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Thomas Harvey May 12
I open my eyes but am blind to the sea
My ears are filled with myths
For no creature could lurk in the abyss
Perhaps I should have paid the fee

The air is denser than it was yesterday
The sun is refusing to shine
And the lonely sea continues to whine
Six more nights till I see May

I try to sleep at day
To be prepared during nightfall
That’s when I hear him call
Five more nights till I see may

I’m getting closer I think
Based on my supply of food
It’s not lot looking to good
One more night, I say on the brink

He waited for me to reach the bay
Where he rose larger than the sun
There I knew I was done
Here I almost made it to May
Jeremy Betts Feb 6
I'm pleading with the operator all in vain
There's no one there
Could be operator error
It's only ringing, no one answer for my pain
Lies tend to be faster
Not everyone's a good actor
See what I see, a monster with my same name
A new breed creature
Science doesn't get it either
Sanity fleeing and impostor steps into reign
A hostile takeover
Over 'n over but over in short order

Hadrian Veska Nov 2023
I could feel the cool damp air from outside
A gentle weight on the skin, a particular smell
The smell of a night stretched on too long

I tiptoed across the carpeted floor boards
The house was old and I knew it well
Every little area it would groan and creek

I was moving slowly but urged myself faster
This wasn't like other nights, half asleep
Wandering to the bathroom at the end of the hall

No, the house is empty, or should I dare say was
I felt a presence so strong, yet undefinable
As if something was nearly upon me, only breaths away

I avoided deftly the creaky areas of the floor beneath
I felt the give of the wood beneath me as I reached the stairs
This would prove far more difficult to be silent for

Standing at the top I contemplated running down
As fast as my legs could possibly carry me
Somehow though I knew it wasn't the right choice  

As I made my first step down there was silence
I breathed in a sharp silent breath of composure
Continuing to the second step, I winced as I heard a creek

But I stopped and lightly tested the step again
The sound hadn't been caused by me
Quickly my vision darted upwards towards my room

At the far end of the hallway where I had just left
I saw something, a blur like a thick vapor
The shadow black wall behind obscured it

I had no time to peer into the darkness
I sped up, step by step by step
31 steps in total all without a sound

Save for the floor I landed on in my haste
The old house groaned beneath my weight
My neck chilled as I gave in and ran

to be continued...
part 1
Jeremy Betts May 2022
I always forget to remember lessons from the last failure, therefore I'm forever havin' to start all over, my own personal torcher chamber
It creates this culture of fear that I can't get over, the chip on my shoulder staked on the bolder that's already there
A taunting whisper on loop saying it'll never get better, cursed with bad days, one after another
Try to fudge the numbers, facts don't lie but memories blur, every passing day recollection gets harder
I had this thought in the shower, your heart beat is just a countdown to your last breath and death is just a new beginning to forever
Should I still follow my dreams if it's a recurring nightmare? Only the loser says the other didn't fight fare
Only the winner gets their name in the paper unless it's a smear campaign so staying out of the conversation is safer
Where's the line between assassination and ******? And what's the difference between an unwanted guest and intruder?
Does a lamb know about the slaughter? Does the hand know it can take a life without being given an order?
Which is shorter I wonder, the path to greatness or to a personality disorder, my dark passengers a backseat driver
So it's all in how you frame the picture, have a nice day sounds less threatening than enjoy your next 24
Who decides what will occur? How much more can I endure? Roll the dice and hope they don't shatter
Matter of fact I pray for just enough to make it to the next day not knowing there's no listener
God ain't there and if he is he doesn't care or doesn't know the answer either
Either that or he to has given up on this fallen soldier all together, abandoned by my supposed creator
I don't make an hourly wage, I sell chunks of my life for pennies on the dollar
Some one, somewhere is listening to the last song they'll ever hear
Could be me, right now, right here, no way to tell till after then it's to late to alter
Masking anxiety with witty banter, no alter ego just another dark passenger, this time he's riding shotgun like one in the chamber
One personality is hard enough to keep front and center, take one down but there's always another, I am just fodder
The split is wether to move forward or quit all together, don't know which is better
Tried divide and conquer, another failure, tried to find a new harbour but couldn't pull the anchor

Got control of my anger just to immediately lose the battle, instantly falling outta the saddle
I thought I wasn't supposed to get more than I could handle, I guess that's just another cryptic riddle
Starting to feel old testament biblical, the punishment for mistakes are astronomical no matter how miniscule
Almost feels personal, maybe I'm part of some sadistic ritual, forced to be a part of it, no consent, held against my will
Little did I know I could walk away and be okay still, no one told me the rules making every move futile
Trying a different approach, going vocal, begging for mercy in vain but hopeful
An ineffectual campaign, the struggle was always inevitable, my thoughts not believable
Not even a credible witness to my own life, how is this even possible?
Well, cranial damage is plausible due to hitting every obstacle head on, brain almost falling out of my skull
Life is the train light at the end of the tunnel while I'm mid tunnel on a stationary bicycle
Rock bottom was the pinnacle of my life, cynical doesn't even begin to describe what drives my mental
Keep it all in to avoid the hospital, trapped lightning in a bottle but couldn't get a grip on its broke handle
Already sold my soul, not to the devil but to the people and the return on my investment was far from equal
The colossal difference was they got the best of me and I was left an empty shell
Tried to fill it but it now looks like a landfill, a trash receptacle, the overflow of garbage unavoidable
Completely full of hurt and pain, I pray there's no sequel but I just saw the preview commercial so I guess it's ******* official
But even before dress rehearsal I took myself out of the circle knowing it wouldn't be merciful, devouring me whole
Besides, the demon inside stole the show and convinced me I was evil and deserve to not go any further than my current window
I accepted it cause it's all I know, brittle and fragile, will I made it to another day? Doubtful, the outcome predictable
If written out the how come would be longer than the bible so just take my word for it so you're not liable
Life itself is my rival, and now spiteful has replaced delightful and forced the downward spiral
The life or death questions I scream at the sky come nightfall are being treated as rhetorical
And there's no capable Oracle these days so I'm on my own to wrestle this powerful, never ending dose of trouble
Stepped out of my comfortable bubble once before and it was brutal
Promised myself never again but it's not that simple, every attempt pitiful

Wish me luck

irinia Jul 2023
you intensify a subtle creature inside me
with sudden nuances of sonorous blueness, aurora greenness,
naughty yellowness
with the impatience of roots piercing the earth of my soul
this creature keeps stumbling onto the same truth that
metabolizes light tenderly for me to have a measure of my depth
suddenly the strangest of strangers is I
Mark Wanless Apr 2023
and the creature came
out of just a thin mirror
the minds fell culprit
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2023
Sunday afternoon
her best bud,
our dearest friend,
coming over for
a television marathon:

appetizer, a glass onion,
a ****** mystery to whet,

NFL football main course,
accompanied by her pasta bolognese,

plus a tasty choice of English after-dinner treats,
with chocolate chip cookies, candied pecans,
a platter of  BBC sweet treats,
even one Viennese,
some creatures large and small,
a Victorian female most scarlet.

I proffer:

I will wear my
best pressed
bleu jeans,
my new Kit & Ace bleu sweater,
(that she bought me)
actively participating in all
activities, even keep my cussing
to a tolerable minimum,
and if asked, will gather in a taxi,
no matter it raining bitter cold.

She weighs my terms,
her acceptance:

Responding that my
dress code excessively formal,
sweatpants will be
infinitely more comfortable,
than jeans, given the intense
intensity of couched exertion.

A sole thought courses through my body:

what a magnificent creature
you have planted in my garden
2:09 PM
sun Jan 8
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