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Xan Abyss May 2015
Walking down the street with hungry eyes
Dare not to daydream, I fantasize
Fingers coiled tightly round her throat
Compulsive urge to never let her go
Off-key voices ringing in my head
Filling me with existential dread
Chills me to the bone - burns me alive
The twisted creature I keep locked inside

Stiletto heels echo in the distance through the stillness of the air
The ghetto feels the path of least resistance so I head through there

She's drunk and all alone stumbling about
The prey dressed up in heels & cocktail gown
There's no way she's really this naive
Could this be the girl of my dreams?
Knuckles whiten, liquor on my breath
Fixated on the heaving of her chest
She hears me as her eyes widen in fear
Suddenly it all becomes so clear

Muffled screams and scraping feet fall silent on the city street
I feel her horrified heartbeat as I drag her off the cold concrete

Breaking the straps on her tight black dress
Sinking my fangs deep into her flesh
Draining her of all the will to fight
She goes limp in my arms
She's mine tonight

Sated now, I set her free
But she'll always belong to me
Like me, she bears the Mark of Cain
Her soul eternally blood stained
Like me, she bears the Mark of Cain
Cursed to darkness and immortal pain

We are bound by blood forever now
In darkness we forever drown
Accursed Children of the Night
Forgotten by the World of Light
MV Blake Apr 2015
You might think you need a tailor

But here's the only one you've got:

A poor choice of cloth

Married to a poorer thread

Spawning knock-offs

Over budget shops.

So you may as well invest,

For it matters not a jot

What you think you choose to wear,

It never really lasts.

A tear here, a cut there;

With cheap cloth,

It does not take much

To turn your life ragged.
An allegorical poem over the attitude and life choices of people caught in deprived areas with little hope of leaving.
Ed thought he was a cat
So he gave a rat
To his dearest friend Magee.
He didn't take it lightly..

The rancid little thing
That poor Ed did bring,
Fell from Magee's hand,
Into his frying pan.

The rat cooked in his dish
Among the chips and fish,
And neither of them knew
The rat had joined it too.

The men clambered, glorped, and glopped
Until the timer stopped.
So they put it on a plate,
And then it was too late.

The grimy paws dug in
As Ed's face begin to grin,
And Magee was most aware
Of some furry little hair.

Magee quickly threw it out
And hit Ed all about.
He shooed his pal away,
Soggy Ed was now a stray.

But Ed finished up the dinner,
Though felt a little thinner.
Now old Ed has fleas,
And will probably get rabies.
Winding through a forest

Is a path, with as many branches,

As the trees to either side,

And this one doesn't try to hide,

But has never been given many chances.



And on it walks one man,

Walking all alone,

His head held high and mighty,

Though his hair is colored lightly,

And he shows an unusual tone.



And he keeps walking,

Through the forest,

Gathering up the fallen leaves

And growing thousands of new trees,

Helping it to become its best.



Bald and evil vultures soar,

Flying above the one man's head,

Trying to stop the rising star,

From letting the world progress so far,

Because they live to feast on the dead.



And he keeps walking,

With little regard to his foes,

Writing the truth in the tree bark,

Doing his best to leave a mark,

That will guide those through their lows.



And the vultures carry

Onward, Upwards, feeding on dead

Following that guilty man,

I bet this end you didn't plan,

THEY TOOK OFF WITH HIS HEAD
Did you expect it?
It was quite a pickle,
I have to say.
It haunted me,
Both night and day.
You may believe
One's never scary-
But this pickle had me
Very wary.
My friends they said
"For HEAVEN'S sake,"
The pickle's only
A piece of cake!"
So they went ahead
And took a slice
Now they could see
It wasn't nice
A rather bitter taste
It did supply
A rather salty cake-
Their mouths were dry
And without water
(The pricy job,
Of digging a well)
They began to sob
See this did nothing
But deepen their thirst
This pickle of mine
Was one of the worst
They were awful busy,
They wouldn't chat
So I stayed to talk
To my hairless rat.
And it had me concerned
That the pickle had me beat
And would run off with my tongue
Down Mountainview Street
He said the pickle would make me
A fool in this town
This thing would convict me
So I swallowed it down.
aj Feb 2015
mother of mine, crashing,
sea foam lady of veins and black-blue,

with the waters of healing and pain.

how is it that you bear the power to mend and rend?

some sort of demon is what you are...
a twisted form of lucifer.
that type of being that can nurture and attack all
at once.

and as if only you held the sky, you blame me.

when it is you who tosses and turns the unforgiving tides of your terrible sea.
Akemi Dec 2014
There is no hope.
We walked in circles round the worm, its amorphous purpose lost on us. A sleek, black, rotting corpse, buried within skyscrapers and city streets. We could see no end to it. Everyone had done their best to avoid mention, even as traffic backed, markets stalled and entire city blocks went down.
The pier was bustling at noon. Sweet, burning, haze of smells. Business men wandered out for lunch, laughing to themselves as they secretly wondered how they’d pass the black mass. Children scurried round it, morbidly curious. Their parents would wring their hands, shooting sights at everything but the worm. A throng of oblivious teens skated into it and were knocked flat on their backs. A business man stepped over the moaning mass, eating a hot dog.
Three days passed and nothing had been done. The smell worsened.
The media continued their daily fluster. Weather. Sports. Local news. Farmer John had gotten pink eye again. They held awkward smiles in their teeth, and deadpan concern in their crows feet. His meat would be safe once cooked.
The government were curiously absent.
Conspiracists were already calling it Non-entity 012. The world worm. The dead god in the room.
If we close our eyes, will it disappear?

-- Anonymous Male. New York, USA.
4:48am, December 9th 2014
Austa Nov 2014
Pulsing
Pulsing
Pulsing
through the hallways
of an unfamiliar body

ringing in the ears
and smoke stuck in the lungs

cleansing cells roll through
and clear out foreign cells

while the floors stand crowded,
people shouting,
feeding fire to the flame
Asa D Bruss Oct 2014
I love you like the apple
that transgresses from a tree.
It is pulled downward
and away
from calm familiarity.
Into the abyss of earth it crashes,
and is bruised.

And as the skin of all my mirth, will then decay
it shall infuse
with the origin of its origin
the birth by which its birthed,
and thus the end of its beginning,
and there forever stay.

So I shall count my loss as winning,
and ne'er again the two confuse.
What physics class will do to your poetry...
Asa D Bruss Oct 2014
I was walking through the Courtyard
holding children in my hand.
As I glanced upon the scenery
they fell from me like sand.
So often searched have I,
The path that I had tread;
seeking all the children
lost that I had bred.
I hope they are safe and warm,
More than that I hope they are not dead.

These children give me all I have
and their life force and mine
are much the same.
Yet ask me not to Identify all,
for sharing are they, my name.
I keep them near me as best I can
for to lose them shall cause me pain,
and I shall adopt so many new ones
and by them I shall gain.
I actually cannot see them
yet six trillion I hear I have.
They are so inclined to wandering
I might loose some with just a bath.
This one's kinda creepy to be honest.
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