Zan Balmore Jul 2

She'd gone from discharge straight back to the office, dressed in her sweats and intake band. She got into the elevator, fingered lucky seven, and rode the way up stuck in molasses thoughts, in anger and shame.

She was no one's property, The Agency's least of all.

The neon lights over River City's southeast side popped and sparked, dancing gracefully in the array of dull grey derelicts. She watched them exploding through the safety of the glass.

She'd tell Asgar exactly what she thought.


"I don't give a fuck about the why, I give a fuck about the how. How could you do that to me, man?"

I was doing you a favor.

"No, don't even -- you were doing your fucking self a favor. "

Oh, of course. We all thought you might like to have some teeth, Miriam.

"Don't say my name like that! I'm not your fucking daughter."

Calm down, okay? Please?

"You made a decision about my body that was not yours to make. If I want to be a toothless crone, that's my business. If I want to have one tit and a dick, that's my fucking business, Asgar. "


And when it was over, as most do, she rode the way home with her head hung below her shoulders, wondering if the words she'd found to say were too true. She wondered, what some wonder, if her truths were better used when they were cut from the script to defuse inconvenient situations.

When she went inside, Miriam threw her keys and her clothes into a pile by the bedroom door, pulled the band from her wrist and then stepped into the shower. She'd go out. If she truly weren't worth her weight, then she'd throw herself to the city, hoping to trade what was left for sex.

And drugs. Drugs, too.

Zan Balmore Jun 20

Day
Day is plain
By night
My matter transforms
Becoming ascendant

Day
Day is so plain
By night
I become someone else
Take my real form

Day is
the suffocation
By moonlight my
constricted lungs
are briefly fixed

The writer scratches a note to their side,
She moves through day to the night like bright lightning on the somber sky.

Molly Gilkey Sep 2016

It was one of those things past the human eye they keep in a jar before you.
In a tent close to your desires like a sideshow of your mind, on the outskirts until memory fails
of a little, drowsy town by the light of the moon. One of those pale things between the ugly and the beautiful, drifting in alcohol plasma  drowning in confusion. Forever dreaming and circling fingers around your mind with its peeled dead eyes staring out at you and never seeing you. It went with the noiselessness of late night to sneak into your thoughts and only the crickets chirping its dead eyes fluttering,the frogs sobbing off in the moist swampland being eaten alive by the pain. One of those things inside you and me in a big jar on a shelf hidden from you that makes your stomach drop in anticipation as it does when you see a preserved arm beyond, taunting, in a laboratory vat underneath your skin. Charlie stared back at it in spite the pain it causes, for a long time. Amid the blur.

Molly

Frankie Sep 2016

It all starts with a kiss on the forehead from the devil.
A curse so deadly that The Grim Reaper would fear for his life.
Togetherness is a lost cause for sanity and my mind.
One of them, if not both, has been absent.

I've killed many and many before.
Homicidal cravings have polluted my veins.
Empathy has fled the scene of this heinous crime inside my head,
As the voices so gracefully moved in.

Frequent scenarios are projected in my dreams,
Like some spooky yet erotic film.
Two vampiric women kiss so maliciously,
As their lips are painted with blood.
This vision makes murder orgasmic.

The blood flow has not yet been drained from my vision,
As it stains the cotton of my memory.
Remorseful thoughts convert to an addiction.
I need to accommodate another fix, before my inevitable conviction.

I've once felt the feelings of the peaceful,
But reality has stolen my conscience.
A lovely soul transformed to atrocity .
This lantern gained a shortage of oil,
causing me to become lost in a field of misery and pain.

Minacious laughs frolic in my ears,
Though these giggles I'm quite familiar with.
I heard them often, so joyful and so free.
But now they've turned to evil.

An inability to move my hands when desired,
Caused by attire not aimed for warmth.
I'm a prisoner blocked by a wall of darkness,
So deliberately detaining my sanity.

I have loved a time, so long ago,
Where happiness was my most valued acquaintance.
Yet something inside of me awoken so suddenly,
Shamelessly demolishing any remote heart I once possessed.

Possession is such a polite word to use,
describing demonic forces taking ownership of your soul.
But I consider it a blessing in disguise,
Due to the unescapable fact that who I was could not be an acception,
To those who hold superiority over me.

A monster I was?
Or A monster I have became.
It would never be determined by the others.
All they fathom is that a monster is contained,
And lives will no longer be stolen by the guilty hands of this monster.

But what gives human life it's worth?
I will forever ponder that thought.
For I am the star of this so called Hell,
And where I'll be when my time has come,
No sane human would dwell.

I've always wanted to write something through the perspective of a maniac without glamorizing the act of taking a human life. This person is of course fictional, but I'm sure you could probably look up real killers who've spoken this way before their deaths.
Frankie Sep 2016

A mystery woman named Mystery,
So suspenseful yet so majestic.
A damsel in distress she was,
Who keeps it all to herself.

Pale as the snow that fell one evening,
An evening where I had met her.
Her luscious red lips,
Her black painted finger tips,
And her wavy dark hair has intrigued me.

Her eyes were so mesmerizing,
But so lovely as they were frightening.
Her smile was rare when she showed it,
But her laugh was much too sinister.
Yet I had an urge to sound it more.

A sudden lust I felt for her,
Once she had been flirtatious.
What her motive was,
I'll never know,
But her love making surely was bodacious.

The rapid lust was frightening to me,
As it became an untreatable addiction.
Once lust had turned to love,
I knew it was a bad contradiction.

Once she felt that feeling for me,
She couldn't help it much longer.
She rose from the bed,
Her hands on her head,
Crying,
Wishing that she had lived stronger.

Amazed at what I had witnessed this instant,
I felt a sudden chill.
Her body glowed like Christmas Eve,
And then I started to feel ill.

I don't quite remember,
what happened post chill,
But skeptical I seem to be.
As I woke up with a slight aching head,
My memory was somewhat fuzzy.

Joelle A Owusu Jun 2016

Does she notice the four sugars,
You sneak into your tea?
What’s she like, this girl?
The girl who isn’t me?

She hasn’t even realised,
The weird dent on your knee.
Who even is this girl?
The girl who isn’t me.

It’s been more than a fortnight,
Since you made me leave my key.
Did you give it to the girl?
The girl who isn’t me?

She’s thinner, smart and cooler.
No one can disagree.
But can you learn to love,
A girl who isn’t me?

Your clothes are where you left them,
in piles on the settee.
That girl calls it a ‘sofa’.
The girl who isn’t me.

Fuck this, I’m getting wasted.
One shot turns into three.
I’m tempted to drunk text her.
The girl who should be me.

It’s not like I’ve been stalking
Your profiles frantically.
I just can’t believe you’re seeing
A girl who isn’t me.

Does she put up with your mood swings?
When you’re loathing your degree?
How can you stand to be with?
A girl who isn’t me?

Just answer this one question:
What do you really see?
In that wretched girl you’re dating?
That girl who isn’t me?

I must be going crazy.
Who still writes poetry?
I bet your girlfriend hates it.
The girl who isn’t me.

I’m keeping your new console,
And your comfy blue hoodie.
That’s what you get for kissing
A girl who isn’t me.

Maybe I’m just jealous?
I think it’s clear to see.
You clearly love your girl,
Your girl who isn’t me.

You told me all your secrets,
Under that big oak tree.
Can you trust this girl?
This girl who isn’t me.

You can’t, that’s why you grab her.
Silence her every plea.
You laugh and call her stupid.
That’s what you did to me.

I must have dodged a bullet.
I know I’ve been set free.
I hope she breaks your heart.
The girl who isn’t me.

I cannot be the girl,
The girl I used to be.
I guess that’s why you’re now with
A girl who isn’t me.

I see this as a blessing,
It surely has to be.
You’re now stuck with a girl,
A girl who isn’t me.

Your days, my friend, are numbered.
You listening to me?
‘Cause I still know your secrets.
And they’re not safe with me.

The cuts, the bumps and bruises,
I claimed I could not see.
Does your girl have them too?
The girl who isn’t me?

I’ll do my best to save her.
She’s too naïve to see,
that you can’t control your temper,
with a girl who isn’t me.

I wear these scars like war paint,
For all the world to see.
They show how hard I fought,
For that girl and for me.

I did my best to save her.
I tried to help her flee.
But you damaged, hurt and ruined
the girl who’s now like me.

The creaking of your window.
How cold your house must be?
You’ll always have to live with,
the girl who once was me.

I hope this poem haunts you.
I’ll never say sorry.
That girl you called a weakling?
That girl just isn’t me.

Long cloak, black hood
A demon you think
Motionless, human like
Standing tall, head bowed
Misty breath, dimming light
The imminent twilight
Disturbing silhouettes
Flashes before my eyes

Tall trees, dark thickets
A jungle you think
Rustling, human like
Chattering loud, foot steps
Heavy drops, closing in
A racing heart
Indistinctive echoes
Whispers in my ears

Loud growl, a beastly phantom
A reaper you think
Screaming, human like
Bleeding slightly, a young maiden
Red stain, white cloth
A purification ritual
Lost virginity
Swirling thoughts in my mind

Just a play with a pen on a paper...
Fantasy
Garth Lebowski Mar 2016

Moonlight drapes my room tonight like the ancient dust found in every old and abandoned house you enter, filling every crack, every crevice with gloom. I try and drift, for just a second but my heart drops and I'm sadly awakened again by my own delusions and perils of the night. For when I close my eyes, I see a manner of things that frighten me and my fleeting hopes of sleep are diminished. Thus the forlorn story of my insomnia repeats itself yet another night.

Amidst the eerie stillness of the evening, something mysterious jolted violently against my wall splitting the silence in two. It appeared with a thunderous thud at the end of the room that rattled my bones to the marrow. Startled, I awakened with a single heartbeat and gasping for air. In horror I perceived a lone and tall figure convulsing wildly in a strip of pale moonlight that carpeted the floor. A solitary shape of no defined earthly nature stood twitching at the very end of my bed, watching me as I stared back. Quaking, I contemplated my fate as it whispered indecipherably, putting its arm out as if to reach me.

So many nights I had heard its ramblings of insanity, so many times I had wished for death to greet me in its wake and once again, there it stood; a shadowy devil from the depths of hades staring down into my worthless soul. “Who’s there!?” I uttered, as my heart palpitated rapidly only to be replied by the silence of the night, “Hear me foul creature of the night, be gone or thou shall feel God’s wrath! Be gone dreaded beast back to the depths of hell with you!” As I spoke, it hovered nearer and nearer, its fiery glare pierced my soul as it tilted its gaze. The daemon stopped abruptly as I whispered “Amen.” An immense howl escaped the creature as it dissipated into a black cloud of evil laughter that echoed in the deepest chasms of my consciousness.

In a mixed sense of relief and revulsion I staggered out of the warm protection of my covers and beheld the mirror across my chamber. Just to check if I was still whole and among the living.
I was whole and so was my executioner.

DEW Feb 2016

Those piercing eyes,
Cause piercing cries,
That cut the night,
To be devoured by flies.

All the wise,
Will seek demise,
When the only prize,
Is foolish delight.

Have a bite,
Of broken ties,
And lover's pies,
Caked in lies.

A woman dies,
In fading light,
Of teeming fright,
From piercing stares.

I thought this one might be a little spine-tingling.
You be the judge.
Since it borders on horror, I like it a lot.
Not because of the horror, but the border.

Enjoy!
Sarah Nielle Dec 2015

It was dark
I was empty
I was lonely
I found him
My follower
"You're a sociopath and i find that beautiful."
He smiled
"I don't really like you all that much." He whispered.
I left into the cold emptiness
I was awoken by hell's hand placed over my mouth
I let out a cry of desperation
and I felt a knife pierce my back
"I'm only following you."
I slowly let out breaths
"Isn't it normal to follow someone, fall in love, lead them on, and leave them?"
My last words weren't there.
I was speechless by the harsh reality.

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