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Pagan Paul Aug 2019
.
Blush the sky with teardrop rips,
let the blood flow free
to spill 'pon the cheeks and fall,
creating puddles of coy crimson.
A mind slowly disintegrates,
no-one tries to halt the decline
and it washes away reason,
the victim unable to resist submission.
Corpuscular clashes with synaptic
and the result transforms tragedy
from the root of all sadness
into an icon of blind worship.
The teardrops freeze on a blank face
that masks a venomous enemy
wrapped in a Hood of poison
that swallows the blushing sky.
A cage of pitch black threads
patiently studies the inner pendulum,
the tick tock of search and destroy,
time weaving its panic dark webs.
Psychotic anxiety in the waiting room
as horses dance on candle flames,
the Knight checkmates his own King,
the pawn is an easily taken prisoner.
The coy puddles of crimson burst,
shattering the mask to reveal another,
a shadow-hand coils its claim,
and the journey begins, cometh the Hood.



© Pagan Paul (11/08/19)
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Amaris Apr 2019
When you’re on top of the world
The high is unlike anything that exists
But the fall is a long, long way down
A motivation for those above to persist
Word of warning to those still climbing
Hold your desires close and don’t let go
All of us fall eventually, inevitably, but
Distance is so much worse when it’s slow
Steve Page Apr 2019
I had watched his glow go down
and I saw the hole swallow him whole.
I now watched his light rise
and I saw his eyes rest on mine,
newly ascended.
Easter brings hope
nja Jan 2019
She’s highness, deaf but not muted.
Still dignified, past perfect, but still pushing.
Withering tea addict,
laughs at her own sophisticated and immature jokes.
Farts.
How the highness gracefully descend.

Relaxed, reclined,
hands placed still on abdomen, yet they’re itching.
Noisy breaths lift her sinking body,
till she’s plastered to the bed,
not quite motionless.
Can’t decline.
Sits up. Peering, active, but stunted.
My grandmother is a withering icon.
nja Jan 2019
She’s highness, deaf but not muted.
Still dignified, past perfect, but still pushing.
Withering tea addict,
laughs at her own sophisticated and immature jokes.
Farts.
How the highness gracefully descend.

Relaxed, reclined,
hands placed still on abdomen, yet they’re itching.
Noisy breaths lift her sinking body,
till she’s plastered to the bed,
not quite motionless.
Can’t decline.
Sits up. Peering, active, but stunted.
This one's about my grandmother. She used to be this royal lady and she still is but with deteriorating hearing.
IPM Nov 2018
~~~

My gut spirals swiftly
downwards the twilight zone
a throne of skin and bone
speaks
"Thine sin you must atone."
Sat down, below red skies
above my head, familiars
reflection shines in eyes
of thousand flies perched atop rotten meat.
I rip my heart out and eat
it too.
Ignites a fuel deep inside
the hollow depths of this mind.
A darkness rose, roamed long ago
here
speaks to me now:
"Fear not what is to come,
sacrifice the living,
**** the young, burn their lungs,
eat their tongues an-"
"What madness is this?"
aksed my image
the ghastly apparition
"This plane is not unnatural,
tis' only a future you invision..."

~~~
Gabriel burnS Oct 2018
Yellow,
October LEAVES
A word slips out
The door
To haunt my trees
Pleas in gusts of
DON’T
Samuel Canerday Sep 2018
While screams echo on the stairs of night
Forlorn and without hope of end
Charged to lead the dreams of light
Killing me slowly as I ever descend

Forlorn and without hope of end
I pray to soon forget these days
Killing me slowly as I ever descend
To halls of memory, to set them ablaze

I pray to soon forget these days
Charged to lead the dreams of light
To halls of memory, to set them ablaze
While screams echo on the stairs of night
Gabriel burnS Aug 2018
Bloodlust
Predatory
Drooling on my heart
clawing for the treat
those eyes in ambush
lying in uneasy wait
on the brink, sharpened teeth
savoring the foretaste
breathing in the promises
I will not delay
the inevitable

lips all blades
my skin a sea of pins
bristled for the kiss
tongues coiling for the cut
the cold caress and warm
metallic flavor
sweetness in the air calls
******* the shadows
de-scent... the scent... descent
Lauren Giuliani Aug 2018
Sleep is sweet and soft, however
hard at the same time.
Most of the time, it's harder than it is soft.

There's a descent through heavy, thick layers of fog and
sometimes you get stuck in between, where
vibrations run through you, holding you captive.

It's a delightfully interesting sensation, but it's not sleep.
Sometimes I run there on my own accord,
for my curiosity has been stricken.
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