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Lecia Alane May 2015
Who would have thought that hell could be beautiful?
Screams of the fellow ****** bleed into the devilish hymns of the choir,
creating an eerily evocative polyphony
from the lips of those who strip the flesh from our backs and revel in our misery.
The angels of hell smile,
with all the splendor of their former positions and more;
For they are more than angel.
They are imperfect,
and yet so hideously perfect that the mind splinters into shards of stained glass that fall from the cathedral into the pits of hell.
They are Hatred.
They are Anguish.
They are Lust.
They are Greed.
They are Lies.
They are the purest form of every wicked misfortune known to mankind.

They are ethereal; They are macabre;

They are fallen.
Scribo-Dolorum Apr 2015
“I hope I keep you up at night,

with spiders in your head.

Crawling through your tired brain

with all the lies you said.
Did you hang me in the closet?

Did you bury me in dirt?

You and I, you see, we share this beating heart of hurt.
Some of us are tossed aside,
sun bleached on the road.

A lie, a broken skeleton, to lie without a home.
A serpent twists through empty eyes,
winding through the nose.

I will live forever

in the ink  of written woes.”

3:27 a.m, Thursday, March 26, 2015
- j.d
Mutterings and murmurs all inane
Tabletops keep turning, turning round
I do think I have gone insane

Polychords create a dissonant chain
Of ghastly nails-on-chalkboard sounds
Mutterings and murmurs all inane

Dysfunctional symphony in a hellish train
Along the way to iniquitous underground
I do think I have gone insane

We stop; the left man pulls me into acid rain,
And we waltz in an urban burial ground
Mutterings and murmurs all inane

Fleshy neurons dance vapidly in my brain
Amber, scarlet, vermilion flames abound
I do think I have gone insane

Macabre figures gather and dance in the nefarious fain
They put thistles and roses on my head; I am crowned.
Mutterings and murmurs all quite inane
I do think I have gone insane
Taylor Moore Nov 2014
Open me up
Rip out my stuffing
Scatter my entrails along the floor
Hide in my thin skin

Seek refuge
I’ll protect you
Sophia Oct 2014
I wonder what will become
of us
when our flesh has abandoned our body
overtaken by the folds of our skin

I wonder what will become
of us
when our entrails will be covered in rot

I wonder,
if trees will bloom out of our chests
or if the dirt will stuff our throats,

and fill our hollow eye sockets.
I'm not afraid of the dark--
I'm afraid of the light,
that stealthy insight that looms overhead and slowly
envelopes my mind:
equal parts consolation and condemnation
of the decisions I've made and the dreams I've deferred
until tomorrow,
always tomorrow.

I can't sleep till midnight
because my mind insists on activity;
my whole being validated by three lines,
or three words,
whatever I write I become; I see.

What would you say
if I told you I count to twenty,
three times in a row after I hit snooze five times,
that I lie in bed, ruminating my failures
and the impending day,
resolute and domineering,
like an aged, hardened war general
who refuses to answer to, "I will not, sir;
I cannot do that, even for you,
or my country...sweet land of tyranny."

I think I find some meaning
and solace
in the minutes that beckon to morning
and hold fast to inevitable recycling of failure come freedom--
for, we are no longer chained by our fears when we forget
perfection.

I'll never reach that star;
I have no ladder that steep,
or hands that far reach,
outstretching past my own soiled skin--

tears that bleed.
Jack Lucid Sep 2014
Shroud me in charcoal clouds
and let the frigid autumn wind caress my skin
suspend me in a womb of hidden truths
and bury me sweetly in  a hallowed and nihilistic tomb*
So why are you astonished
in this world of rot and *****
  when our child-like elations become  extinguished by adult realizations  
and innocence is *****
So Shroud me in charcoal clouds
and let the frigid autumn wind caress my skin
suspend me in a womb of hidden truths
and bury me sweetly in  a hallowed and nihilistic tomb


when fear consumes you from the inside out
and all the walls are closing in
I will be your friend
Who can you trust and where do you go,
When you feel so ******* hollow.
When you've bitten off much more than you can swallow
and you watch your dreams slither down the drain
What will keep you sane?
*So Shroud me in charcoal clouds
and let the frigid autumn wind caress my skin
suspend me in a womb of hidden truths
and bury me sweetly in  a hallowed and nihilistic tomb
I need honest opinions?!?
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