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Even with a thousand heads and souls around me,
The thought of loneliness always resided with me
I did not intend to fit in everyone's sizes,
Nor was I proud of the bottle that shook with rage, ready to spill
My life disintegrates within a flash of a solution
I present myself and my energy to a dull audience
But the same smiles just stare speechless, gawking at me

I paraded willfully, expressing myself through art that was repulsive to many
Yet, there were a few eyes that presented a beacon, despite my addictions crumbling the floor beneath me
I reached out and touched the flames that singed my hair
Till I landed on flowers
They were not the gorgeous type,
But they were just like me:
Odd, beautiful, deterring, and tiresome.

One of them shared a joke about death,
It forced a laugh out of me, till I realized today was April Fools' Day
A skull-shaped bud cries in front of me, similar to that of a child
I take in the smell of the hole I've fallen in, though the fall was cushioned by giant red flowers
As pretty as they are, their smell is who I am
I look above and see a crucifix in the sky
Then the darkness falls in, and I accept the undeniable truth by closing my eyes.
Written in honor of Rozz Williams from Christian Death
I see you crystal clear,
A lover’s lust away…
For I dine with darkness,
Bidding you as your seer…
You shouldn’t have met me,
Playing with my dear blood…
All it takes is one spell,
Rising hell from the mud…
Fixed suns will bring famine,
All your love with starve out...
Begging God for mercy,
You will receive Mammon…
What love you have is lost,
Only for demons crossed…
Sonorant Jan 23
She is the artic of midsummer
Who feeds on the way you burn
For her.
After I saw her, I knew she was the one. 
I knew, oh I knew well about her

She breathed as a being I wanted to preserve in my art. 
She possessed power over me that summoned me without surrender.

I'd go mad without her;
I want to kiss her beauty so well, 

Only my lips can entertain a supple soul like hers, 
Desperate for someone like me.

I have acquired dreams of planting kisses, 
Holding her delicately in my arms as I strum her hair.

I want to love her, making her my statue.
This poem's part of a story I'm currently working on.
I may have loved you too much,
but;
A part of me still loves you to this day

Your sweetness allures me so,
Like honeyed days we’d stare without shame
You were irresistible to my heart and I knew trouble cornered me

I’d shoo away the laughable thoughts,
Aiming to mail you a letter of love
To which you’d open it fresh with a scented kiss

Flower petals would descend from your heart
Your cheeks adopted a sunflower
The stars entertained you that night

You told me you always dreamed of late evenings
Informing me of the curtain of constellations
That you’d like to sleep soundly in

Of course I’d be willing to offer you anything in return of your smile
And the night we escaped, you gasped softly at the surprise
Your simple happiness was all one romantic would need

No matter where we dreamed,
Together we are one
Standing besides one another 

Fate draws near, echoing our future
Your bleakness eats me devastatingly
Tomorrow we are still...one being

But overseas, I send you my farewells
So that you are found in perfect health
And that we consume truly divine harmonies

Made only for the sweetened couples
Whose stories fade ever so forlornly in the past
I love you brightly as the sun

You illuminate my pathways
But one kiss erases my existence
Continue to please those around you;

Without me, the world withers

Please remember my love,
And be gentle with it
For it is delicate as the world

My eyes see a star
But yours fail to see within that darkness
The gloom that retreats before you arrive

I am part of that campaign
An honorable being among the troops
Yet your continuous ignorance saddens me so

See me now,
Find me wanderlust in this world
And somewhere, we can swiftly enrapture ourselves

Whether it be in the meadows of glistening rays
Or the places that calmly send the earth into slumber
Wherever we are destined, I’ll always be there for you

Even if tonight’s curtain unsheathes
And you are no longer the image of love,
But rather, a friend I could love with silliness on languid days and somber nights.
365 word count.
Sonorant Nov 2021
I. Phasmophobia
I am the innumerable gloom of dim, long-buried anthems.
In wistful suspension, I shadow over a living loft in silence.
Tethered between lines, my fog bleeds on panes in knocking
Hawking your dimming faces in the lamplight of my genesis.
Torn the tunnels of their astringed throats, a requiem is reaped.
— ”I was a shape moving rapidly, nervous at the edge of your vision.” -Cynthia Huntington

II. Claustrophobia
I am the small match ignited from the depths of your mind.
My walls blanched absent of evacuation, self invite into
Your personal and private violation, invading every fissure
With icy burns, solidifying your chrysalis on hungry bark.
Your frozen God of smothering doom, a willow devours you.
— “But then I remember the universe was closed, and so very small. There was really no where else to go.” -Peter Watts

III. Ommetaphobia
I am the stricken, scarlet cloth coalesced of cruelty and ichor.
These rawboned talons, cloaked thereof, overtake embrace—
In coarse delight— a piety of prisoners’ silver stark sights.
Perceptive cavities leak my garb as my artistic blade sweeps.
Plucked from the dredges of a briny skull, two diamond orbs.
— ”The hearts hushed secret is in the soft, dark eye." -Letitia Elizabeth Landon
.
IV. Monophobia
I was the cherished friend to you, my twine stitched in your grasp.
A golden balloon unaffected by tides of time and distorting gales.
Alas from this intimate atmosphere shot an arrow, poisonous
Where silently I erupt into a missing memory upon the wind.
As your curtains close, you breathe for me, without a hand to hold.
—”And all I lov’d, I lov’d alone.” -Edgar Allan Poe

V. Arachnophobia
I am the legion of soundless beholders aloft your dormant dreams.
An itch scattered over the crooked spine, arid for pulsing melodies.
This fruitful sapling beckons each dark, angular limb near your neck.
As my lighting strikes erratically, your foolish impulse slow to clutch
Creeping necrosis bestowed by the guardian who claimed your home.
—”The Spider taketh with her hands and is in king’s palaces.” -Proverbs 30:28.

VI. Agoraphobia
I am the ancestral abductor of this rotting womb you deem a shelter.
As the embryo held within, I contract you into tides and bid ‘swim’.
Directions devoid, beyond bolted doors, you plummet to my depths
Where you wish for comforts’ wind but mislaid the method to breathe.
My otherworld encompasses you, whilst I drink in your suffocating.
— ”Mother is the name for God on the lips and hearts of all children.” -William Thackeray

VII. Ecclesiophobia
I am the black shepherd in martyric masque and a mitre casque.
A discrete imminent sheep cowers, hanging on the hook in my gallery—
My chalice congregates your pure liquor of laments for libertine luxury.
I rise where you fall and smother the lantern of your last mortal minutes
Instilling final grace in the stillness of your veins, my kingdom reigns eternally.
— ”Suffering can be a gift.” - Abbie Bernstein.
Hex Sep 2021
High upon the hill it lies,
Forlorn in darkened dour,
Praised by many, known by few,
The Castle Glora's Tower.

Hoisted high upon the ridge,
The shining beacon's hope,
Left to rot in the abyss,
The Tower's mithered scope.

Penned upon the rotten pages,
The cries, the screams, the wails,
Bereft deep in the antique annals,
That of which, all now hail.

Stones that hold their secrets,
Like a note contained by twine,
Still held to its defiled name,
Stands Glora's Tower, divine.
Silence is still...
A Rose thorn ****** into the darkness of the night.
Ghosts and ghouls wander a yard of thee,
ones who sheltered by the tree, 6ft yonder.
A veil blows as the river flows,
lost bride who can't find her ride.
Chills of the midnight light ***** down
unto your spine and you begin to run,
but their following you, chasing you-
and they won't give up until you're out of luck.
Angels fall and lose their wings to grow again and recover
their ancient beings of heaven's dream.
Silence is still,
Morning comes to greet you,
and all the spirits of the night find a place to rest,
until the next time, they may deplete you.
NOTE: The day time is beautiful, but the night is when magic happens and all things truly come to life. All the memories, spirits, time lapses of horror and pride, come to haunt you or love you. It's up to you to decide your fate.
nick armbrister Jul 2021
Gothic Black
What will tomorrow be like?
We have to get thru today first
Then we can see what it’ll be like
The same old crap or different?
A perfect utopia of happiness
Or a black ash filled world
We will see as the days die
Night becoming the new normal
Some think tomorrow is now
And only darkness will reign
Like some scifi horror story
With us as the characters
All soon to perish in the night
I look forward to that world
More gothic than black
MAJOR INSOMNIA
CORPORAL SLEEP
Nick Armbrister and other writers
Hex Jul 2021
Cycle, cycle, cycle.

Heart a flourish, mind ablaze,
Up-and-comes a tainted gaze,
Wander into Des' maze,
Living hours, counting days,
Everlasting, fleeting phase?
Watch and wonder who you praise,
When consort becomes disciple,
Cycle, cycle, cycle.

Apathy, our fragile doll,
All we seek is all we stall,
Rather wait, or rather bawl?
Yet I sit, and here I scrawl,
Watching me, fly on the wall,
Watching me, apathy's thrall,
When idle becomes idol,
Cycle, cycle, cycle.

No, no, it cannot be,
Through my eyes, you cannot see,
No, no, you mustn't flee,
I still wish yet to be free,
No, no, hide the key,
Keep "out there" away from me,
When denial becomes recital,
Cycle, cycle, cycle.

Circle, circle, spin, and stop,
Stop—to reach towards the top,
Don't repair, just reap your crop,
Stop—downward you may drop,
Water falling, wet blacktop,
Stop—Lest your mind is prop,
When a spiral becomes spinal,
Cycle, cycle, cycle.

Don't deny the heart the mind,
With repentance comes the bind,
Ears are muted, eyes turned blind,
Connect the eternally twined,
Don't embrace—forgive your grind,
Lest you put your past behind,
When survival becomes revival,
Cycle, cycle, cycle.

Cycle, cycle, cycle.
AKA Exolvuntur In Aeternum -- Read three times for full effect.
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