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In the heat of moments,
Where incandescence mirrored flame
Dancing marigold shadows on alabaster skin,
Flush pink rosy cheeks greet with ruby red lips curled
A quaint smile, in a quiet Manor.

Quiet manners,
In succinct hungered eyes
Staring into permissive lashes
Batted from sapphire pools,
Lively looms of auburn Toole
Shading cherub roundness of her French features,
Obstructing beauty that begot but a heavy sigh.

Pallid cold fingers,
Reach to swipe the silken veil,
Close to her heat, she’s radiant
Sun-washed white, Christian pure.

She offers her hand,
Like an hors d’oeuvres,
She encourages the beast,
With tiny begs and pleads.

Fangs descend,
Parasitic hunger contends
With romantic candor,
Need not to soil sentiment,
He won’t be rude or offended.

A kiss,
Chilled lips touch throbbing wrist
Tongue teasing the riverbeds,
Sending them into blued shivers,
And then a pang rang through
Screaming at the synapses,
The sinew snap of the epidermis,
Snap pea in its clarity,
A rarity in her giving so charitably.

A lashing flick,
Twirling like butterflies patternless flight
Suckling the honeysuckle nearly dry.
As sapphire eyes slated to drained gray pearls
Slinking frame bracing on the shoulder of a chair
She smiles still, given fanatically
She loves with majesty and anima.

He kisses her like a long goodbye
A farewell crept upon phantasmagoric moments
Splashed as vividly as neon paint along black-lit canvases
Her body pocked with punctures
Polka-spotted chic in tapped keg kinesis.
She yearned to join his side,
Like some corpse bride
Under the guise of sanguineous wines
Forever entwined,
And who could deny it?

But he did,
Hid behind chthonic masquerades
And never wishing to see the day
An ageless love betrayed his fragility,
A heart that ached so eternally
Tragic in their symphony
Played out in hungry morsels.
The immortal who loved a mortal
And her spectral haunting,
In every drop given.
a story of love, vampirism, willingness to please beyond reason, a need to shelter with the fear of happiness.
Yashkrit Ray Jun 13
A deer near a pond
Drinking water, sees a lion
Now fears the water
Some moments of happiness that suddenly turn into horror that haunts all the life.
Damocles Jun 12
If you utter my name,
I shall manifest as an entity—
A horned wolf crafted from obsidian shadow.
My reddish eyes will dart through you,
Consuming your light and leaving you with only endless onyx.

If you dare to reach for me,
I shall corrupt you, overriding your DNA.
I shall consume your soul like a cannibal,
Invading your spaces like a parasite,
And you shall become my vessel.

If you sing my praises,
I shall repay you in broken dreams.
I shall reveal that blood is merely wine,
As you sip from tapped vines,
Renewed  with a steeled spine,
Forever  twisted and turned—
mine.

I am the wolf, hungry and insatiable,
A demon with a slicked tongue.
Some perceive me as an incubus,
Capable of misleading you into darker deeds.
I shall ravage your body while you beg me for mercy,
And when the day is done, you shall seek release.

From my dungeon,
I shall emerge into the streets,
Until you find an emptiness in need.
Speak my name, reach for me, and sing my praises,
Until I come to efface you, nameless.
Just playing with words and concepts here, curious what you think.
Damocles Jun 10
There’s a scent of trouble in the night air
Here in this blue-black pitched alley
Where she leads with a hypnotic sway
Hips moving like a pendulum
And I’m her fool wanting to get my hands on
Leather-clad round peach-like curvatures.

She stops me with a fingertip
Pressed upon my silky lips,
Hints of honey, lavender, and vanilla wafting
Intoxicated I drunkenly stumble on my feet
As she grins, careful not to show those pearly white teeth.

She tells me to stand still
Moving like a siren in open water,
Circling, and kissing parts of my neck never touched
Electrical pulses fire sending shivers,
Cool hands fondling over marbled muscle
I’m feeling flushed and dizzied.

She feels the rush of red,
Flow through my rivers,
And filling her prize,
Fabric straining,
Painstaking,
I bite my knuckle,
Must regain composure,
Must regain…

I hear the belt unbuckle
I feel the tug of hands by my waistband
Her eyes light with awe,
As my fleshly serpent bounced and swayed
Free from it’s cotton laced cave,
I try to say something…
Going too fast perhaps,
Barely know her,
Not even her name.

But thoughts go blank
As her wet-tongued ballets
Twisting like licking a vanilla cone,
Until the warmth of her maw
Became a second home.

Lost in the ecstasy
My hands gripping her jet-black hair
Pulling while moving hips to dance with her skillful dancer,
Until the pain comes.

Clutched tight by the upper limbs of this spider,
She enticed me with silky romantic gestures,
****** pleasure,
But as the bite enters my swollen member
I feel faint, my heart slowing, wishing to surrender
As the world spins, asunder
Weaker, feeling each pint dither
As the last drops travel lonesome
Through a cave of dried and wilting river beds

I only wanted a chance encounter
She only wanted to be fed.
This piece is about vampirism, specifically about being seduced by someone in the clan Toreador (if you're not a vampire the masquerade fan here's a link: https://whitewolf.fandom.com/wiki/Toreador_(VTM)) it is meant to be darkly seductive and provocative. This piece should not be consumed by anyone under the age of 18.

if you feel this poem is too dark or too obscene please message me before flagging, and I will happily take it down or make it private. The last thing I want to do is cause harm.
There’s a bin on the way home,
I wonder what’s inside.
A tired ocean? Remains of a dome?
Expired food? A bucket of fries?

I came closer to the smell of fish,
I open it, it was red, black and white.
Whatever I saw inside that day,
Made me scared for my life.

An eye, a liver, a lung, a tooth,
All of it inside this dark, heavy booth.
I closed the bin quickly, I wan away,
I guess I can call it a day…
This is a poem inspired by a panel from the manga Uzumaki where Mr. Saito dies, his body twisted into the shape of a spiral.
Damocles Jun 9
Nothing is soothing in this silence,
No static in the ears, and no waves within the canopies.
Nothing is stirring beneath the verdant cover.
Stirring chitin remains still, and not even a spider dares to tap on her limbs.
Something inexorable lurks within the fog, watching.

There must be something in the water when the mist rises in toxic cover.
Dead fish float like chopped logs from arboreal slaughter,
Skeletal deer prance with an urgent need to flee—
As the shadows morph into tenebrous forms.
Limbs outstretched, they choke the light from the sun,
And colorful flowers rot in their bloom.

A billow of smoke creates a room, walls of fog closing in on him now.
No escape from judgment as it approaches.
Hear the scrape of the scythe on pavement cutting,
The echoes of the ****** calling.
Deeds and sins replay in a cinematic recording.
When peace was offered, he did nothing.
Cold, invisible fingers catch the nape of his neck,
Grasping this wretch as the time comes.

Oh, there must be something in the water, where his ego lies and dies.
The metallic smell of old blood pollutes his senses,
Iron-laced perfume gathered on mildewed, moldy linen.
Red spots from his transgression stain his clothes.
He kneels in the shallow water, gargling black water to express his confession,
But it won’t top the procession.
It’s coming through these closing walls.

Nothing is soothing about this silence,
No miracle befitting to save the ******.
Brimstone and sulfur scents assault his senses as the fiery gates open like a welcoming parade. Fingers reach from the depths signaling charades as the reaper leaps and slashes away.
Welcome to Forever.

You’re just another, something in the water.
.I like to write poetic horror stories from time to time, and I understand I'm no Poe, Homer, Milton, or even Kipling, but I still like to tell stories poetically.
when the lights go out,
i am swallowed by nothingness.
it settles like a blanket over me —
but it is heavy.

the world becomes gaps and blanks.
my mind fills them.
it paints them with my worst fears:
murderers, monsters, you.
you come alive in the dark.
you lurk in the corners,
waiting for the moment
i blink.

but the images don’t move.
they are stagnant-
still, yet smothering,
seeping into skin
and squeezing the breath from my chest.

i say i’m scared of the dark,
but truly,
i fear the corners of my mind
and what they birth
when i’m alone long enough
to let them speak.
2:12am
I should sleep
Merkelig May 29
Lithe as breath—
the flame bends
never breaks—
a matchstick’s dance
poised on ash.
*BLT'S horror prompt challenge
**lithe
***If you choose to partake, post your piece, then message me so that I may re post and add it to the collection found on my home page
****please remember to place word and BLT's Challenge in the notes
neth jones May 28
back to the masterplan   to the **** grown crop                  
                  chop-chop    food tinned for the great red heist
the pawn heads   duds stringing out the gross termination
growing the bomb pocked sod with ashes                    
                            fertile with calcium phosphates

growing history fascist-faced                          
  no space for art  love and earning yourself
mal-educate       no learning to learn
back to the masterplan    no time to explain
just be a sport   and don't dare complain
original (05/25) : back to the masterplan/ to the **** grown crop/chop-chop food/tinned for the great red heist/the pawn heads / duds stringing out the gross termination/growing the bomb pocked sod with ashes/fertile with calcium phosphates //growing history fascist-faced /no space for art and life and love
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