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bjynxthelyric Jun 2016
Sinister ministers deliver scriptures per
Illicit missions to present religious works for intrinsic worth
Men amended an "Amen" to end to the verse
Then apprehended the script they knew Kemet had written first

I’m in the blemish my kin is a part of the sin it hurts
Given my hair and skin were both considered dirt since the birth
It’s printed in their gospel I’ve been getting worse since the curse
It’s vivid plagiarism for the villain to get the perks
the truth
Dae Staebell Jun 2016
Dreaming a dream so dreary
Upon a bed of fire lilies
Where fear flocks and sorrows sleep
To a grove abandoned where she weeps

Dreaming a dream so dreary
Upon callous thoughts so weary
Clasped in a white veil
Seeing maroon on a visage pale

Dreaming a dream so dreary
Upon a cries in a clearing
Silent shrieks that haunt me I find
A walking corpse in pearl delight

Dreaming a dream so dreary
Upon a nightmare without meaning
To and fro wolves do roam on the rim
A hunt in this abyss for my kin

Dreaming a dream so dreary
I smell familiar blood and feel weary
A mangled corpse lies in slumber
What a nightmare, what a curse

Dreaming a dream so dreary
A solitary hunt so eerie
Hunger sated and thirst quelled
Will I ever wake or is this my hell?
Pauline Morris Jun 2016
After all the carnage I did imparte
The gypsies thought I had mastered the dark art
When I left that  wretched gypsy caravan
Anyone that had wronged me, their  blood spilled on the sand

With their tongues like parchment
They told darkened stories, and I was their target
And as I slowly roamed the land
To seek out about my mother first hand
The villagers seen my burnt skin
And knew I was the one the gypsies said carried great sin
Every human treated me badly, to scared to get close they threw their stones
So I sought out a place where no human ever goes

I found a forest but to sunny for my mood
It had to be darker, it had to be crude
So I started out simple and enchanted the vines
I made them all twist entangle and entwine
next was the trees I made them grow branches to cover the sky
so even from the keen eye of the hawk I could hide
But not done with them yet the bark I made bare
Thorns that would reach out and scratch and tear
The sand I made quiken to entrap in and ensnare
So anyone caught in my wicked trap could no longer breathe the air
My wonderland was soon renamed the Black Forest
all that dared entered claimed they heard the demon's chorus

And so my legend was born
The gypsies through their stories warn
Of a dark hearted witch that the fires couldn't burn
Even though their fires burnd white hot and the coals they churned
That I the black hearted witch had escaped and layed waste
In despite their fear they had given chase


So now alone I roam my beautiful dark place
With the gypsies warning story no one will give chase
But in my roaming before the forest I had heard a great tale
Of a witch who had put her baby under a spell
That upon it was put a curse
That would work in reverse
Poetic T May 2016
All were silent as corpses as they laid
next to the campfire, listening to every
ill spoken word. Now silence has graced
this dimness of syllables that fed the fire.

There was a wishing well, others sent
for ill fortune had granted there lives.

"Wishing well please hear my plea,
"I was told you could solve issues for me,

Moments past and not a motion or spoken
word did seep from its depths.

"I thought this was a stupid idea, *******
belief that a well could solve problems for me


Then as footsteps echoed away, and repetition
was vaguely heard till sound birthed forth.

Feed me that which I desire, for metal has no
value where wishes are conceived and birthed.

"Tell me what you need, And whispers were
held upon there thoughts, and no other was
to no as a wishing well collects on everyone.

"So our story is like a circle but one not get finished
but nearly complete in worth,


Around the fire not a word was uttered, breath
was silent from one to another nothing expelled.
all were listening to his expiration of this stories
telling now eagerly undoing with each word.

Seeds were sewn for a wishes worth to come true,
Stories have endings of dreams and truth. but this
isn't one of those endings this is a certainty.
A story much have a start, pause and an ending unfold.

"Now all you have heard my tale, you were good
listeners as the dead speak no words. I take a token
from each of you,


"The eye is a token of the soul, and it needed ten
tokens of worth,


So as the fire lost is worth and syllables were replaced
by ten bodies now in rigor motis. All wept tears of
deaths embrace, as ocular openings feed upon the well.

"I give gifts, keys to ten souls, each of colour fresh not cold,
"Hear my plea of a wish I want in truth,

"Your contribution has been upheld, let a spoken word
unfold, be it riches or youth,

"One wish is yours now speak but heed my words, once
uttered the deal is sealed souls sealed in word,


"I want you to crumble to seal others ill fate,

"Those that were killed had suffered before
due to your needing of donations of souls
needed effect,


Crumbling fortunes to a gate of souls that
lingered at the bottom of a well. For all who
had perished had done so as retribution
for others lost to this curse. All who's eyes had
been taken and found no eternal rest.

He sat around the campfire and all was muted as
no words were spoken. Ten pennies in the well,
now it choked on its serving and all was silent.

Wishes are for fools, as a price is always asked
and unthinkable acts do not meet its worth.
So, this spider was crawling up the wall,
The wall, which had its cosmetics coming off.
The wall, which was mum.
It had seen much.
I was there, under this cursed ceiling fan,
Which was creaking monotonously.
The portraits and the tapestries,
With the rusted nails and hooks under.
The sedimentation of soot,
On the walls,
On the ceiling,
And on the pictures.
All silent,
Dead silent,
Except this cursed ceiling fan.
The ambience,
Was in its nothingness.
As if, they were looking at me in awe,
As if, I were a trespasser.
Unanticipated, I heard rumblings,
And chantings,
And phrases.
The wind in the room suddenly came to life.
The Air, spoke something into my ears,
Something unintelligible.
The frequency went up,
And up, and up.
Ultrasonic vibrations, were those.
The portraits glared at me,
I was becoming anxious,
As well as having eerie feels.
My eyes glued on something,
Something creepy.
I remember,
How four score and seven revolutions of this planet back,
My 16 year old friend had perished in this very room,
Under this very cursed ceiling fan.
Now, not everyone can live for a hundred and three years,
And remember an incident.
Oh, and yes, my eyes glued on my own portrait...

...We do exist,
We defy science.
Abdallah Sadiq May 2016
I still walk

In the dark, accompanied by my shadow—
Mind is a pawn to something persistent and evil
He lingers in my head from dusk till dawn
Impossible to explain the portrait it had drawn.
So I gaze at the moon in hopes that I find peace
I count the twinkling stars to distract me from the joy I do miss
But sadness still overwhelms me—
Mistakes scarred me like my birthmark.
And still I remain Ignorant to whether the hexes they muttered still pursue me.

I am not living.
The only difference between me and the bodies in the grave is—

I still walk.
Arcassin B May 2016
By Arcassin Burnham


Sometimes my mind wanders
Into vast landscapes of a broken world,
Crushing my brain into tiny pieces,
Or maybe I was in search of a girl,
Wandering in my brain cells,
I know that when my eyes fell it would see a ground zero,
A dark disturbing place,
When the lights go out,
And I fall in love,
These are rough tuesdays,
Sometimes you gotta take off the gloves.
http://arcassin.blogspot.com/2016/05/sessions-chapter-3-mep.html
Luna Fides May 2016
I told you before.
Do not fall in love with me.
Because I am a writer
And I will write stories in between our thighs
about how you read me until the ******
just to leave you with a cliffhanger.
I will plot chapters on your tongue
Make sure I go in and out,
And all around.
I will make sure you remember that
I taste like fully fleshed out tragedies,
I will create pages out of
the way your eyes looked like at sunset
or the way you brushed your hands through my hair
then rip them all out.
I will tattoo letters on your skin,
I will make the words bleed out of your being
You will know how it feels to be broken into pieces,
and still be considered a masterpiece.
Because I told you didn’t I?
Do not fall in love with me.
Because I am a writer
and I can love you too
and destroy you
all the same.
Shay May 2016
My light has to be hidden from each and every walk of life;
it is a target for the darkness and strong emotions of others that are rife.
My soul is too deep and fragile to be torn apart time and time again,
by impassioned people who end up causing unintentional pain.
I am crushed by the weight of the universe.
They say to be an empath is a gift - but to me it feels like a curse.
Echoes Of A Mind Apr 2016
Let it burn
Let it hurt
Let the love
Do what have made it famous
Let your heart bleed
You'll be falling down to your knees
Crying
Endlessly
The only way to stop hurting
Is not to cool the burning
Just let it hurt
It can't get any worse
Just empty it all
Letting the tears fall
Even if it is in streams
Let it bleed
Let it hurt
Let love
Live up to it's curse
Don't hold it in
Let it all go
This is something
We all know
Don't try to fight
Just give up and cry
Let it burn
Let it hurt
Let love
Do its worst
'Cause in the end
You'll get up again
You'll have gotten stronger
From the burn which he left...
Written on the  14th of March, Published on the 29th of April
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