummy I can count just like you taught me, 1. 2.....3.
Written by fungshoe.
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fungshoe · 6 months ago
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Anguish by fungshoe.
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fungshoe · 5 months ago
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"By the gods Cindera was a tactical mess, it should've been an easy win but we underestimated our enemy. I was riding in the ninth mounted brigade, we were awaiting on a slope and the tenth was across the other side. It was supposed to be a basic pincer manoeuvre then have the infantry march in, overwhelm and destroy.
We were waiting for the signal, our steeds breathing heavily, we raised our lances signalling we were ready. We first saw the vanguard charge in, immediately they were cutting their way through like a trout swimming through a stream. They're a tough unit, then the flag flew signalling us to ride in, galloping at full speed down the slope. The horses grunted and neighed as we spurred them on, our lances positioned forward as we were closing in on the flank. We could hear the battering of swords and axes against shields, the vanguard screaming like wild beasts drowned out the hooves thudding against the earth.
Suddenly we were shrouded in arrows, it was almost like a heavy rain hammering down. All around me the horses crashed into the dirt, the riders screamed in pain being pinned under their steeds, being thrown into the air, getting pierced by arrows. One managed to stick into my leg, damn near hit the bone and my horse was wheezing something horrid, only six of us were still upright. We turned and rode away, no way we could've successfully breached the flank, it was a bloody affair, I've never heard a horses breath leave it's lungs through holes in its chest. I'll never forget that sound.
The tenth faired no better, they were toppling over those who were hammered down by arrows. Bar maiden, another round!
Say what you will about the Etharians, they're some of the best archers, I've never witnessed such accuracy. I didn't see much after we fell back, the chiurgeon removed the arrow and patched me up best he could. Laying there it was almost as if I never left the battlefield, the screaming, wailing, young men being cut open and stitched back up, the clanging of pans filled with blood, spilled onto the ground. I can never mount up again, but I'm more fortunate than those I saw that day in the chiurgeons tent.
Another round? Bar maiden, another round please!
Though later on I heard something troubling over the painful screams. Our commander was berating the sargent of the vanguard, blaming everything on their failing to hold out. Insult after insult and threats of trials, transfer to a worse unit, all I could manage to hear was him yelling. The sargent never uttered a word, I don't know why our commander took it on his unit, we failed and so did the infantry. I'm speaking out of turn for saying this, but I think our commander knew how he blundered this up, and the consequence that'd follow. So he needed to pin it on someone else. Who better than those who have a low life expectancy?
After we withdrew, there were rumours hovering around like a hummingbird. 'they abandoned the army' 'they went over to the enemy', 'the commander is in such a rage he'd kill you if you look at him'. I don't know what was to be believed but I do know, if you break your oath, nothing will stop the council from sending a Huntsman after you."
The rider. A monologue by fungshoe.
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fungshoe · 5 months ago
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Under the shallows.
Take me down to the river, lay me down under the shallows, wash my body clean.
Hold me under let the water take my breath, baptise my soul.
Oh lay me down, lay me down, lay me down.
There's a peace I find in my mind, under the shallows.
Wash it all away, take it down stream let it clean my sins away.
Oh lay me down, lay me down, lay me down.
Hold me under the water, there's a silence I've found below, let it fill my mind. Take me down to the river, hold me down under the shallows, take my breath away.
Oh hold me down, hold me down, hold me down.
Hold, oh hold me under, let the waves crash over me like a rolling thunder.
Lay me down, under the shallows.
Hold me under, wash my body clean.
By fungshoe.
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fungshoe · 3 months ago
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The ghoul.
I look in the mirror and see a reflection of someone I don't recognise.
I age more and more becoming an empty husk, all the good in me is just a distant memory.
All I've done weighs on me, what have I become. Why does this ghoulish creature stare back at me.
I shuffle back and forth through the night, till the mornings light.
I move like the damned do, broken and weary. A shut in, the world doesn't need to see the ghoul that stares back at me.
I speak but don't know who's voice this is, I don't recognise it. I crack a smile just to see if it resembles someone I used to be, this vile creature smiles back at me.
I shiver within my frame, the shaking hands, the sunken eyes, rotting skin, silent screams in the night.
The emptiness inside echoes about a painful howl, the creaking in my bones mimic the floorboards. The bile coursing through my veins poison me within, drops hit the floor from un-healed wounds.
Oh vile creature, leave me be, don't stare back at me. I wish I didn't have your company.
Vile, disgusting, putrid ghoul. I wish, wish you weren't me.
By fungshoe.
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fungshoe · 7 months ago
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I did not die, by fungshoe.
Do not stand at my grave and cry. I did not die.
My body may lay there, but I'm not.
I am the gentle breeze that sways the willow tree, the calming stream passing through the reeds.
I'm the early light and the starry night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry. I am not there.
I'm being fitted for wings, one black of leather one white of feather, to take my final flight.
Do not weep for me, I've gone gently into the soft quiet night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I did not die.
I did not die.
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fungshoe · 6 months ago
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Sun Tzu may have written about the art of war, but an easier way to win a fight is to beat someone smaller and weaker, like that toddler in the park that looked at you funny, or a snail that's taking too long to cross the path or even an already unconscious person who lost a previous fight. Be the incorrigible moth, wisdom by fungshoe.
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fungshoe · 4 months ago
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My rose.
There's a black rose inside me, it wants to grow but I won't let it.
I keep a brightness about me when I'm around those at the bar, to the lady I buy my prescription from, to the news vendor on the corner.
But when I'm alone, the black rose takes root when I water it with tears, but I won't let it grow. I drown it in whiskey and smother it in cigar smoke.
It hides in the dark and grows a little more every night, but I won't let it bloom. Sometimes I can feel its velvet touch, but I'm too tough for its thorns.
Was I wrong? Did all my drink and smoke make it bloom, a velvet black rose born in sorrows darkness. I won't let its thorns hook me down.
Those at the bar, the lady and the news vendor, won't ever see its blossomed velvet petals. I do though.
I feel its sharp thorns dig in me, but I won't be held down.
I won't let it.
By fungshoe.
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fungshoe · 7 months ago
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Tin man. By fungshoe
I'm rusted from the pain, an iron chest encases this ol' beating heart.
Can you teach me to love like humans do?
I've wandered to the highest peaks and down to the darkest valleys, haven't found one yet to tell me what love means.
Can you teach me to love like humans do?
The gears keep on turning but I'm having trouble learnin, what does it mean when a heavy heart's bleedin?
I want someone to tell me, answer if you can.
Can you teach me to love like humans do?
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fungshoe · 5 months ago
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I need medicine. By fungshoe.
Well the doctor said it's inside my skull and infecting my soul. Told me "take these happy pills and you'll start to feel."
Started when I was young before I could walk or run, how's a little pill going to get me up from the bottom of this hill? They say it's better this way, to cleanse the poison in my veins.
So medicate my brain, cause if it still hurts I might as well be underneath the dirt.
I've been searching for a friend, someone to tell me "this doesn't have to be the end. You can still make it up that hill." I'll take my happy pills and pray they'll make me feel.
It's so hard to be alone when sorrow is down in your bones, when there's a weight in your soul.
So medicate my brain, cause if it still hurts I might as well be underneath the dirt.
I lied to my family, said "it's nothing crazy. I'm just a little sick but this pill's gonna kick it." They wouldn't understand, only make demands. So it's better if I say that I'm happy.
I don't think it worked, so the doctor said "we'll up the dose and hope." Well if I have nothing, what do I have to lose. They say it's better this way, even if you're numb throughout the day.
I can't hear the birds sing, I can feel a sting I think it's the medicine. They say it's the price you have to pay, just to live another day. I think it's no better this way.
So medicate, medicate my brain, cause it still hurts so I might as well be underneath the dirt.
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fungshoe · 6 months ago
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WARNING. If domestic violence upsets you please don't continue reading, this poem is about a victim in an abusive relationship.
I'll be here by fungshoe.
I'll wait right here, until the morning comes. I'll be here.
I know how it goes, I push too far and wonder why you go.
Leaving me here in the floor staring at the ceiling alone with this feeling, been trying to the meaning to why your heat isn't beating.
I know I'm in pieces but you can ease it, I'll take the hits if it means you get release from it.
I'll count the stars until you feel like coming back, you push and shove but that's how you show love.
You sound like an angel until it all turns into screams, then I die a little inside trembling, what does it all fuckin mean.
But I'll wait right here, even if the warning signs are clear. I'll be here.
I know it ain't perfect but I love you enough that it's worth it.
I'll take the beating cause this heart isn't fleeing. I'll say I fell out of place, when asked "what happened to your face?" Cause they don't know that's just how you show your love.
We fit like a glove even when you stand above, with your fists clenched, this heat beats in pace.
I'll wait right here, until the morning comes. I'll be here.
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fungshoe · 7 months ago
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The real life Dracula. By fungshoe.
There's one man who went down in history as the most cruel for the atrocities he committed, his actions inspired rumours that created one of the most popular and well known characters of modern history. This is the story of Vlad the third, better known Vlad the impaler or Vlad Dracula.
Born around 1428 in Transylvania, now in modern day Romania. He was the second of four brothers, born into nobility of Vlad the second Dracul, derived from the word Draco which is Latin for dragon. Which he earned after joining the order of the dragon created by Holy Roman Emperor Sigismund for defence of Christan Europe against the expanding Ottoman Empire. Vlad moved to tragoviste Wallachia in 1436 when his father assumed leadership of Wallachian principality.
In 1442 Vlad and his younger brother were sent to the Ottoman court of Sultan Murad the second as collateral to ensure their fathers loyalty to the Ottoman Empire during the war with Hungary. During thier time there, they were tutored in science, arts, and philosophy, and the arts of war. While his brother adjusted to living with the Ottomans, Vlad would often be whipped for his insubordination. He would develop a hatred of the Ottomans and his brother because of this, this is also where he'd learn horrifying interrogation tactics. Vlad returned in 1448 having been informed his father and older brother were assassinated by boyars (nobles) the year before.
He then began a series of campaigns to regain his father's seat, even against his younger brother who was supported by the Ottoman Sultan. His victory was brief in 1448 only lasting two months before being disposed, after eight long years of struggling he once again claimed his father's seat. This is when his reign of blood and horror began, he'd impale his enemies both domestic and foreign on stakes sticking out of the ground. It's believed the method used was by inserting the sharpened stake anally until it protruded out through the mouth or shoulder of the victim all while they were still alive, sometimes the stake would be lubricated with animal fat. He quickly gained a reputation for this and the name Vlad Tepes (the empaler). Many innocent people met the same fate. In the city of Brasov, Saxons took a Wallachian merchants steel without payment, enraged by the crime against his people Vlad rounded up every merchant he could find from Brasov, stealing thier possessions and impaling them.
Yet this didn't quench his thirst for vengeance, he rooted out every Transylvanian boy he could find out of Wallachia. Gathering them to be empaled or burned at the stake, a Transylvanian warlord called Dan the third, desperate to stop this madness invaded Wallachia but was defeated and met the same fate. Afterwards Vlad invaded Transylvania sacking the city of Brasov, all the men, women and even children were impaled.
In 1462 he retreaed from a battle during the Ottoman invasion. The Turks had made it as far as his capital of Targoviste, but when they arrived, they found thousands of people impaled on pikes throughout the city, the forest of the impaled contained more twenty thousand. This deterred the Ottoman forces pursuing him, in the same year he escaped Ottoman capture only to be intercepted by Hungarian forces and imprisoned by Matthias the first of Hungary for a decade. In 1476 Vlad Tepes regained his seat with bloodshed and continued his slaughter until he was killed in battle that same year.
In Romania he is considered a hero for keeping the Ottoman Empire at bay and that his actions were justified. This was the story of Vlad Tepes, the real life Dracula.
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fungshoe · 7 months ago
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The whistle, by fungshoe.
My boots are filled with mud and my coat is tattered.
My rifle is old and rusted.
The trench walls are decayed and the men are all but ready.
The whistle blows and forward, we go.
Into the mud and over the wire, we go.
Machine guns fire and the men fall, torn to shreds. Back, we go.
A new day dawns after a night of man made thunder.
We few who remain prepare, the whistle blows and once more, we go.
The bullets fly and ground is soaked in red, screams bellow from those not dead.
The whistle blows.
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