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I walked this town with madness,
Where streets once full of gladness—
And I cried into the heavenly sky
That no sadness shall ever blow by
Upon this town of madness.

For all the churches and their bells
May ring warning about this hell,
But no bell can reach the drinking well
That drove this town to madness.

I turned around seeking that sound
That haunted every morrow—
That ripply wave that intertwines
And beckons us to sorrow.

I stood amidst this desolate town
That wore the well as its crown,
And every building knelt broken down
To hail the King of Madness.
Where warnings fail, the well still flows.
And the town, like its people, learns to kneel.
ash 3d
bare, a beast of all sorts,
the kind, unknown, unnamed,
desire, perhaps, or even the want.

peeling back layers upon layers,
haunting like venom dressed in velvet,
freaky, misdirected, and led upon.

devotion and lust drink from the same glass,
the champagne poured in by the hands that sculpted brass
into silver,
now mistaken for diamond shine
razor sharp, pricking at the slightest touch,
reaching all the way behind to grasp
the thin fiber of reality that separates.

distance barely existing,
trembling hands trying to pull away the curtains
that hide behind the mesh covering the eyes—

like silk over barbed wire,
perfume resembling the stench of blood,
metallic, almost glittering upon a caress.

curling upon the sheets like smoke in a fire grate,
in spirit, in being, in a soul tie so strong,
the red string pulled taut—

circling the fingers, going all the way up the arm,
slithering and coiling like a snake around the neck,
possession lacking in need.

war report disguised as a love note,
signed in lip stain.

warmth where the danger lives,
close to the flames that can destroy whole,
turned into ash, not mere blackened soot—

violet seize amidst grey sample.

rotten, wholly spoilt,
always a dance,
circling around, close—oh so close,
yet so far.

the truth about forever,
which exists in eternity,
for the while the self survives—

cherry-soaked bodies
living below the ransacked lair.
unspoken, the eyes connect,
few faded visions filled with anomalies,

and a step further up ahead.

grip loose, just way too loose,
accept the chances at running,
escaping right after the wisp of contact—

entangled fingers slipping as the light dims,
furthermore, the radio in the very corner
plays the same track from the first ever night—

with or without you,
don’t touch—don’t glance, don’t do.

torn between staying to take away the soul
or leave behind a heart wrapped in a ribbon.

the blackening veins, cinematic mugshot,
before ties around the wrists and eyes up at the skies—

give up—give up—breathe in, let be.

+92, look at me—do you hear it too?
the sound of bells, calling upon all the wanderers,
the bare ones, yet to hold any other.

too generic, exceptionally quiet,
concentric circles of the eyes,
tired of novocaine—

about all that you don’t see,
put the **** away.

solely a white, white lie,
blazing remembral speaks in starlight.

numbing ache around where the fingerprints remain,
tunnel vision, staring right at you,
at the way you move.

the last ticket, the last trip—
no turning back.

dripping cocoa down, round from the ceiling,
the mirrors speaking monstrosity,
reflections sharing a breath—

en route, in the midst of almost,
leaving behind all casualties,

end this trip—
while going down and low,
and back into the graves where we slipped out from.
messy messy messy me
Fishing at the edge of this abyss
murky waters swallow my feet
always wondering,
wondering always
what lurks underneath?

Setting a beautiful net
shiny fabric swallowed by haze
always fooled
fooled always
what will I trap?

Fishing at the verge of this abyss
mucky waters stain my skin
always hoping
hoping always
it will be worth it.

Fisher, you should have known
only foul critters crave beauty.
Fisher, you should have known
only atrocious jaws devour love.

Setting a beautiful net
worn out golden fabric
always loving
loving always
the teeth sinking in my hands.

Setting a tender net
sewn back with hair
always knowing
knowing always
who would adore you
if it is not me?




[Another recurrence of the Devotion Rot habit—spilled as art.
Writings about a consuming love we would love to hate.]
Setting a beautiful net does not always mean you will catch beautiful things. And isn't that what we want? To find the unloved, one whose past and scars shine like rotten scales -one only us can love. For loving them comes at a cost nobody else would pay. And isn't that delightful? Coming undone to love.
Sam Pagunuran Jul 16
with milk-stained lips
and spoiled tears
i've unearthed myself
from the black tar
that is mother

i did not cry at first
then with a punch
she carved me
with jagged corners
sharp enough to hurt

it is not a birth
but an exorcism
a regurgitation
of a rotten heart
but it's still a heart

ba-dump
ba-dump
i am warm not by blood
gasoline fills my lungs
ba-dump, i'm on fire

"ba-dump, ba-dump"
are my first words
it's baneful magic
my mother too hollow
to understand

my arrival is an omen
she calls me "consumption"
i devoured my mother
and spit out the soil
i am sick and i am also full
Bible writes Jul 10
A sweet melody filled the room completely
‎But I saw no one
‎I called out loud and-no answer
‎Suddenly the song stopped as if it had never played
‎The room became quiet
‎I heard footsteps slowly getting closer
‎The Walls around me began to Bang loudly
‎I wanted to run but my legs were freezed
‎I was stuck
‎I cried and cried hoping someone would come
‎Then someone called me
‎Shaking me to wake up..
‎I opened my eyes...left a sigh and realized it was a nightmare
‎But even in waking
‎I was still paralyzed.
- Bible ❤️
A melody that no one heard....but I did.
Adagio Jul 9
In twilight’s hush, where shadows pray,
For sweet Elinore, lost to day,
The weeping willows bend and sigh,
As silver stars blink in the sky.

The whispering wind calls out her name,
A fleeting touch, a ghostly flame.
Oh, where has dawn’s bright darling fled?
To silent halls, where none have tread?

The roses weep in crimson dew,
Their petals soft—their sorrows true.
The brook, once laughing, hushes near,
As if it waits for her to appear.

Yet still the nightbird sings her song,
A mournful tune, both deep and long.
“Return, return,” the echoes plead,
But twilight holds her—lost, indeed.

So shadows kneel, and prayers rise,
To guide her soul through star-strewn skies.
Oh, sweet Elinore, sleep so bright,
Cradled in the arms of night.
I rest your head on my lap
and I promise everything is alright.
I caress your hair—
and it's myself who I deceive when I say
I will heal all that aches.

Playing peek-a-boo with your demons
I grant each and every desire.
Gasping lullabies to your ear,
do you rest when they sleep?

Playing hide and seek with your demons
they feed me all your whims.
Gasping bedtime stories to your ear
until you fall asleep
and they come with me.





[Another recurrence of the Devotion Rot habit—spilled as art.]
Poems telling about a love that lingers like a parasite, one that you welcome in the despair of loneliness. And one you feed in the need of being taken whole. Until nothing of you is left.
A soft lullaby you whisper while sweetly dying inside.
Farwa Jun 19
A knife she liked
The cards she hides
The truth in her words
Often never reveals the pain
Talking doesn't make her better
Just drove her to the memory lane
Nothing is worth the time
The redness of her own shines
The time froze the thoughts
Do you feel the haunting threat of thoughts?

A new lie to live by
A kind one you would not mind
Sleep to the whispers of her voice
Hear it in the depths of the voids
Blood bath you had taken
Just don't make her bleed to her rest
Alive and agile
Glittering in the pale moonlight
Shine through the broken hides
A darling of midnight

Different from her peers
Loved to volunteer
A lovely reflection
Torches were already bare
Hum a familiar tune
A kind of no one remembers or dreams
Chant from time to time
If she never came
Then that's goodbye
Byebye
The child I thought I grew up from made an appearance again....
A pair of glasses, shattered,
On the floor of a room that remembers nothing.
They weren’t mine, but I miss them anyway.
No one ever claimed what they left behind.

There was no sound,
Just the cold shape in the corner.
A chair pulled slightly back,
As if someone thought twice, then disappeared.

Dust settled like it had been listening.
I traced something into the glass with my finger.
A name? A date?
It didn’t stay long.

There are things I meant to say.
And one thing I never should have.
A hand I almost reached for, I shot in the dark.
A book for all, a book for none.
I wrote this one about nostalgia, but not the warm kind.
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