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Greed and sin and fatigue possess our flesh, we wear the richest
      quartz to wash away our stains. Like a pet we feel
      the guilt, our tears lull us to remorse.
We sink into a pillow of a million writhing worms, too stubborn to move,
     Each day our Free mind will suck and kiss vapour
     We’re discontent to show our secret streams of captive cries
Into the stinking pit of Man’s Will, “We’re great now!” we cry, but turn back to
     our woeful design, each day we offer vows of faith and
     charms to each other, but turn to filth to flow into our lungs,

A tormented art, A banal fate, As we deconstruct passion,
A solitary riot, A shrivelled nerve,
A flask, A phantom, A Madonna skull.
A dozen white maidens in ivory silks
Grip the rich tissue in your tempered skull.

I hide from them in my own clinical whiteness,
A kind of peace in prayer,

For what once was a promise of decadence and excitement,
Is now a character of lavish leather lilies.

I'm sorry that I hurt you so
With my actions, words, or mind.

I am but a child
Stood in grass-stained whites.
RBWhite Jul 31
The Final Sacrifice begins,
Punctures of blood all over the seiling,
Eight mementos of her own pain crawl all over dark walls,
My Goddess is here,
And Her Demon too,
Pretty words leave a cave of skin damped skulls,
And she lays down now,
Ready for heavy blows,
Remembering the vows she wished she forgot long ago.
Spiders are a never ending inspiration...
Take off your skin and
Dance around in your bones
Lay in the web of the
Black spider
He wants to use your
Skull as a bowl
He never knows
What time it is and
He can't pass a
Rorscharch test but
He does know
How to have a good time
Fact is more terrifying
Than fiction
But it's the other way
Around and the
Blast from a
Triple barrel sawed off
Will make you think
Twice about putting a
Feather in your hat
So tread lightly on
Widow's webs
Drunk on wine
Wearing boots
Unless you carry a
Big gun
©James Dennis Casey IV
Ah Death.
You roared up behind me
On your crotch rocket-
Your chariot
Of metal and leather and pipes.
With long black dreads
streaming behind you,
Your bones encased in bomber jacket
And greasy chaps,
and your face,
Under a helmet of sin,
A gleaming skull
Without expression.
You hung back
Until I saw you in my side-view mirror:
Hell’s angel on the burning pavement.
But I, knowing that you were closer
Than you appeared,
Pressed on the accelerator
And sped ahead,
Determined that you would not pass me.
Not this time. Not yet.
And you faded away,
Into a speck
And were gone.
Written while driving in Ohio.
Paul Carico Jun 22
From the eternal reach of sky flung stars eclipsing
The multiverse afar,
To the deepest depths of oceans unseen sights
No man may venture to seek a beauty
Like that of a women so divine.
Defined by the product of genetic perfection,
The picturesque quality of evolutionary design:
Of the moons gibbous glow,
The inner aura of your fluttering eyes
Bring me comfort on a cold winters night.
With skin, soft as silk
Tanned by the suns golden light,
Your flesh melts me back to life.
Like the lapping waves and wisping winds
Along the sands of an islands ocean shore
Your soothing tone of foreign tongue
Caresses my aching skull.

Beyond the chisel of mans mortal hands,
No surgeon may sculpt the flesh with so tedious a design:
An anatomical hourglass
Of Immaculate form,
Unseen among the flaws of humanities mistaken design.
Rambo Apr 14
I don’t know that I trust myself
To keep my brains like a raw egg
When the time comes (when I’m supposed to know what to do)
And not to crack my skull,
See my brains drip into the bowl,
Mix them up for a broken yolk,
And then pour them into the pan
So they can scram(ble.)

Sometimes I wonder
If I’ll have to salt them
or add any pepper
or just dig in.

Sometimes I hunger
To know everything
Sometimes I feel so engorged
I’d rather know nothing.

The worst part is not knowing
That the worst part is knowing.

I want to hate my own guts
But that’s--that's utterly nuts,
For it’s never the guts
Should be disdained—
It’s the yolk in my egg, or
The stuff in my brains in my head.
Rajinder Apr 6
Dark designs
dancing skulls
cover her apron,
a talisman
warding evil eyes.

Queen Meek-teka-see
rules over bones, on
Day of the Dead.

During day
swallowing stars,
at night gulping
nectar of rising sun
she spews spirits
possessed by her.

Calaveras eteched
over tombstones,
frozen candle flames,
capture souls
under black moon.

The living crawl
to her altar
another skull
to the dark blue apron.
MrsFootePoems Mar 16
There's a cat living in my head
and he's redecorating.
Clawing at the sides of my skull,
tearing down the wall paper that was there.
But he doesn't seem fond of putting up something new,
just wants to leave the gouges so the pain can seep through.

He doesn't travel far.
To the back and then the front again,
but he never strays to the left.
He hugs the right wall of my head
like he'll die if he tries to leave
Just digging new trenches as he goes

When he feels really inspired
he gets a hammer and
new places that throb and throb for hours
never leaving me at peace
but he's happy with what he's created

I've been told there's a piece of metal I can get
to lock him out, keep him out, and throw away the key
some people say it worked for them and I'm just hoping
that it also works for me
I get migraines a lot. It sucks. I have one right now and I'm also sick with a sinus thing so I'm just miserable
FreeMind Feb 28
Through the broken glass,
I can see the skeleton staring at me.
"Did you give up all ready?
You were never ready for this..."
She teases me, laughs in my face.
But its okay,
My vision is blurry now,
Can hardly see through the tears that filled my swollen eyes.

"What have you done?"
The scream comes from nearby,
Yet feels like it is miles away.
Am I drowning?
I'm sitting in my bedroom floor.
And still everything seems distant.
My lungs are full.
I can not breath.

The broken glass looked tempting.
I did what thought was right.
But theres no time to reassure myself.
More screams, more worries.
The skeleton is still across from me.
I'm giving in.
You won.
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