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Merry Aug 21
It’s cold tonight in Eden
A full moon is a spectral sight
An apple tree is in full bloom
In this garden where we may say our prayers
Dirt is caked under my nails
I’m tumblin' down, down, down
Eight feet, just for you my dear,
Lenore can’t so no
Not when the throes of passion
Are caught so deep
I’m restless against the stillness
Aching and grinding
Yet paradise is so cool this low
Kevin Castro Apr 2018
rested, sealed in a cloud.
through the panes of my reflection,
she lay still. preserved,
at a point in time.

carefully, it was made
a heaven for her,
black, against the snow,
a delicate frame.

freedom, hers was sought
in a vain attempt,
too easily, given up,
it left a desperate mark.

made to cut her loose

unnoticed, beneath her.
her eyes looked forward,
unrelenting, yet absent.
my gift remains pristine.

faded, her elytra
are pale and sickening.
yellowed, they conceal
many writhing guests.

unmoving, she remains,
but a stranger to life.
a gift, she is,
rotting from the inside.
here, i'm trying to project an effect or emotion through the use of imagery. if it's too hard to get what the thing im describing is, i'm not sure who's at fault .

bump pls critque me. also!! a hundred virtual (worthless) points to whoever can guess the exact thing im describing
bakunawa Apr 2018
You've always seen right through me...
It's like
I'm looking into your eyes
    and I see forbidden fruit...         
a forbidden love         
It's like
I'm staring into a mirror
trying so hard          
to look for myself    
but all I see is black.
Like a corpse---            
It's like
I give all I have
In love with you
---Ectoplasm---    
             I give all I am          
To be with you
To let you feel      
  Who I am...
----I am a poltergeist----   
It's like
I'm reaching out
My hands open wide
Extended towards you
      and when              
you look                  
it's like                      
     you don't even see me----
We hug
and it's as if    
you could          
almost just              
pass right through me----
It's like
We love each other...
But it feels like                  
Necrophilia.        
It's like I'm gone...
even if you're looking            
straight into my smile                
my smile I force myself
for you to see                  
it's like you're still looking---                
you can't see me can you?    
forcing a smile
on my face          
day          
by              
day                
do you even know
      that I just smile for you          
because
I'm tired of you
always crying for him        
   night              
    by            
night        
But you can't even
See the smile don't you?
----It's like I'm his ghost----
It's like
I'm a nightmare            
and I'm haunting you                
except I'm right here          
always right in front of you.                        
------always waiting to be noticed.    
always.        
Waiting for you to realize
That love is not a ghost.                    
Love is not a graveyard.                    
Love is not somewhere lost.            
Love is not sealed up in heaven.    
Nor is it burning in the void of hell.
Love is here                              
Love is waiting in front of you                      
always----                                                  
even as you were crying for him                  
    even as you were lying for him
even as you were fighting for him        
even as you were falling for him                        
even as you were breaking over him
even as you were blinded by him                         
even as you were losing him
even as you were mourning for him...    
always----
Even if I'm            
the only love                
you're allowed                  
to love,                                      
you've never                
allowed yourself                
to love me...                              
You've always seen right through me...
We are both alive but when we hold each other it feels like necrophilia---- there is emptiness in your eyes even if I pour all I am to fill you up daily....
Pagan Paul Jan 2018
.
Three tears is all that I can almost shed,
I'm wound up tighter than any thread,
as you lay on white sheets upon the bed,
I can't help but think you look beautiful dead.

My hand would love to touch your skin,
my head is full of the most atrocious sin,
but you are so cold and won't let me in,
and how can a veil of lust be so thin.

You can not be any older than thirty,
the way your ******* curve is so **** flirty,
and my mind is full of images salaciously *****,
you are so so tempting, naked and skirt free.

And even though I despair to caress you,
its pointless now to seek to impress you,
my job is to clean, arrange and dress you,
make you up to look just like the best do.

But oh! my lovely corpse I have a need,
to see you buried carrying my seed,
nobody will ever know, for secrecy I plead,
you will look beautiful in spite of my wicked deed.



© Pagan Paul (21/01/18)
.
There are many kinds of love.
Some of them are very very wrong.
But I never shy away from writing about taboo subject matter.
.
Mad Hatter Aug 2017
Unconscious desires
Attracted to cold corpses
Unfulfilled pleasures
I made this poem beacause my teacher told us to write a haiku based on a story we read. No offense to my fellow readers. ✌
Gavin Barnard Jul 2017
The dead, what is it with them
That I find so attractive?
Is it their cold, lifeless bodies,
That bend to my darkest desires?

Its twisted, vile, forbidden,
In every known human culture
To attempt procreation with a corpse;
Its in my very nature to act
Against common conformity,
To be interested in grotesque stories.

Maybe I like the danger,
Defying nature and defiling the dead,
Denying social dogma, doing as I please.
Maybe I like the cold,
The stiffness, the discoloration,
The ******* and exhilaration.

Maybe I like being myself.
Just know that I am no necrophiliac, I just find the subject interesting, the same way I think about torture and suicide. I just like to think of it from an open minded, third party view, not the defiler, not the defiled. Heres hoping that nobody takes this the wrong way.

This was written from a viewpoint other then my own. I want to start writing short stories, so the person this is coming from was supposed to be the main character. Its about this guy that lives alone, rarely coming in contact with humans. His seclusion eventually lead him to start talking to inanimate objects, and his desire for human contact lead him to start digging up the dead, one thing lead to another and you know the rest until the ending which I will not spoil (because I havent gotten that far yet).

I do like to be a necromancer in games, though, or build zombie tribal decks, or play the undead race in World of Warcraft. Something about undeath is appealing.
Taki Kumiko Oct 2016
You are a sickness
Turning me helpless
My mind muddled
Senses in unexplainable chaos
I'm completely wrecked
You alone
Affect me
This way

But simultaneously

You are an antidote
Making me whole
My mind clarified
Senses ultimately heightened
I'm in complete ecstasy
Only you
Affect me
This way
somehow I'm being so poetic about a love I'll never experience
wraiths Jul 2015
you lick your lips
i blink my eyes
a grunt escapes the corners of your mouth
i lift my shaky gaze to yours

your face washes out immediately
pallid, ashen skin
your eyes vibrant
against your ghastly complexion

deep circles under matching pupils
skin so pale
the blue veins of your face show through
delicate lips as light as cherry blossoms budding
an alluring mix of qualities; chaos

and all i can think is how someone
can be so utterly beautiful
Maja Sabljak Jun 2015
I found you half-dead.
In your eyes,
pupils were still giving away the scent of love
Breaking the harsh silence and the dark shapes of ****** footprints
Painted on your face.
The line of your body, turned into a mosaic bloomed scars,
Awakened a yearning inside of me, chopped my heart
In the timid kisses and gave away the color of your veins
Scattered on the fabric of our first awakenings.
In the depths of your flesh I'm trying to find the deafened sobs
I've listened to the dreamy nights
Under the veil of your skin,
Hidden from all sadness hungry of my tears.
I'm leaning your bloodless fingers on my lips
Listening to your presence.
By kissing your ******* I'm diving my touch in your naked
Lungs, spread out like a butterfly
Imprisoned inside your glass body.
With my tongue I'm discovering the taste of your neck,
Decorated with a red line
Of my love.
I'm biting your vocals,
Remembering of your laughter that still echoes
In the spaces of my thoughts.
You're still beautiful, safe in my arms.
You give away your happiness with a smile on your torn face.
Your love reaches me through a mild rushes of wind.
I'm leaning my cheek on your ankles,
The softness of your flesh overtakes me by passion.
And you are giving me your last stirrings of life
That you don't need with the tenderness that my breath is giving you.
I lie down next to you on the bed soaked in red,
I'm overtaken by the smell of rotting roses and smooth juices
In which we sink together.
I'm putting the remains of your waxy face on my shoulder,
I'm choked by soft closeness of your tangled hair
Packed on the pillow.
And I feel your gratitude,
While the sweet sounds of loving
Float through our world,
Safe and bloomed.
A little bit of necrophilia.
Janek Kentigern Oct 2014
Sorry it ended up like this.

Me out here, still wrapped up warm in my vestigial garment of flesh.

You in there, naked amongst your primitive ancestors like the youngest adult at a wedding, mingling awkwardly, embarrassed.

I wonder how you died. Your ribs look like they have been fixed back together after some kind of trauma.
A car crash maybe?

Maybe you struggled with long term illness, rotting before you ripened like a sickly bud in a wet spring.

However it happened your bronze plaque states it was untimely and therefore probably tragic. '(A young woman)' I read, not so much discovering but confirming what I already knew to be true when I first laid eyes first met yours across the crowded room.

You stand about as tall as me, your shining off white cheeks delicate as fine china. Staring out of you glass cabinet, you seem to beg not to be judged alongside your distant relatives, your slumping neighbors.

Fragile and sweet, you radiate a quiet dignity. It isn't hard to imagine the thin layer of blood, skin and fibrous tissue that it would take to make you beautiful again.

I plunge my hand through that glass portal, soft folds of meat transposed to brittle bone and back again, unifying you world with the mortal

It was obvious that you were beautiful, and involuntarily I envy the one who held you and kissed you last.

I wonder if anyone ever wrote a poem for you when you were alive.
I visited a museum. One display case contained human skeleton, beside the skeletons of various other primates. I fell in love.
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