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Michael Kreitman Oct 2015
When I was a child I knew I had to be a monster.
I lived in my parents bed every night.
Due to the fact of : giant, **** brown, furry, four legged, daddy long legs,
creeping, with yellow eyes and two snarling teeth that chased me.
I ran with my tail between my legs.
I entered the bed.
The SHADOWS on my parents Faces.
Scared me to death.
Instead of Curling up and crying I hissed with my fangs.
I crossed my arms like Dracula.
Since then Silence of the Lambs, Tony and an obsession with Damher and BUndy.
Strange <*******> habits.
UNwanted bladder MaLfUNction.
Owning a VIDEO of actual
(Cannibalism) I've seen three# timesX.
Carpenter... Kraven. Romero and a few cases of assault.
Also SEVERAL rackets of attempted ****** 10 through 15.
THree mental hospitals.
And One incarceration.
I BeCAME a MONSteER.
Not every poems pretty and some bite.
Aparna Jul 2015
Pomegranate gems on her slender neck.
Ruby stains splattered on the bear rug.

A break from breathing, some shut eye.
She closed the coffin, with her heart inside.
Bryan Rogers May 2015
The Eturi
Part 1 - Genesis


I shall tell you of the first Eturi.
I shall tell you how the seas did not want them--
Coughing them up on the shore
Like water from the lungs of a drowning man.


They were unseemly things.
Arms stretched sinewy from their sockets
Fingers tipped with bulbs
And dripping a sticky mucus
Tearing flesh off prey caught in their hands
On teeth with edges like sawed-off metal.


Their stomachs--
A swollen gelatinous sack of a belly
Mottled with spots and partially translucent
Allowed for an uninhibited view onto the trophy of their latest meal
As it slowly digests.


The Eturi were humanoid only by their incipience
To foul the word--
Human.


The land was bare rock and mud then.
The Eturi were kings
Nothing lived that could challenge their predominance
For nothing lived,
There were yet no plants or other animals
Nothing to eat.


On all fours, they scrabbled the earth for food
Stiff-arming on knuckles
And the tippy toes of their feet
Lip-******* the dirt
Pumping their bellies full of mud and sand
Licking the rocks and chewing clay--
Always hungry
Scouring from beach--to desert--to canyon--to cracked earth--to volcano
Anything to eat.


Until starving, their belly made its final demand--
They must feed.


The first to fall to hunger was unexpected.
A look
From one Eturi upon another
A look that may have been casual or even sincere
Suddenly took on a thoughtful gaze
Then a deliberate stare.


Soon a second Eturi took up that gaze
Then a third,
No words passed between them
Their eyes were like the baying of hounds
Calling the others to them
Swelling into a pack
Drinking the scent of their gaze--
Silent
Coiling
Hunger so close to the surface
The air was almost chewy.


When the other Eturi turned
And saw their eyes upon him
The eyes of his brothers and sisters
The look in their eyes,
He could barely register protest
Before they were on him--
Ripping flesh from muscle
Muscle from bone
Bones snapped to **** out the marrow.
The Eturi was eaten
Before he died.


Survival did not go to the biggest and strongest
For they had the most to eat.
No, survival went to the scrawniest
The smelliest
The most deformed
Those with unappealing prickles of hair
For they were the most unsavory.


And out of this interspecial gorging
Bred a trait
That would become their greatest and most lasting legacy--
Cunning.


For what mattered resourcefulness
Self-preservation
Or strength of the will to live,
If you could predict the hunger in others
And twist them to your own?


It was said that the Land was so moved
Upon seeing the Eturi,
That taking the earth in her hands
She tore open her own breast
And drew forth life
In plants and grasses and fruit and trees and rich vegetation
And to lure other animals--
That anything
The Eturi may feed on anything
Anything but themselves.


But so the Eturi were
So when the Land gave up its last blossom
So would the Eturi always be.
Abigail Shaw Feb 2015
It's torture,
The way that he stalks her,
Mina, Mina,
Like some childish chant,
He calls her name,
We chant too,
Master, master, notice us,
Love us, want us, worship us,
Because we worship you,
And I have seen seasons pass in an unblinking eye,
How can I sleep when you are always awake?
Entertaining guests in the parlour room,
My pallor turns deathly when you speak her name,
Your next engagement is the chill in my tomb,
The fear I feel in her heartbeats makes my teeth hurt,
They turn into fangs with the bitterness I spit,
When you take her throat, I see red,
But I cannot admit these things to my absent soul,
By you I am vilified,
Like Christ I'd rather be crucified,
My wedding dress you nullified,
Let light stream in and burn me alive,
Burn me dead,
After aeons since the first I thought this bond was unbreakable,
1, 2, 3, women you have guided into your hell,
Still your thirst is unslakeable,
- But what did I expect?
Denn die Todten reiten schnell.

(Translation: Because the dead travel fast.)
NeroameeAlucard Feb 2015
"What is a man?!
A miserable Pile of Secrets!" he shoutes
then he sprung his attack
with the holy whip of my ancestors in my hand
I intended to make it his epitaph.
we battled for hours on end,
using holy water and dodging fireballs that would've meant my doom
when I had him beaten, he transformed into a grotesque demon
which also distorted the room
I didn't know which I was battling, my own head or Count Vlad Tepes Dracul
Anyway, after one final strike, The Undead terror had finally been slain
I hoped and prayed that no-one would ever speak his name
Okay, you have one guess as to what video game inspired this poem. One. Guess. lol
s Oct 2014
smell of girls' fresh blood
from the fangs digging her neck-
just a vampire thing
an attempt to haiku. first time writing one.
Sam Hain Oct 2014
To swim the slimy seas the ocean o’er
And gag upon the rank and rotten air
Filthy with sailor’s curse and foulest swear
In search of lost and dearly loved Lenore,
To open up the inner sanctum’s door
And call (in tongues unfit for holy prayer)
Clammy Cthulhu forth from out his lair,
Will be to me most pleasant evermore.
And like a count who shuns the light of day
And moves by candlelight in chilly gloom,
Or a black witch that wears a sacred bloom
Of belladonna on her breast alway,
I live where the scarecrow spies the blackbird’s lark:
I live within the cold and rainy dark.

O.O
Leia R Oct 2014
Honed fangs behind
sweet lips.  

Lips made to caress my
skin as they travel along
my throat.
So gentle he is,
For a monster

His tongue against my
jugular;
Heartbeats quicken.
Shallow breathing
as his dark eyes
bore into mine.

"Take me," I plea, "make me into you."

You are mine...
His voice is thick,
laced with seduction
but also some sort of
tenderness.

His movements
careful
slow
calculated.

He plants a
kiss on my neck,
fangs barely brushing.

*And I do not destroy that which is mine.
Celebrating the new Dracula movie ♡
Expectation....
As you draw in the warmth from the blistering ember
you will travel a road that I know you'll remember.
Make sure you're comfy in your night-time attire
as you open the book beside this open fire.

You sit here alone reading by candle's glow
your design on this journey that these pages will show.
You flick through the prologue so ready to start
Unknown roads stand before me, so now I depart.

I relish, these words that are so well designed.
Passing such crafted visions into embracing mind
and so were away, as I follow the text,
full of anticipation at what to expect.

Onward....
What is it I cannot see, it hovers vaguely up ahead, shadow stalk, lingering round, vanishing with words un-said.
Uncertain, I do forge ahead, my passage-way remains un-blocked
a beating heart is all I hear and fear is certainly unlocked.

Expeditions must proceed as I try hard not to sway.
With words un-aired but swiftly told with handful gesture as I pray.
I want so much not to be afraid, such horrors keeps my mind engrossed
Reluctantly I turn the page, clinging to this paper host.

Continuing through this written course, what must I cater for ahead,
from words that I cannot divorce. Is Shelley's monster still un-dead.
Standing just outside the grasp of shadows moving through the night
with Frankenstein will I relapse? Shall Dracula cause early flight.

Has Jeckyll change into his Hyde? The only way to surely know,
Is carry on till journeys end, continue forth and watch the show.
Should I force this cover shut or should I just continue on.
My fear maybe sounds absurd as I escape from Chapter one?

How can I be afraid to read?
They're merely words from someone's mind.
Fictitious lines from crafters pen,
why then am I in this bind?

This fear I have is very real
as images do start to brew.
So curious I have no choice,
my course is clear- Chapter two

Painful Endurance....
It seems so long ago to me since first I opened this
Cover up and looked inside to see things I don't want to miss.
I've travelled through such horrors in the Chapters I have delved.
If foresight was ahead of me this novel would be shelved.
This truly was not on my mind when this work I did desire
but I worry that I shan't get back home to sit beside my fire.
26th April 2013

— The End —