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Serious Abandon Mar 2015
Serrated dawn
Carnivorous night
Who's teeth I fear
But do not flight

I welcome thee
Cyclopean spire
Carcosian sea
Hatur's eyless ire
Becomes me

With stars of ebon twilight
and Aeons countless
Nyarlothotep's sight
I make for the Mountains
of Madness
A tribute to the author who defined my highschool years
WickedHope Jan 2015
So apparently I'm a troll.
Funny, most joke I look elvish.
I think 5'6 is too tall to be a troll,
I could be mistaken though,
Afterall I've never had the displeasure
of meeting one in person.

So apparently I'm a troll, not sure why.
I think it has to do with some stuck up guy.
Can't we all just get along?
I just want to write and not be accused
of things that I'm not.
I think I'm done here, hope it's not too long.
I end with a sigh,
because I'm tired of this already.
You heard of Love Craft?
No? Well,
1) they're spamming, 2) they're attacking non trolls and 3) they are starting to come up with ******* reasons (like having 'too many' followers) to call people trolls.
I'm just sick of them. It's fine to make posts venting/warning about trolls, but I think they're taking it too far.
No, I don't support the real trolls either, I've had my share of complications with Carvo and Dov.

Do you guys think I'm a troll?

**Alright, now he's attacking Ember Evanescent because she defended me. He's officially ****** me off beyond belief now. What the **** man? She's wonderful, don't take your **** with me out on other people!! Yeah, people, BECAUSE WE'RE PEOPLE NOT TROLLS!!!! LEAVE EMBER THE **** ALONE!! I feel sick.

****He appears to have found some reason. Thank you, LoveCraft, sorry you feel offended by me. I'm glad you appear to be leaving the non-trolls alone now.
- - -
Ember Evanescent Jan 2015
I'm sorry, I know this sounds weak, but I don't think it makes me less as a person to swallow my pride and admit that Lovecraft hurt my feelings with his poem where he attacks beautiful poets on this site such as WickedHope who is magnificent in every way. He added me to the list as well. It won't pretend it didn't upset me... I mean he called me a troll. But I've heard so much worse. What really hurt was how he insulted WickedHope who is an inspiration as a poet and a person to me. Please no one like that poem it only encourages bullying like that. I can't see the poem anymore because he blocked me but please, in the name of kindness, don't Like his poem. I just really don't want something like that to trend.
It was just completely uncalled for meanness... I don't understand why he said that about me or those poets I care about...
WickedHope Jan 2015
Well then.
You have no reason to be an ***.
(aka Dear Love Craft)
- - -
Thanks for blocking me,
now I don't have to read your excessive ******* anymore! :D
Sam Hain Oct 2014
One autumn day in Providence
   I opened up a door,
And entered into a stuffy room
   Called "Edgar's Nevermore",

A curio shop with things forbidden,
   And things bizarre and perverse,
And obelisks of ancient books
   Occult, arcane, and diverse.

I poked around the pint-sized potions,
   Inspected a petrified eft,
But made no purchase; and empty handed
   The merchant's lair I left.

Returning home, to my surprise,
   Like one who'd broken the law,
I found I'd taken a good unpaid for:
   A little monkey's paw.

It tightly gripped, with fingers curled,
   A flap of baggy sleeve;
And there it stayed, upon my jacket,
   When I hung it up at eve.

For many days it didn't move,
   And seemed the perfect pet;
But never trust a monkey's paw,
   Or this is what you'll get:

I went to bed a drunken evening,
   And slept as though I were dead;
And I didn't hear the monkey's paw
   As it crept beside my bed,

The monkey's paw that had bided its time,
   And waited, still as could be,
To choose this night to strangle it—
   My voodoo doll of me!

(Why did I have a voodoo doll
   Of me, you ask? Well, I...
Well, let's just say...well...I can't tell you...
   I'd blush to tell you why...)

I awoke (with bleary, blurry vision)
   To the monkey-****** grip,
Then died without a single curse
   To swear upon my lip.

And in my town I'm still remembered
   As that quintessential loner
Who died alone with a mangled throat,
   A creepy doll...and a *****.

O.O
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
Anastasia Webb Apr 2014
Once there was a mad Arabian poet,
he said,
who wrote a Book of Death
and an Unsettling Couplet
and inspired him
in the way that a car-wreck
may inspire a tattooist’s
gruesome designs.

O, the frightening things
that ran through his mind!
So unsettled was he,
so disturbed.
O, the way that they leered
at his table they dined!
So confused were his colleagues,
so perturbed.

God, the things that came creeping
in the early hours of dawn
when the town was asleep
and the moon was forlorn.
How he tossed in his sleep –
Was it sleep? was it real?
There were Things he did see
there were Things he did feel.

Lovecraft, Lovecraft –
my quiet recluse –
why are you so pale?
Pray tell. What phantom-horror
did you see in the night?
Why are you so blue?
Why do you shake? Are you
ill, are you sad, are you
broken in the mind?

But all of the doctors,
the scientists, the friends,
THEY COULD NOT REALISE
the horror, the nightmares,
the Things in the dark.

Escape through your head
through the blood-and-ink stained alleyways
within. Retire to your room
with a pen and an electric light.
Try as you might
not all of your stories with
their horror that some find unspeakable,
others disturbing –
THEY CANNOT EXPRESS
that pure form of fear
your mind feels at the idea
of the mad Arab’s couplet.

*That is not dead which can eternal lie
And with strange aeons, even death may die.

— The End —