Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dante Jul 23
My eyes are painted red. Hearts over both of them, dripping into my mouth after some frantic, vicious event with you. How I long for this again, my fierce lover, how I long to **** with you again.
-


-


-
Isaac Feb 16
Death, It's dark.
Death, It happens to everything.
Death, It makes me feel alive.
Death, It makes my bloodlust boil.
Death, It's not sad, it is poetic.
Thomas Mackie Jan 20
We stomp and we romp
with our filthy, bare feet
we jump and we bump
in the high summer heat.

Just skin, nails, and teeth
stop when we see blood
we are the ***** girls
rolling around in the mud.

We're queer, we drink beer
in the park in the dark
we yawp, twist, and shout
and we jeer and we bark.

We **** for the thrill
in the sweet with sweat season;
we say it's revenge,
but we don't need a reason.

Saturated plum flesh
bursting between jaws,
we are boundless, we are seeping,
we are love without laws.
Dear straight people,
It is a common believe that queers are docile, non-threatening, non- violent, and weak. That being queer is a choice to up your instagram followers, or to be the most woke, or to attract others. This is a poem to remind you that we are as natural as the sun, we are everywhere, and that we are not afraid to smash your brains in with a brick.
Sincerely,
Author
Anne J Dec 2018
The handles of time are wicked, pointy, and blood-lusting
They shoot into me like bullets and never stop their gusting
There is no talk on the matter on how getting out of me
Their marks on my life never disappear and historic shall they be
Oh, the pain of the mistakes done in time coming into history but never going out! Took me a few days to find a way to finish this lol
an0nym0us Dec 2018
My skull is breaking...
Must Control, don't loose
My sanity, I can't loose
My skull is breaking...

I'm ill...
My eyes are darkening
My reasoning is fading
I'm ill...

My hands are itchy...
I can feel it, bloodlust
I want to ****, absolute lust
My hands are itchy...

If I ****, forgive me...
It wasn't my doing
It was her, I'm vanishing
If I ****, forgive me...
Another day of my life with Hyperacusis
Blade Maiden Sep 2018
I know some things about dirt
I shed my feathers many times just like a bird

Daring
Always daring
never preparing
for the fall
I fly
bold with a certain confidence
but so very shy
hold a truth to obedience
when the voice tells me to abide
holding evidence of bloodlust at night

Maybe not a bird then
but a bat when
feeling a strong hunger
for your crimson liquor
in the dark I reach out to my monger
won't you be my cherry picker
I'll draw the night out and make the darkness stay longer
I'll bite you and make your blood run thicker

Yes
See me still hiding a diffidence
under this bold confidence
But I'm not about pretense
bird and bat, all the same
I feel so very tense
as it seems either I can tame
Though I don't need defense
and as you will see, I got no shame
Harry smith Jul 2018
Banners torn
A single horn
Blown to start the war
Peace has fell
Damning us to hell
Men shaken to there core
Women and children aren't safe
As the men question thier faith
In a god willing to allow all the death
The body's burn with the land
Lives brought down by hand
Witness kin draw their final breath
But soon it will stop as all these things do
Finally brightness will be returned to the hue
Because men, they forget that these things they have happened before
And we can never have enough, our bloodlust seeks more
Aleyna D Jun 2018
The pale sickly boy bursts through the thick foliage of the woods
His heart racing, face-blazing, eyes bulging out of their sockets
And then it begins…
The moon, the boy thinks slowing, It … It exudes
Magnificence in the palest of lights, every crater like ancient golden pockets
With a cry of anguish, he is no longer man

Body splitting, tearing at the line between two realities
Soft pink flesh turning into coarse fur
Teeth turning into razor-sharp fangs
The creature lies there panting; there is no need for formalities
The boy now knows the creature well, but his colliding memories become a blur
The wolf a feral rag doll as its beastly head hangs

Hunger drips down its murderous maw and the wolf feels nothing
Humanity has been ripped from his every vein
Bloodlust is all that fills the hole
The beast runs up a knoll covered in soft spring grass, ferocity still plenty
The red ferrous liquid invites the creature down making it grueling to keep sane
Instinct says it must pilfer souls, commit a theft, and break what was once whole

Treading menacingly through the village, a wild demon
Innocent people seal themselves into useless wooden homes, ready to repent
Their fear all-encompassing, like a lamb before the slaughter
The wolf’s ears ***** with the soft thud of its paws, feeling the earth underneath weaken
A yearning, the creature drools at the thick scent
A thing of nightmares left alone with a poor man’s daughter

The inner war within the beast gains a new thunderous beat
The boom ripping at the soul
The boy had always felt that his human life was his reality
But nothing had ever felt more real than his nights as a beast
No longer able to tell the difference, he sinks into that endless black hole
Pondering darkly upon his morality  

Disgusted by his own attempt at brutality
The boy turns away from his panic-stricken prey, frozen in place, praying to blackout
He has to make a decision, to do what must be done
The next full moon, during his transformation, he experiences a sense of finality
They feel a change, a shift in power, no longer any doubt
The boy and the creature lay down their spears, let go of any fears as the forest goes silent with the sound of the shotgun
Gabriel burnS Jun 2017
The curse of eternal life
Would be, watching
Every one you love, die

...and she felt like
Her bones were buried
In her body
Unapologetically
Apathetic

She had eaten eons,
Watched the ends
Of millions of clocks’ lifetimes
Snorted the rust of their
Idle hands, dead still
In the blank stare
Of their concentric silence

She wanted to cease
This void existence,
For boredom was
Her ultimate torture
Viseract Jun 2016
Go on, press record
Lift your phone to bloodshed
Lift your phone to the sound of hatred
Of bloodlust laid on a foundation
That was never really stable to begin with

Go on, film those frames
As you watch me beat the **** out of
All those who made me feel like ****
Worthless
Hated
Unloved
Alone
The final gunslinger, taking his stand
Draws his pistols, hipfiring
And in his stance, thumb through belt loop
Hat down over his eyes
Ashamed of his instant reaction,
His ability to **** and inability to remain emotionless

Go on, press record
Put it on Facebook
Let everyone know what you really are:
A cowardly bystander
I hate this sort of thing with a passion..
Next page