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Carlo C Gomez Jan 12
~
Poor deluded brute
he waves his sword
in orchestration
to a ruthless symphony
played for miserable centuries:
the running of the bulls
"sketches of pain"
some monsters come
decked out in hat and cape
inside the arena of his pride
where he hears the chant
within the arts of
cowardice and cruelty
where he envisions
the feathered crown

Gala! Gala!
"how to see the toreador"
lost as San Fermín
pricked by hairpin
pierced by ragged horn
suerte de la muerte (luck of death)
foreshadowing Hemingway
turns into the troubled sun
and underneath his muleta
a deep red
blood alchemy
his fame spilling out
in drips and drabs
as the crowd sings
'Pobre de Mí (Poor Me)'
to the mystic stab of church bells

~
JKirin Dec 2020
Breathe in—
Smell dark iron; it’s fresh.
Give in—
To the call of the flesh.

Awaken—
This feeling inside me – it’s primal.
The craving, the lust – it is carnal.

Forsaken—
The reason, all thought – elude me.
The salt and the sweet – allure me.

Flow’s thick—
pure.
I seek—
you.
about a new vampire seeking its prey (part of my horror collection)
Viseract Sep 2020
Mesmerized by what lies inside
Dwells in my skull, lives in my mind
Showing me, these corrupted dreams
Behind my eyes, more than it seems

Wilted roses, pouring rain
Not a word but the roaring pain
Scratching and tearing, flesh left raw
Growling and biting and sharpening claws

Shining eyes belie rage denied
Moonlit skies, moonstruck cries
Enraged and entrapped by thorns, kept safe
Let us loose, witness our showcase

"Your life isn't hard, it has no stress
I am kindred, so I know best"
Without, surveillance, how could you know
I'm all wound up and I'm ready to go!

Don't tell me what I have not felt
Don't tell me about the cards I've been dealt
You suffer too, we both suffocate
Can't ease our symptoms unless we medicate!

Angry you've been, angry I am!
You've walked in these shoes so you should understand!
Crimson is our bloodline, destroy what we hate!
I hate myself so it's only my fate!

Yet tell me I'm joking, call me a mimic
It ****** me off so I don't want to hear it!
How can you act like you knew all along
I don't ******* get it, YOU'RE SO ******* WRONG!

Authorities called, was a couple of years
Seeing you talking, confirmed all my fears
You haven't a clue, you don't understand,
I have no filters, I say what I am!

When I cry out for help and you tell them I'm fine
I can't confess these desires for crime!
You say there's no worry, you say I'm okay
WHO THE **** ARE YOU TO SAY!

You think you know me, you know nothing at all!
YOU, KNOW, NOTHING AT ALL!
YOU, KNOW, NOTHING AT ALL!
YOU, KNOW, ABSOLUTELY **** ALL!

So keep on talking, it amuses me so
This pain and this anguish, denied by your hope
Deluded you are, remember this thought:
No such roses, grow such thorns!
Shout out to my mate Calem, who's metal band is no longer called No Such Roses but is now called Signals
Ayn Jan 2020
The memories of raven black obsidian
Well up at the sight of my new blade.
A midnight blade, with a red groove,
Running it’s own comet like streak
Down the center of the curvature.
The handle is made of an ebony wood,
A wood as dark, if not darker than
The blade it so reliably holds together.
A thin silver band wraps the division
Between the blade and handle,
And blocks the sheath from over-sheathing.
The sheath is also made of the same
Shadowy wood as the handle,
Giving off an aura of pure functionality.

This was a weapon made purely to ****.
The air around the blade shadily undulates
Like heartbeats through crimson arteries,
Telling me it’s immense bloodlust.
This is one really edgy poem... yikes I need to calm down on this ;-;... It’s 1:30 am and I’m not tired, so I guess I’ll start my year with listening to Slipnot and reading manga...

OH YEAH, forgot, raven black obsidian was the narrator’s old blade.
L Jul 2019
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 2019
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 2019
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 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
Emma 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
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