Virtue cries – work in progress

You all know my love for The Marquis de Sade or, rather, studying his life. Every now and then I like to work on a creative piece. This is a piece I was working on last year, and just completely forgot about. I was to submit it for Blue Fringe Arts, but didn’t finish it in time.

Since completing my honours dissertation: “Sade and the death of the virtuous woman: The construction of virtue in Justine“, I have been contemplating undergoing a PhD. I know I want to focus on Sade, once again, the problem is that I cannot decide on whether to write another dissertation, or do a creative piece instead.

Maybe you can help me decide?

Want to read more of my works on the Marquis de Sade?
Read the short story, Letter to the Marquise
Read the poem, My name is beauty


Stolen away at just fourteen years
Reduced to nothing and left in tears
With chastity cherished, her fate is sealed

Her virtue cries and weakens to vice
For her conviction, it is her price.
Defying chaos, defying Nature
Justine soon falls, poor innocent creature.
Unwelcome, this is not her own world
She lies lost, lonely little girl.
But she falls to her own grotesque sin
of growing pride, her vain delight in
purity fair, chastity true
They are taken; as blood from rue

Alas! we find her faith runs deeper
Even when placed with soulless preachers

Her searing flesh beneath the brand
And bones cracking under their hand.

© 2016

So lost (part 4) – a minuscule musings series

The following is a part of a ‘minuscule musings’ series. It’s more like a work in progress for a larger piece, a short story. I aim to add to it each week, and hopefully something fluid will come of it!

Read part one
Read part two
Read part three


Betrothed to what was stolen from her.
And when once removed of it, removed from her was her use for me.

And yet, as my mind wandered, as I was at war with myself, I could not convince myself of anything. Caught by conviction, I forced myself to move on as if she never existed. Removed her from my memory, just as the spell she had over me.

And not from me, she’ll ever again feel.

© 2016

So lost (part 3) – a minuscule musings series

The following is a part of a ‘minuscule musings’ series. It’s more like a work in progress for a larger piece, a short story. I aim to add to it each week, and hopefully something fluid will come of it!

Read part one here
Read part two here


And not for me, she’ll ever feel.

And tainted of her blood, like a spell, I have forgotten love. I forbade myself her, from loving her. Forever as a spectre withing my mind. My love for her never returned. But never forgotten, the horror of her losing herself. Her happiness, herself, she was robbed of those things when she chose to live life in mourning.

© 2016

So lost (part 2) – a minuscule musings series

The following is a part of a ‘minuscule musings’ series. It’s more like a work in progress for a larger piece, a short story. I aim to add to it each week, and hopefully something fluid will come of it!

Read part one here


Crestfallen, she falls and I do nothing. She has driven herself to this. There is nothing I can do. And though I love her, I cannot.

I have seen the monster within, the one incapable, unwilling, to surrender to happiness and love. And though my hands are washed of her blood, the torrents stain.

Stains which last, scoring the flesh. Never to be free of her.

© 2016

So lost – a minuscule musings series

The following is a part of a ‘minuscule musings’ series. It’s more like a work in progress for a larger piece, a short story. I aim to add to it each week, and hopefully something fluid will come of it!

Read part two here


So lost, she’s gone to me. Gone from me. And though I have shown her what love is, what it means to feel love, she doesn’t see it, she doesn’t feel it. Not from me. And though she has betrayed me, manipulated my heart into feeding her delusions, I cannot break the spell over me. I love her and she’ll never return it.

© 2016

She speaks to angels

This is a work in progress.


She:
Breaking through these hardships
though I’d never looked up from the roses
when the darkness reached the silence
and the sorrow in his eyes

I was lost
and lonely
and so cold in there
Forgotten beneath the stars
I took all of his love
And fought it through the night

Embracing all of the madness
So lost was my mind…
Lost
so lost
inside

He:
She speaks to angels
Burns and decays
And flies away…
From her heart
in which sombrous daemons dwell
tearing me from her

© 2016

My name is beauty

The Marquis de Sade has been a small obsession of mine for quite some time. While I have been working on an historical novel regarding the French writer, I have also been writing little musings. After reading through many of his letters, I have been trying to get a feel of his voice.

Want to read more of my works on the Marquis de Sade?
Read the short story, Letter to the Marquise


My name is beauty.
Cries of ecstasy haunt
the lips of those
who speak my name,
The Marquis de Sade.

© 2012