Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mostly I sneak about under cover of night,
Fulfilling my awful aims away from broader sight,
For no one must suspect
The beast that dwells within their midst.

I am a master of concealment.
Smart and somber fabrics shield my skin
From the painful sear of daylight,
And my complexion, I keep like porcelain—
For no clean and delicate doll
Was ever suspected of reveling
In baths of hellfire.
This façade I employ lest the people discover,
And ****** before me their holy images,
Burning me as if with a branding iron,
And driving me far from their dwelling
Into solitary desolation.

For in truth, I am an agent
Of offense and pollution
To all that is wholesome and good.
I entice man to share my fate.
He invites me in and I infect him –
The Imago Dei – with Death.
Driven by this curse, this unholy hunger,
I live only to eat –
That is, if one could even say I live.
There is no glory, no beauty in this state.
My eyes are as gleaming stars
And my skin is as a moonbeam,
But the flesh beneath is always freezing,
Always cold and always screaming
In agonized starvation
For more of what makes it sick,
The only warmth it knows being gleaned
From the bodies of its meals.
A quietly blaring reminder to me
That I am the Dead walking.

This night begins as many before it.
My clothes blotted crimson with fresh sin:
The stain of another’s flesh.
The latest meal to leave me ill,
And yet more hungry still.
I tread the gray and lifeless streets,
My dead frame mustering no defense
Against the chill of night.
All is dark and still, as no sound, no soul,
And scarce a light the night gives
To interrupt the feast within –
The Hunger consuming all thought,
And the Cold consuming all feeling.
My spirit sends out a silent plea
For, if not some kinder release,
A second death.

My wandering stops before the chapel,
The only structure affording light or color
To Nyx’s bleak realm.
The candles and lamps still all alight
Send cascades of rainbows
Surfing down upon beams of gold
Through the glass mosaics
To the ground outside.
Something in this ethereal beauty
Grasped something in my soul.
I wished to crumble, to sob,
As I felt so alien from whatever it was
That infused this light to make it good.
Yet I wished to float, to hope,
As here it was, pouring down before me—
Onto me.

Looking in then from afar
Through the colored glass,
I saw behind the altar raised high
On his execution tree,
The image of the Lamb
With sorrow carved into His face
And wounds painted onto His side.
My eyes stayed fixed to that solemn sight
Till they ran with salt.
“They say You came
To make clean the Unclean,
To wash away every vile stain
That corrupts Your Image,”
Said I.
“They say You were sent
To ransom the Dead;
To free the captives
Of Hades’ rotten grip.
To bring bread and water
That ceases all thirst and hunger,
And gives Man second life.
Were You not?”

As the question left my lips,
I heard from around the corner
A creaking in reply.
Curiosity spurred,
I crept around to find
The doors an inch ajar,
With a widening sliver of golden light
Pouring forth from within.
Such a peculiar glow it was,
So pleasant yet so frightfully strange.
It did not burn,
But was rather as a balm,
Or a mild, warm rain.
There I stood for many moments,
Rendered motionless by a blend
Of paralytic fear and sedative calm
Until, carried on the streams of light
Came a gentle whisper to my ear
That spoke the sweetest, simple words:
“Dear wayward child, enter in.”
Apr '25
D 2d
As daylight dies the night falls—
Like a widow’s veil
And dark lacquered walls turn lilac,
By the pale of moonlight,
I wail in howling thrusts
Lycanthropic ******* sounds
As fangs pang a hunger
Vibrating in concerto,
Down to the core erupting like Vesuvius
I lament with lavish tongue licking lips.

A lich, courage upon the rift
As the stars, they shift
Patterns to illustrate the cosmic maw
In awe, enthralled, nocturnal
Heading the barn owl’s call
I am but a man undone
Remade chimera,
He’ll hound and bound to burn
But here I yearn among the tenebrous limbs of deadened trees
In a forest that whispers my dreams

I lament, in hopes the sun will shine
And char my unfeeling flesh
I digress, as the meat will keep
In the cold I breathe
A toast to thee! In ichor filled glass
Silken sanguine liquid kissing my throat
Coating organs to feign alive.

I, one of the children of the night,
Shall sing you lullabies
With the sweet music that I make!

As the Mordant liquor of tears
Inspire spirits—
I’ll drink in rousing cheers
For an eternity that better eluded me
Until I found the western shore,

I am the storm,
Godspeed on the devil’s thunder,
I come as primal, a beast reborn.
Been a while since I wrote a darker, horror/fantasy piece.
D Apr 10
Shadows dance off your porcelain
And I trace the sharp of the blade down cracks made
Hoping the right incision could spill the poison
And we can both taste your sweet ruby port.

Intoxicate me with silken lips
Touching me in lingering whispers
Wrapped in your velvet softness,
I am alive in the sharp nip of the nape
Drink me like a fountain, bask in my anima
Become one, pneuma.

Crack me like a fortune cookie
And read my fate upon your tongue
Flick my resolve into the depths of the river Styx
Let us tangle like twisted twine
And let the ropes of fate bind
***** as it ever was, to be your meal
In hunger and lust.
felt like going a little darker this morning.
neth jones Apr 6
one day someone told me    we all dream in black and white
i was suggested death  and took it without thinking
it became all bleach and charcoal  and these bled out dreams
                                                                ­   now  underlay my life
23/10/22 : date of original version
Debbie Apr 4
All the darkness in the world stems from the darkness of our own heart - unknown

Why do thoughts, darkly hideous,
plague the midnight mind?
He did not want my heart, he wanted
the gore beneath its scarlet rind.
I hemorrhaged flashing visions of
my crimson blood dripping on
****** snow.
His sweet slashes
left my heart thrashing.
As he drank the fierce red ocean
that floats my soul below.
I smelled a rancid scent,
The mortal death's on his breath.
In a deep haunting whisper,
he revealed that I would cease to grow old.
If I drank from his slit vein,.
I'd be free of mortal pain.
Now with an insatiable thirst.
I shudder to think it can always be worse.
Always had a fascination with vampires.
Next page