Biography of Aven Black
I am a Goth. There is no visible doubt about that.
Yet what others may see or hear in my words are completely up to them.
I can construct or destroy you. Or neither. This would be solely your responsibility. It is in these terms that I think and write. See destruction and tears and you'll find them. See beauty and empathy, and you'll find that aswell.
I have been writing amateurly since 2001. It started as a tool for me for escapism. Soon I grew fond of writing short stories and working on ideas for novels aswell.
Yet throughout all my unfinished projects, the only thing that has remained constantly flowing is my appreciation for beautiful compositions of words. This seems to come to me through poetry the easiest.
I like dark and emotion-driven writing. Hand-held, first person experiences. Often when a poem is in the third person of mine, it seems to be more opinion-based. Yet my opinion is my own, and I never expect others to respect it for it's opinion. The thing is, I see a poem the same way I see a photograph. Some moments in life you choose to like, others you don't.
I don't have much to say about the origins of my writing. They come from very different places in very different times of my own life. But I will say this: everything in life -I have noticed- starts with an idea; the rest is a domino effect of choices.
Aven Black Poems
Intro (Excerpt From 'Untitled')
This rival of Mindspace, Perception, and Fate
The Doll Of Bathory Baker
There was a forced solemness among the mourners at the tiny grave. Thick clouds drew grey glazes in fear of drying the tears of those who dared to weep. They all weeped for her sake... Little Bathory Baker. The sole daughter of the towns only hat-maker. She grew no more past ten, yet a dire spirit lurked within her. She was unable to cry that day, little Bathory Baker. Standing at her mothers ill-fed side she stared at the tiny grave too.
And so it is that From whence the dusk of slumber Came, arose the palest thunder In their eyes, once
It Was In This Moonlight...
It was in this moonlight, Tinted glass drops like starlight Brought my attention to flight, One night
Toady's Wretched Captivity
I awoke again this day With no motion in my heart With strings of misfortune plucking The intstrument of time were apart.
The Random Reconstruction Of The Mindswe...
We hope to god that in this delicate romance of those of us without pockets in our pants,
Oh how depraved this chamber In which such restless maidens weep Harbors such thorny acres Leaning t’wards the moon
You know I stay in a little Broken place I call home I know it ain’t very much But it’s a place of my own
Two days in the valley With a razorblade smile draws on a dark little foetus With aluminum style.
It ain’t over yet my son This war has just begun Won’t you turn on the light so I can read The latest on these eastern sinful deeds
Martyr Man And Gimp Girl
Forever In Leather And a whip-swing cut They never see her face
Lament For Eldrian Forests
As the wolf cries and the moon waxes, I shed a tear for humanity, As the air bleeds and the sun blackens, I shed a tear for myself.
I, The Beast
I, the beast, that cry at the heart of a world -in disdain That so solemnly and plainly doth dwell in pain: To hurt one so in one’s core - Where Love doth dwell evermore,
Empires Of Your Absence
I wish for the sparkling pires about you To enfold me as much as the black empires of nights without you
Martyr Man And Gimp Girl
And a whip-swing cut
They never see her face
They hear a high-heel heel strut
Is the ultimate Seduction