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Wicked Rage Addie Claire Morgan Wicked rage lies in wait at the pit of my soul, Boiling, festering, screaming from within. Freedom denied fuels the twisted storm, Until the gleaming outer shell becomes thin. Decades were spent repairing pinholes, Plastering goodness over the pain. Writhing moments burst spheres of anger, Which threaten to expose the insane. Passionate obsessions manipulate my mind, Tranquilizing the incessant chatter. Questions unleashed occupy the space, Where answers wound and shatter. Conscience empowered by inherent beliefs, Unveil the benevolence to survive. Reaching beyond earthbound majesty, Celestial compassions revive.
Black Apple In My Eye Shea Bil'e The black apple in its eye was quite uninviting; Negative starlet vision amongst a colorless mass. The nagging informal euthanasia, A razorblade reminder of familiar circumstance. It was the death certificate rejection letter known all too well. Although black holes make whole what's dissonant, Animal cadavers will walk of their own accord. And reality mocks as if it had a crooked smile; A back to turn, A hand to hold a knife. Anguish is given human faces, To consider otherwise admits insignificance. (Insubstantial are forgotten phrases carved into a vacant mind.) All inspired by the vision of the sickly thing on the reflective surface. Its right-side window to the soul smashed like my own. Despite the man-made parallels being tainted with casual folly, I held the creature close, As if it ensured my next heartbeat.
Untitled Slender beams of radiance enter this darkened prison as I kneel, always silent, always alone, frozen here, waiting. Tortured forms wrought in panes of glass loom as dust dances in the air, forming an image in my mind, rending my darkened soul. Realization dawning on my face. I raise my head, now defying this uncaring light.
untitled what have you done to me? a smothering indistinctness of darkness as memories darken. once we savored paradise, untainted and wide-eyed, but your thirst soured. a dark pool of memory - tears follow rain, follow darkness, love burnt to ashes. in a torrent of bitterness, i reject you.
Night Ritual Around, all around, the shadows gather. My dread grows as the Dark One's touch falls against my naked soul. It crushes me, and darkly my essence drips to the broken ground. In my madness I cry out while Death's shadow surrounds me. Now alone, my blood falls upon uncaring eyes. This is my salvation
I Meant To Hurt You I meant what I said every word. Words of dark painful truth. Words of pain an abucus of mine suffering. So hurtful I meant every word. Words spoken, words that wound. I care not. Words filled with hate a hate so great. MY words did wound so deep did the knife blade slice and enter your putrid flesh. Stinking and rotten. I care not just die! So what if I made the blood flow so proud I am I have the power of black, magick on my side. Give the Devil his sacrifice. With my left hand I bring it. Tears of blood flow but they are not mine, only my victims. I care not rot in Hell! The knife cuts and woumds even deeper, slicing through your stinking rotting flesh. A sword of power I hold. AS your blood turns black into the blood stained earth below. I care not Legon claim your sacrifice I created in your name. So great is this victims everlasting pain. The fires roar the demons dance and howl. You are cursed for eternal damnation. I care not this is your just reward. I plunge my sword deep twist it this way and that laugh at your stupid tears. My reign is terrible but I don't care a master at hate is what I have become. by Dark Gothic Rose
Tale of a Gothic Princess Princess Dominica looked so beautiful All dressed in black With white make-up and dark purple lips She sat on the throne so full of majesty The onlookers were dazzled by her beauty And worshipped the ground she walked upon The King was not well And expected to die soon And the Queen had died long ago So the young princess would soon rule the Kingdom Everyone was impressed with her intelligence and grace She carried out her duties without question or complaint And she would always greet new visitors with a smile Once the audience was over she would return to her rooms In the privacy of her own room she would cut her wrists And let the blood pour into a bowl She would force food down her throat until she could eat no more Then she would go to the lady’s room and be violently sick Underneath all her garments she was painfully thin She felt so much pressure to be beautiful She had many suitors but none that she loved A stranger from abroad arrived one day And stole her heart But he was not a suitable match for a princess A handsome sailor of common stock She pleaded with her father to let her marry But he doggedly refused her request One night she took the blade And slit both her wrists Not a cry for attention But an attempt to take her life Living was a torment to her The expectations too high The rewards lacking in true value Her dead body was found the next morning And all the towns folk mourned her death The beautiful princess had departed this land And headed off above the clouds To find a happier resting place A traditional Gothic funeral was held To celebrate her life Many fine words were said And then her body was buried Under a thousand red roses Her Cousin Isabella was now next in line And took over the royal duties A heavy burden for a fifteen year old to deal with “So many souls are sacrificed on the road to glory” by Demonrobber
Braced It is a slow death the death of soul, but assured- too subtle to see. List the listless near-misses here married to the seashore, sisters of death; go closer, they bite. If their webs carress you are chilled. Each strand soothes a single cell, and each loss in life encompassed is sane only when approached in the distance. Question, or they tell. I am desolate when you are passed; crouch in the shadow where I can see you. by Jason Paul Fox
I Will When the sunset dilutes itself in the soothing earth of your eyes and the green falls to loam. When the dew like tiny constellations glistens in silken webs and sleeping spiders. When the last sorrows are forgotten among the black foliage of nameless melancholy- gray that feels pink. I will, but don't ask me until the time comes. I'll remember when fatigue quakes in the muscles of your mistakes of memory; don't rush the moonrise, don't question my will, it happens always when I will the wrong time right, and the passion fades from the planet's sight. by Jason Paul Fox
She Walks in Beauty She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impair'd the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent! Poem by Lord Byron
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