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The darkest hour is the time when we all get together,
dancing and singing, laughing and crying;
until one man starts dying.
"Disgusting!" says the weak man, "Horrifying!" said the next;
Don't they know that they too are next?

Corpses and blood are everywhere;
just another night, for a bunch of millionaires.
in order to make it, you need to be strong;
for prayers are not allowed here.
praying is for the cattle, the sheep;
and we are above those who are asleep.
Created by me on October 22nd, 2019.
Not much to say about this one. a bit twisted, but not really. I already miss Halloween...
teju Aug 2019
was looking
through the smog
wandering at
isolated places
in the forest,
listening to all
the horrifying
trying to
identify the
masked faces,
with the feeling
of some
A sudden jolt
woke me up,
to make me
it was just a
Midnight Dream!
Jenna Mar 2019
Mysterious person in my dream
your appearance is quite extreme

You feel like a dark, wretched theme
its enough to make me wanna scream
Fauty  piece of cladding
Ingulfed by the cruelest form of death.
People asking questions
Seeking answers.
are fobbed off.
Where does the blame lie.
No-one is eager to take responsibility?
Pass the buck.
People have lost identity
Their own personal dignity
What a world we live in.
Everything shuffled under the carpet.
With precious promises to do this and that.
We're is the cash that was raised?
Is it being used or abused.
Is it helping the survivors
back on there feet again.
People traumatized
It's  The not knowing.
That really bothers me
When will their ever be a solution
Do we have to wait for years
Carrying that awful burden
Martin Narrod Apr 2017
The postulate of this grief is ours. Every night in my wiry chain-mail suit, in my bed, where you have been crying for your lost hours. For a moment they came, in calamity and drudgery, to every travailing effect that pushed you down. Half of one day, you had it. You plucked your eyebrows, applied vigorously baby oil, lotion, to your pallid skin, and in two bats of your eyes, it had disappeared again. So sad you are. So sad you have been. They were only minor hours, wrapped in crimson bows, gentle happenings that you had barely grazed the tips of your fingernails into, and their symbolical sense, their nuance, wasn't perfected as you had wished just yet. And you tried so hard and it wasn't right yet. In the bed, with your fore-paws tucked neatly under the pillow, the bottom of your legs tucking their way up into your gut, tight as tight could be; I watched you sob in your maudlin ball, your sudorific tears, just peeling out of your eyes. I changed the pillow. I swapped it out. If only we could find your hours and give them back to you.But you cowered into a half-lump ball, your spirit curdling under your night-wept tears. And I too wanted your hours, for they were mine also. Our amatory hours, the fervid hours, our hours of luxe developing bliss. I felt the same urgency to recall them as you, but it was I who held to them, and clang to them that was losing my fingertip grasp on their minutes, and that is what frightened the both of us.
grief grieving sad sadness torture inimitable horror horrifying dead die dying death wicked evil depressed depression awful unghastily horrid sordid eyes spirit hours hands paws girls girl her hers him write writer writing poet poets poetry write writing writers sanfrancisco paloalto california portolavalley stanford review reviews novice nocturnal heinous fetor
Aspen S Mar 2017
we all know them now as warriors;
they were brave and strong and instead of
weeping in the shadows, they
rose higher with the wings that heaven itself gave them.
it was one of the darkest periods in human history
and yet they still held themselves together
and never gave up no matter what
obstacle got stuck in their path
and although most may not be here today,
we are to bless them like the moon
blesses the sun when it sets into
the newly lit night sky
for they are the reason why the war
ended in the first place.
they are the ones who wouldn't allow
bullets to be thrown at them without a fight,
and for those reasons,
we shall forever be thankful.
this is for all of those who are lost and forgotten. for those who fought their damnedest to help others. for those who have to live the rest of their lives knowing ancestors of their own family were murdered by a beast.
                                                i love you.
Dear dolly,
you always seem so jolly.
I wonder if your smile is pure
Or if you just stitched it as a temporary cure
For all the madness that has been flowing through

Your soul that has never coexisted
with your fabricated flesh
I ponder the way you think
and the reason why you never blink
But you seem to look good in pink

Didn't think you'll love the dark shade of red
splashed through the sheets of a bed
From your blade's sharp end

I wonder who'll you ****** tonight
since the moon is out without a bite
Here's a little creepy pasta themed poem for ye... hehehe I like these scary stories... :3
Em Dec 2014
is a breath never released
suffocation of the lungs
and the whole of your mind
is a clock
that never stops ticking
with the constant click, from past to present
Time never ends
and oh darling
nor does anxiety.
Riley Nov 2014
I’m not me anymore. I can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t do, can’t be. I am still, and silent, and sad. So achingly, horrifyingly sad. Everything hurts, but nothing hurts at all, because I’m absolutely numb. I curl up and try to keep all of everything inside of me from falling apart. I don’t even want to open my eyes.

Why is winter my kryptonite?
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