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Patrick 3d
There is a sound that many of us hear throughout our lives. It’s a keening, a high-pitched call, the rumble of our names on the lips of monsters and hellions. They cry out from the pit, screaming for your blood, for the things that makes you whole and sane.

They grapple amongst themselves, luring us closer the outs edge with lies and deception and cunning.

They terrify us, because we know not from where they come and why they crave our blood.

But then, someone, some words, some situation, or some revelation comes along and carries you to the Pit’s edge and shines a light down on the things that cry out your name in the night.

And as you peer down, you see the monstrosities that pine for your life and a horrible realization strikes. Underneath the claws, the serrated fangs, and the leathery wings, the monsters all wear the same face as you, as dark and grotesque as they are.

One is called destitution, one called pain, and another called self-loathing. All familiar faces after all. Faces you thought you would never have to see because you buried them in a pit and covered them over with bad habits and denial. You scream, YOU CAN’T HAVE ME, yet they continue to wail until the syllables of your name sound like a horrendous thing.
As a child, we were taught
World is full of magic and mystery
but as we know now,
it is full of mystery but cursed!
Sometimes it feels like nothing's hidden
yet the monsters creeping out makes me shiver.
The world is still a mystery.
Who is the root of this curse?
Rob Sandman Oct 11
on the 20th of February 1987,
a young boy realised there was no Heaven,
***** by a priest he would trust with his life
****** muddy tears as he cried out to Christ,

the pain and the shame twisted in him like a knife
harrowing and harrying the rest of his life,
the guilt and MORE shame-now he's the one to blame?
tyrannical abuse has put his soul in the frame

like Dorian Gray,his life is fading away,
like the thousands of others betrayed in the same way,
by authority figures with a license to abuse

who look on their sacred charges as toys to use
you seem confused,you've never seen it on the news?,
decades of abuse kids ***** and abused,
and the Nuns just as bad Girls treated like slaves,
innocent Babes buried in shallow graves

The grubby crimes committed by a small proportion
from child abuse to forced slavery and abortion
the conduit to heaven is a broken kaleidescope,
grubby Cherubim Satanicus removed all hope. rpt x 2

Cry til you have cataracts, modern day Cataphracts
trapped in the catacombs by the evil Tesseract,
of twisted trappings of a dead gods worship,
the treasure Galleons turned out to be Warships,
loaded with diseased idols that turn on you like the Ark,
eyes burnt out by evil primeval sparks,
friendly dolphins were revealed to be Sharks,
as you slowly slip...ever further in the dark.
This Poem and it's "Brother"- Unchristian was one of the most difficult things I've ever written.(it's not 100% finished,I need my full strength to finish it off)
Every PIECE of it is fact not fiction,I tried to tell My Story and that of my Friends old and new who suffered at the hands of monsters who claimed to be angels.

IS IT a small proportion? We'll never know how many.

Christi Michaels MoonFlower May 2018

There are no
Monsters here...

this, the
soft, fertile soil,
that was
to feed the
Family Gardens.

No evil creatures, lurking behind
these timid
hurting hearts.

a painful place...
this invasive, pervasive,
of Us .

Here lay
The raw,
The ragged
mashed up
An onslaught
of hurts,
that float and fester
in our cauldron
of tears.

'Canvas of Colors'
tells Our story...
Melding together
The frozen and
unthawed moments of
all the

There are no Monsters here

We are the tender
beings that continue
to breathe ragged
after the forest fire,
tripping  through
Crumbling Ashes
turned wet black.
Dank and slippery.

Yearning to find
strong footing
amongst these
ruins of our
own doing

No evil creatures, lurking behind
these timid
hurting hearts

There are no Monters here
Addiction uprootes and infects
The most loving of familiesamily#addiction #familyunits #hurtandpain
Klita Sep 17
Body wrapped in a blanket
Like a shield from the darkness
Creeping in the edge of my vision
Lurking and begging me to look

Stay awake
Must not sleep
Or the monsters in my dreams
Will consume me in my sleep

Stay awake
Must not dream
Or my nightmares
Will become reality

Sleep is calling me
With a gentle lullaby
Softly calling
softly Singing “ close your eyes”

Still I refuse
Resisting the tug on my eyelids
I must stay awake
Sleep must not win
Steve Page Sep 2
When fighting monsters
- watch yourself
less you become monstrous.

When fighting monsters
- watch yourself
and arm yourself with truth.

When fighting monsters
- watch yourself
and shield your deep innocence.

When fighting monsters
(and you must fight your monsters no matter the depth of the abyss)
- watch yourself
and let your whole self stand.
"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you."
Friedrich Nietzsche
Eliza Sep 1
beware of those monsters
that lurk in the bottom of your head
if you give them more attention
it won’t be long until you’re dead
Noah Rein Aug 29
I don’t believe in myths or lore, but there might be truth within its core

I don’t believe in shadow folk, or people made out of smoke

I don’t believe in fairy lights or small gnomes wandering through the night

I believe they are allusions, all about scary humans

I do believe in monsters though, just not the ones the fairy tales show

Monsters can be many things - strangers, friends or even kings

Most of all I do believe, that inhuman monsters are make-believe
As a child I used to hide from monsters under my sheets -
They weren’t under the bed, they were in the kitchen.
I could hear the echoes of their whispers curl round the edges of the door.
They‘d often push it open a crack.
I’d pretend to be asleep - that’s where I felt safest;
Sometimes I’d convince myself I really wasn’t conscious.
They’d slither away when they saw no light in my eyes to extinguish.
But they’d always leave the door open.
I used to watch the light from outside fight the shadows
I used to urge it to win.

By the crack of the door
I would crouch and listen  
And what I heard
Was my mother weeping,
“I wish my daughter would change.”
I stayed quiet so she wouldn’t hear me.
Every night, I got quieter still
Until she began to say instead,
“I wish my daughter would speak.”
And I wished I could give her what she wished for
But she didn’t understand
That it had been easy for me to **** her daughter
But seemed nearly impossible to build her a new one.

Things changed for me then -
I grew tired of watching the light try to harness and tame the darkness
(Or maybe the other way around).
I’d before felt things were black and white.
I’d seen the darkness as evil
And longed for the light,
But as time went on I learned that demons lurk in all wavelengths.
I was fickle; I flocked to the winning side.
I became convinced that darkness was safety,
That in it I could project what I wanted.
Then whenever they’d move away from the door
I’d tiptoe to close it.
Acina Joy Aug 16

What do we have left to protect,
when a reason ceases to exist?

watching aot at night, and having flashbacks
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