danse macabre - Hello Poetry

Aug 2018

Anthony Perry

There is something violent about how I see the skin on your body
Its so rich and smooth, almost decadent and unlike you

This observation turns into a premeditation when you touch my cheek
Its almost like i can feel the heat melting off your bones

As I laid you down and slipped a knife underneath your sternum
You whispered something hidden in painful tones like a sharp breath piercing the guttural moans

But I dont need to hear words to know the searing desire steaming from your guts as I replaced them with hot stones

The blood on your finger tips remind me of fresh water on leaves after a storm and your severed head looks like its been through famine, disease, and a damaged city plagued and war torn

Yet there is still beauty in the decayed decadence that is your mutilated corpse

The moonlight drowns in the canal of blood begging for remorse while the insects march and sing a song of things that can only get worse
©anthonyasylum

This is a poem about the need for closeness between two people

#horror #dark #*** #love #comfort #pain #cannibal #needs #imagery #passion

Jul 2018

Sarah Michelle

Beauty Rest

Don’t leave me loving you
Here alone.
Stab my finger, at least,
And lull me to sleep
Before you go.

If I dream of you tonight,
Don’t be flattered.
I care too much
And dream of everything that matters.

Don’t leave me loving you
Here alone
In my imagination
Where it will feel too right.

If I’m looking ill,
Leave me to die.
Otherwise, stay the night.

#love #dreaming #depression #illness #unrequited #sleep #death

Jun 2018

Paul Hardwick

Stop.

Will they ever stop driving me
have they ever taken time to see
when I'm doing my best?

P@ul.

May 2018

Pradip Chattopadhyay

The Lonely Flier

I'm as lonely as a station at night.

The december mist and the moon
peaking high over the iron fence
dulled the low volt into weird halo.

But like bats I reap the rewards of night.

The buzz of the crickets rose in crescendo
from the undergrowths around the track
sounding as unreal as the silent platform
abruptly cropping up on nowhere land
doubtful if ever a train would notice it.

Days are dull actings dancing to strings
yielding nothing to let you know you.
I'm in full vision before the lightless mirror
opening up alone but with the many faces
the dreary day ruthlessly hid from me.

The mist was engulfing the iron railings
and when a distant engine whistled
there was no track or platform
but only the lone flyer hung on the moon
like a bat glued to the scent of night.

May 2018

Gidgette

The Forgetfulness of Time

Time,
refuses to be forgotten
Whether in still frames on tintypes,
from a century long since past,
or on paper photographs from this "modern age",
To digitalysed scenes
from the 21st century
Memories
stamped upon eternity
Unforgotten memories,
Upon
The Forgetfulness of Time
But may I implore,
being the time seeker that I am,
Did I make the mistake,
of measuring love by time,
or my time by love?
Should it,
that I measure time by heartbeats,
or heartbeats by time?
Either, Or
All lies within
The Forgetfulness of Time~A