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The suffocating feeling, as the frayed hairs of the rope burns my skin. Thinking that I have taken my last breath. No struggle, no regret, no remorse, and worst of all... The feeling of fulfillment, the serenity of calming beatless peace. Sight, slowly becoming more and more blurry as it slips away. Speech, unable to scream or cry or even whisper, and accepting it. Silence, the overwhelming negative space that fills my ears with the unrelenting nothingness. Feeling, what was once numb, now pulsing, fighting a battle I have already given up on. Then, consciousness itself is lost in the limbo of mine own meaningless hell. Insanity has beaten down reason, and logic delivered the final fatal blow. No more struggle, no more feeling, no more reason. No more me. And good riddance.
I should have ended it then. Now I'm just a ghost that hurts people.
Derek Leavitt Dec 2015
"Your sadness..
And your Poetry and your Passion and your Rage...
And your... Infinite, Luxurious Ugliness...
I'll Lick Your Sins Away!"
This is a quote said by the exquisite, Billie Piper in the HBO hit Series, 'Penny Dreadful' as Lady Frankenstein aka or commonly known on the popular television series as, Lily.
Sienna Luna Dec 2015
Red buds or beams flicker across my chest
lined and ready like a velvet-lined coffin
for me to take an infinite rest in.
Lips a bright cherry color
but it’s blood that’s caked.
Ruby gems in each earhole
flickering in the cave’s scarce light.
But I’m not dead yet
---just coming back to life---
Nancy Hutchins Oct 2015
A book written,
The good, the bad, the undead,
Night falls, Vampires come.
For the game book:
The Good, the Bad and the Undead
by Ashton Saylor and Jamie Thomson
Sam Hain Oct 2015
It's any fool can shrink a head:
The art is making it also undead.

O.O
ConnectHook Sep 2015
Dear diabolic debutante / Spawn of the unfathomable abyss of blackness / Daughter of dreadful dead desire / Black-shrouded sinister sister of celestial gloom before whose imperious gaze the heavens fall silent / Whip-lash girl-child of the graves whose pallid visage kindles the myriad infernal fires / Autocratic vampiress of lunar doom whose winding-cloth enfolds the thousand horrors of blood-drenched nightmare / Thou that wanderest the cypress-crested hills of funereal necropolises / Whose icy glance cracks the ungraven tombstones of utter desolation / Empress of night and madness / Who stalks the locked and shadowed hallways of unhallowed thought / Whose burial-boat glides the still waters over Lethe’s silent depths to the unglimpsed isle of eternal mourning / Whose parapets tower above the fiefdoms of quotidian banality / Whose flying buttresses overlook the Stygian waters of the forgotten drowned denizens of damnation / Whose unshackled dungeons open to worlds of regal splendor / Whose spires pierce dark skies where oblivion buries the ruined cities of revelry under the drifting clouds of leaden time / Oh maiden of melancholic alchemy whose petrified passions transmute base metal into pure gold…

May the gibbous moon of equinox shine its baleful eye upon you; may you tread in sacramental calm the winding starlit paths of somnolent cemeteries; may my unmixed metaphors unveil in delirium their parabolic mysteries before the smoldering altar of your uninterpretable allegory; may the favor of your scorn forever lay me out, embalmed, undead, on the cold stone of merciless reality. Behold: in cryptic script of spectral apparition, in tracery of coded illumination, amidst the dawning rays of torment I write thine unknown name on the threshold of daylight. And from within the mortared wall of self I speak forth from my sepulcher the Sibylline utterance,
unsought, unheard, undreamt:

JUST WANTED TO SAY ‘HI’ !

http://tinyurl.com/og3so8a
♥♥♥
Jack Thompson Jul 2015
The undead surge endlessly.
Drained and muddied will.
Holding them back with everything left.
Delightful blood they've come to spill.

Barracading the doors - only surrounds.
Moans and groans dauntingly loud.
Sleepless nights hoping they don't breach.
The scariest thing is how they sound.

We thought they weren't real.
Just comic book stories.
But when they came knocking.
The first to go was four-eyes.

All the horror movies.
Won't leave you prepared.
To face to undead horde.
Brains aren't meant to be shared.
© All Rights Reserved Jack Thompson 2015
Ron Sparks Jun 2015
I hate zombies
they are the infantile enemy
the foe against which there is
    no guilt
the essential
        human
questions of right of wrong
  of morality
never apply to the cerebellum-craving
undead.  It's us or them
   hunt or be hunted
   **** or be killed
they are enemies that fail to
      challenge
   our notions of what it is
   to be us
give me a werewolf any day
or rather - any moon
the tortured lycanthrope
   forces the protagonist to
choose to **** because
    unlike zombies
there's always
   a chance
   however small
   that a werewolf
can find
redemption
Madeleine Apr 2015
What would blood taste like to new born undead?

Like full plump cherries
Their stone hearts torn out
Their carcasses left shredded down the middle
Obscene and tempting to any eye that notices
Rotting on their own sweet tears
Staining and branding the world
Even after they are devoured

Like rich tingling honey
Stolen from a colony just before winter
Condemning them to starve without a care
While closing their eyes and scraping
One last flavor off the back of their teeth
Do the blood-starved spare a thought?
As to whether workers of futility truly know despair?

Like chocolate.
Freely given from a lover to another
Dulcet and sinful as bringing lips together
Like promises whispered back and forth
That lost their meaning, eroded by life
And were made to completely disappear by their demise
“Until death do we part?”
They scoff.

When could anything ever last that long?
Eversince my heart stopped beating,
My life just keeps repeating.
I can feel nothing, no sorrow, no pain;
There is something I just can't regain.

Life seems so out of reach, and;
Yet I still walk.
I eat flesh and blood just like my own,
Not knowing what is right or wrong.
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