Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Revenge,
that drove my mind insane,
diminished peace,
and replaced it with echoing chaos.

Revenge,
that filled my heart with hate,
venom in my veins,
ice in my soul,
fire in my eyes
and bitterness in my tone.

Revenge,
that made those moments rot
in anger wrapping up deceit.
Letting me dwell in darkness,
chaos and pain.

Revenge,
that makes more malice
to my hand.
So, I lay upon you to scourge.

Revenge,
that makes me feel like a villain,
with a prison sentence that never transpires.
Feet on the ground
Head in the clouds

Eyes always glazed
Knuckles grazed

Back hunched
Head slumped

Rough and calloused
And full of malice

But really just a broken boy
She said "I can practically taste the malice that fills your heart and the hatred in your soul. You would like nothing more than to see this world burn wouldn't you? I can see it in your eyes, that's the real you." She just might be right. The darkness within hums like a gentle rhythm I was but a victim of my humanity, those are memories I don't treasure but it's a measure of how far I've come. I'll take you by storm.... An uncontrollable maelstrom. No friend, no foes and anything goes in this game of mine, regardless of the time, my comeback remains certain.
Jon Thenes Dec 2018
When I smile
free of influence
we are children together
When I am giddy and smiley
minded by
and under the cover of a drug
your discomfort
is apparent
I despise your eyes and your company

Life liquid
unteamed
abrasive
I part from you violently
and seek hastle in other venues
I smile now
with malice
which I illuminate
lighting up a cigarette
in the care of cupped hands
They treat me like cowardice
But I survive through them like parasite
They try to feed me fruit and sent me out me paradise
But I caught their whole disguise
They sent me black roses
They fed me bad doses
They give me bad diet
But still I never die yet
My sorrow is their ecstasy
My defeat is their legacy
But I will never let-them-win
I'll stand and die, legendary
I don't give a f*ck about em enemies
I do not care ‘bout their detesting things in any means
I am not fund of uttering platitudes
In stain glass attitude
Soon I'll break those chains
Coz it has cause me so much pain
And when you start making it' everyone will say
That you're walking through a mystic way
But the air severe is but a mere veneer
The cynic smile is but a wile of guile
And when you become an iconic guy,
Your enemies will say "his fame's ritualised"
And when you arranged your lines to entertain them
Your real dude will woo your rhymes like it's Shakespeare's
Coz you did the impossible; you must be sorcerous,
The venon of their mouth compared to a snake is dangerous
But all their malice and hate do not move me
Their gossips and critic will not mute me
I'll buckle my shoe and shoot for the stars
And keep-on aiming for the sky till I die
Gabriel burnS Jun 2018
in the realm of man, beauty is a weapon that maims everyone within its reach… and ends up killing the one who wields it…
Lana May 2018
Steer clear of malice;
To speak of arrows tipped in actuality and respond justly toward malignity.
Lest I fall under the gaze of malice becoming putrid within.

Heavenly Father above.
You paved the way to a damaged youth yet,
Almost commonplace to allow surrogate protectors,
Crawl inside my flesh only to be spat back out once again.

I realise I am not but the woman I thought myself to be;
Only an interchangeable piece in the mechanism.

A piece in the mechanism,
Intertwined between countless souls on the way of my path.

By Lana
The Moon and Sun shared Ecliptical Longitudes the night They murdered The child.

Beneath a stelliferous empyrean,
Like Sojourners among the quiescent Twilight, Mother and child, Ventured to meet the woman’s husband, the father of the child.

She, no more than five and ten years Old,
The child, a girl, of only months,
Lay swaddled across the Woman’s
*****, tucked inside a papoose.
A rustic device carefully woven
From wool and hide, in it contained a
Priceless world.

She cooed and clucked in the frigid
Night air.
The sound penetrated the
Spectral calm and was matched only
By the maternal soothing of a muted hum.
Together, they represented the
Heathen form of the wilderness,
The Tempi Madonna among the
Silver and shadow moonbeams that
Glimmered like the dust of diamonds
Across the river’s obsidian sheen.  

Ahead, where the river narrows,
The silence stirred and was broken.
Hushed voices rose from the outer
Dark.
The woman strained to listen.

(British Soldiers, she thought)

Foreign words...

        (Drunken and ravenous)

                         ...slithered from their mouths like Venom. Fear bloomed in the woman’s Chest.
Her heartbeat quickened.

        (Touched by the chill of terror)

Her eyes darted madly about the
Darkness.

         (Alone no longer)

Their  shadows manifested like
Smoke along the tree line.
Their
Features blurred in the darkness.
Their gestures muted.
Like birds of
Prey, they set motionless upon their
Perch along the stony shore.

I say, a man said. Indian children are natural born swimmers,
Capable at birth of swimming great distances.

Utter foolishness, old boy, another opined.

We will need proof of this claim, my good sir, an anonymous voice Quipped from somewhere in the dark.

She let escape from her full lips
The tiniest of shrieks.
Followed immediately
By
Sick
Regret.

(stupid girl, her mother’s voice echoed in the dark.
                             You always were too impulsive.)

Rage consumed her as
She struggled against the current.  
She tried to paddle for deeper
Water as the men broached
The black sheen of the river.

The moments passed by
In jagged surrealism.
There was no sound
When they pitched the woman
And child into the
Frigid abysm.

The splashing of water.
The gasping
For air.
The primal
Grapple and
Grunt of men.
The cold, pungent scent of
Fear and sweat mixed with the
Alcohol-stale air.
The twisting of
Hands that groped about the
Darkness.

         (Her rage now eclipsed by fear)

She inhaled.
Her body, numb.
Her appendages quaked.
Her body fading
As they fall upon her.
Their thick bodies
Blacked out the stars.
Their gaunt faces
Pinched and rucked in the
Moonlight
Reflected the fury, the
Hatred, and
The disgust for what would come next.
Their hands moved across her
Ravenous
Like demons as they
Groped at her small body
Beneath the choppy wash of the
River.

(A hand grazed her thigh and she shrieked in Terror. Another
         gnashed at her buttock. Another fell upon her back. Her mind
         reeled at the possibilities of what would need to come next.)

They tore at her clothing.
Her body jarred about the water as
She writhed against their grasps.
She clawed against the murk.                  
    
         (Escape the horror)

She released the paddle—

(Forever lost to the deep, useless to her now)

Hysterical animalistic thoughts
Trounced off their tongues as they
Laughed at her doom—

        (Like a pack of hyenas)

She kicked at them in nameless
Places.
She thrusted her hand into
The fabric where the child had been
Moments before cooing and clucking. 
Mere moments ago she had sang to the
Babe the same song her
Mother had once sung
To her.

             (she felt nothing where the child had been…)    

She struggled away from them.
Her mind frantic with pain, the cold,
And panic
For the child.
She no longer cared for
Herself, or what they would need to
Do with her body.
Her appendages
Flailed and churned in the dark water.
          
         (A single gasp of air followed by
              The burning inhale of water)

A shrill call to the child—

(a name lost to time)

Her voice cut through their maniacal
Laughter.
It echoed off the water and vanished,
Disappearing entirely
In the outer gloom of the wilderness.

        (like afterthoughts, lost)

She groped relentlessly among the
Water for the child.
The men, near
Frozen, lost interest and returned to
The adjacent shoreline.
It was more ****** that way.
They jeered at her,
Proud of themselves.
          
        (The seething lust of the mindless savage, she thinks)

Their mouths salivate
As they watched
Vicariously.
Her struggle
Became the current
For which she bore.
The impending death of the woman even
More satisfying than the feeling against their flesh of her cunning, wet crease that lies exposed between
Her brown legs.
They watch like wolves
Unable to reach their prey,
Desperate for fresh meat.
Despite the frigid cold,
Their *****, hard,
With the anticipation of death.

The woman clamored among the darkness
She searched for the child.
Heavy fingers fell upon woolen fabric
By chance—

(Hope bloomed in her constricted chest)

Her body finally beginning to seize
Exhaustion permeated
Her mind.
She freed the papoose
From the frozen depths and expelled
The last bit of energy she possessed
To swim to the far side of the shore,
Temporarily out of their reach.

The soldiers,
Quiet now,
Returned to the spectral woods.
They disappeared back down the
Black road from which they came.

She felt the blood as it began to
Return to her appendages, the pins And needles feeling erupting in them.
Her teeth clattered nearly exploding In her mouth.
Her body
Quaked Violently

         (The child, near in her mind, cried)

She reached for it.
Her chest,
Rising and
Falling,
Rapid like the river
As she inhaled the burning,
Frozen air.
The child let loose a cough and  
She clutched it
tighter to her *****.  

(Deny the river its prize)

A stream of consciousness,
Steadily slipped from her lips.

       (A great heathen prayer calling up some
                       Great Spirit
                                As she relentlessly brokered
                                            For a
                                       Life for a life)

The moments passed by like hours.
And the
Great Spirit, with
His wanton lust
For despair, did not manifest that night.

The child fell silent, then still.
The tears came now.
Blurred vision and
Angry sobs.
Darkness consumed entire.

The river flowed by her electric as if
Its lights descended from a place far
Beyond the black taciturn veil of
Night to reflect the merciless
Tragedies among the wretched souls of
The Maine Woods.
Devin Ortiz Apr 2018
The rifts have opened once again,
Their darkness, thin and heavy.
Pouring malicious, defeating thoughts.
Self-doubt, hopelessness, it is agony.

It has been months, what seemed like eons,
Since such dark matters poisoned my mind.
Yet, a single word was all it took to open a wound.
"Trauma", the irony of a word as a trigger.
It ignites the sky of thought, in an absence of light.

The delirium begins, mania rises.
Shield and sword to the gravity of sadness.
Next page