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Talis Ren Nov 2018
We were wrong to dread the dark
Because at 2am
The only things to fear are the eyes
The claws in your mind
That **** of a grin
And that midnight blood smile

If you can’t see it
It’s not real
So close your eyes
Don’t turn on the lights
And pretend that that’s true
ATILA Nov 2018
Open the door.
Let me in.
If you don't open the door,
I'll break it down.
I'll cut your throat,
make you bleed,
drink your blood,
chew on your guts.
With dead people's energy,
I swallow up the living.
The dead are above the living.
This is not my poem but it's a line from my favourite horror+thriller+crime korean drama, The Guest. I just write it to look like a poem. If you feel wanting to watch a powerful drama, go check this drama out! It is friggin' great! <3
RixusPrime Oct 2018
I saw a demon lurking in the shadows,  
I saw it smile and with such glow in its eyes.
Decrepit it looked, a creature made from nightmares.
Intimidating it was, it became one of my greatest fears.

I saw a demon tall in stature, one I felt could bring about rapture.  
It came from the dirt and with a stench that brought about death.
And as life around it withered, I couldn't help but shiver.

I saw a demon in my mirror
One with horns and claws of horror.
I heard it growl, with bloodlust in its sound.
I tried to scream but no voice could be found.
And with each closer step, death became profound.
Paul Kgaje Aug 2018
Stab me in the eyes, let me not see your filthy crimes.
Your hands are full of blood, the victims everlasting cries.
Your voice is swarmy as you hide beneath the tides of your lies.
You ******* with fear as your smile is not sincere.
The ringing bell shall be of help but if it rang.
With the question at mind I ask you very nice.
Where were you last night when Mrs Helmer died?

Your rage reeks upon your neck as you answer me.
Your sky is no longer blue and I can see.
It's on this day when I wish I couldn't see.
Oh what great trouble you're in.
"Curiousity kills a cat"
I now know what that means.
I wonder of the ****** weapon and where it's hid.

Stab me in the eyes, let me not see your filthy crimes.
You've ruined my life intirely.
For years you've been a friend undoubtably.
Lies, lies, lies.
There comes a time for those, the wise man knows.
My poker face isn't as fine as that of a friend I know.
Stab me in the eyes, let me not see your filthy crimes
A poem about a crime committed
V Aug 2018
a world so crumpled in the folds
of black and white exhibit
no color, no individuality
or hopefulness.

  a world of conditions,
agreements, and contracts
dwindled the creative senses
of the budding youth and
the creativity of the
newly implied, fruitful minds,
but the youth never entirely failed.

   when pushed down into the
heaps of ranks amd despair, a
dew hopefuls remained.

  youth used the broken bits of
crayons, of whole pieces and
shavings to apply to the crumpled
corners of the world,
starting off with a few swipes of color
among the horizon
and the skyscrapers of the world.

  the once black and white world
began to blossom in shades of
violets and yellows, bleeding
down the white pages, smearing
among that of shades of
blues and greens,
creating a world that was once
referred by legends or stories
as being a
a world full of color,
a world so fruitful in love
and perseverance, and
it ended up being strong
enough again to become reborn
once more from the hands of the
chukwudi udoka Jul 2018
It's so unconventional how you strike a hollow part in my heart
No it's not a love a poem, I think that would be a cliché.
It's just a guy who meets a girl who writes about a girl who sparks stranger attractions.
I met a good girl doing bad things.  
She's a ***** in the night, yet an artist in the morning.
Probably painting away all the ****** feelings from last night.
She's like a wolf, she turns into a monster at midnight
Except his sexiness is the full moon
The trigger that transforms the good girl to bad.
May I talk to you madam?
Her eyes dazed at me for a second
She looks right away, turns to another guy .
He's abs and cute face are his weapon
They exchange a smile that couldn't be manufactured in heaven.
He approaches her and they hit it off instantly.
And in minutes they leave the bar together .
She wakes up in the morning smiling, “what a night!”
Her face changes, he left without saying a word
She's into tears again, this time more painful.
She pours her heart into the canvas,
Her heart filled with dark feelings.
Those feelings guide her hands holding the brushes.
She paints a **** man, except she makes him heartless, and gives him horns on the canvas.

Stanza 2

He's the devil that stole my heart
He's Angelic voice couldn't be resistible
His cute face and dimples we're just too loveable.
I think I know who he is
Do you? He is Lucifer.
He turned me into a monster in the night
And left me with my canvas and brushes.
I stay far admiring every edge and turns she makes while painting.
Her attention to details is splendid.
I wish I could be there to clean her tears while she was painting.
At 6pm she wipes her tears, she dresses into that short skirt, puts on makeup.
She dresses seductively and places her breast firmly.
Oh, she's ready for the night.
She's ready to get heartbroken again.
She's a good one, only till 6 pm.
The  part two would be available in my anthology beautiful chaos. To read a free preview of it , click the following link :
Follow my instagram poetry page : chukspoetry
faa May 2018
Actuality you dismissed with much grace
As a mirage, your presence swept past
Grazing silky skin, trailing behind no trace
My mind in a trance, with the spell you cast

One moment, your company feels vivid;
Sensing the warmth of your calloused skin on mine
Eyes benign with care, coarse skin so livid;
Heart waltzing, chills pirouetting down my spine

One moment, you swiftly rid your own existence
As if our affection and affinity is no more
You deemed us lovers, even with this distance!
And I blindly believed, to our love I swore

Your unpredictability, I questioned with concern
Are you a figment of my imagination? Or of my reality?
No matter what, my whole being will forever yearn
For you, the Phantom of my most mystified fantasy
Neuvalence May 2018
Crops crave for water at a hill
Thirst visible on their stalks
The sky gushes a coal black
But no. It is not rain.
Nothing to quench a crop’s thirst.
Only the manifestation of darkness
roaming the skies
And yes. Walking on a road, intimidated,
Before me, in the distance:
Nothing but dead man’s hill
But now a smirking old woman:
Silently still.
Based on an eerie dream I had last night.
I feel, to add to the thrill
of a blockbuster thriller, new gory slasher,
they should offer kiwis at the doors.

The concentration it takes to eat a kiwi
in the dark is not for the faint hearted.

Ultimately you have the risk of being
stuck with a funny fuzzy tongue feeling
which will put you right off your popcorn.
2nd of April 2016

I wrote this when I was trying to write a poem for every day of April in 2016 (spolier alert: never ended up writing a poem each day in the end, only the first week or so)
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