TheLabyrinthGod

Dero, the inarguably steamy and talented lead man, was having a crisis. Of course, he had chosen very beautiful scenery to have his crisis, having ridden on his Harley Fatboy to the outskirts of the outskirts of town, parked his prized motorcycle and had plopped down on the grass, helmet and jacket settled neatly next to him as he anguished. The new album had come to a standstill. Crap and Flux were unable to work because Dero had something terrible happen to him, something that impaired his creativity, something that threatened the fate of OOMPH! entirely. He had terrible, terrible writer's block. For some reason, after the last album -

Drifting from a lazy sky A lone white feather stays its course Harkening to those that die With a lack of all remorse A figure standing so alone Gazing down at those who fall Watching as they all lie prone And laughing as he sees it all A being for who time does stand still As ageless as the Earth itself This strong desire that seems to fill All the soul that he has left "Mein Herr" his servants  know him as And "Contra Mundi" by the rest A Crusnik as sweet fate would have Nothing more and nothing less With a smile on his face He calmly lifts his pure white hand Staring down at those disgraced He closes it and bri

Dhampir Integral stared at herself in her cracked bathroom mirror for several minutes, lost in thought as she studied her eyes and the very stark lines of stress gathering between her brows.  She leaned against the sink, her teeth grinding as a fresh wave of nausea came upon her.  She turned quickly, throwing the lid and seat of her toilet up before hitting her knees and retching once again into the porcelain bowl.  Little resulted outside of dry heaving considering she'd already emptied the contents of her stomach twice within the hour.  When it seemed to be over she pushed herself up again, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before