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Anne J Oct 2018
Strings, strings, wrapping around porcelain skin,
For why does the bruises not show?
With a waist, hip, and two legs that are so thin,
For why does the skin always glow?
Hair that never sheds, nor grows, nor messes,
For why does the girl not wash it?
With a merry face that still never truly expresses,
For why does the face not show even a slight fit?
Stoic, conjoined, the feet never stomping,
For why does the limbs never feel frostbit?
Perhaps it is a lie that the being is a girl,
As it is only with strings that she can ever twirl.
I did this about two weeks ago, as the poem you gotta send in order to the join the site. I hope y'all liked it. Does this count as a Halloween story?
Daan Vandelay Jun 2014
I can't stand to see your face
I feel as I invade personal space
and you hate it
The driver was right
I have to get you out of sight
because I can't stand to see your face
anymore.
Easily misunderstood, you are in the wrong here,
not me
let that sink in

shins

that look, Mr E

Obviously I was in the wrong... Fragile ego (2019 edit)
ryn Oct 2014
She comes to me every night...
When all is asleep with stars lit yonder.
Comes to me with subtle might
Peeking fiendishly from darkness's cover

Await such time she'd choose to show
Await the chance to finally take.
Ready to pounce like a well tensioned bow
Arrow-like talons, ever honed to stake.

Awake or asleep, she would come without fail.
Creep is her gait; this shadow clad figure.
Always a ***** in my impervious mail.
Claiming her wants with ferocious fervour.

Deemed to be strong, easier to succumb.
Don't fight...don't struggle... Don't call for aid...
Just wait and will yourself numb
She'd come regardless of prayers that's said.

She was here with me last night
In bed, I stared at a being that's faceless...
And my heart wrenched tight.
Gripping and feeding me senseless...

Soon as she came, she left but not before
Siphoning the good and replacing with dread...
Stole was what she did; left me wanting more...
Once deed is done, into the dark she fled.

I know her all too well,
Nocturnal guest that I unknowingly invite
Her intentions to incite, not quell
Send me spiralling through emotional blight.

Day will recede, making room for dark
She'll come; swift and without sound.
She'll arrive majestic; inflicting her mark
I'll wait for her, ready and unbound.

Looking forward to her return
This silent foe whom I find familiar.
With every touch I cringe and burn
Oh secret friend whom I'm beginning to savour...

She is synonymous with various names
Each would bear the likeness of semblance
Let fly her cloak of not dissimilar aims
Endearingly I call her...,

Despondence...
JayceeJellies Nov 2014
I put my head down on my pillow at night,
I smile as I close my eyes.
Because I know that I don't have to feel frightened.
Because Slendy's peeping, keeping close eyes on me all the time.

Slendy knows, I'm only five.
Just like he knows my brother Johnny is nine.
But Johnny doesn't like Slendy too much.
He says he's scarey and frightens him to the touch.

But I like Slendy.
I've told him every time.
Slendy means no harm!
That's why I don't hide.

"Come now child"
I hear Slendy call,
He's waving his arms,
So flimsy and long..

They don't scare me though.
Because I know that Slendy's my friend.
Not a ******.

"JANE!"

Slendy starts to move away,
I move towards him in such a sudden daze,
But I hear my mommy keep calling my name.

"JANE!"

I look away from Slendy to see her running to me.
"What are you doing?" I asked her as she picked me up,
As she held me Slendy vanished.
He was gone.

That was the last time I saw him.
But I know he's watching me,
Slendy always talks to me.
So, I felt like writing a story and a poem at the same time. This sort of just came out. Feel free to tell me your opinions.
He loved her body
A little too much
Hard and then soft
And then hard to the touch

She didn’t know she’d
Take rest by his side
Carl Tanzler’s young lovely bride

Tuberculosis took her too soon
But his infatuation still made him swoon

A paper tube which allowed him to still
Tearfully know her, tearfully thrill

Was replaced as needed
As things seeped inside
Carl Tanzler’s lovely young bride

And God in his heaven
Looked down as he cried
For Carl Tanzler’s lovely young bride

And the devils vast minions
Smiled up from Hell
At Carl’s bride’s unmoving shell
Lily Oct 10
At the end, my hand
Nor my fingers trembled as
I grasped her pale neck.
I recently entered this in a Halloween haiku contest and wanted to share it with you guys :)
Willoughby Aug 2018
I'd love to peer into that brain of yours and see the actual mechanics of your thinking.  Where those creative juices of yours throb and pulse. Ya, I'll drink to that.

   Maybe use one of them scopes to explore the left ventricle of your heart (you know, that chamber of the Heart that pumps blood through the aorta).  Figure out that sensitive heart of yours.

   Explore the rubber consistency of the lining of your lungs. With that heaving chest and ******* of yours, those lungs must be so healthy in their pinkish hue.   Just some barstool thoughts while waiting for closing time.

   Staring into this shot glass in front of me, my memory harkens back to the time you cut your arm and I ****** the blood from it, so salty and all.  I want to bottle you up in a liquid formula or capsulize your essence in a unique pill form where I can digest and absorb you and grow new cells from the energy I receive from the calories of your precious body.

   Maybe with the power of your bodies flesh I can grow a sixth toe, develop a third eye, build an *****.  I love you so much I could eat you up!

   Barkeep says this is last call so I better drink up and be on my way.  I wonder what your left ventricle really looks like under close inspection?  
   Just wondering, do you have any x-rays of your body I could have?
                                             See ya,   Creepy  Ray Ray
Willoughby  NEWSLETTER:   Coming soon, more Willoughby life rules and yes, this isn't the last you've heard from Creepy Ray Ray.  Also, middle of next month in honor of National Sheep Day the long awaited posting of "My Wife is a Sheep". Sweet anticipation!  And finally if your a little creeped out or shocked ---- Exactly!
Guden Nov 2017
There are some hotdog shaped dogs,
They're weird,
Seem made up.
Nasty little creatures,
Vicious,
Rotten.
Ironic in a way,
Probably can't even **** without help,
But they're fast,
They have strong personalities.
I've never met a hotdog
Dog
Who is not creepy,
Their humans are weird too.
Keiri Jul 30
Crawling into my layer.
Hungry for more.
Go ahead, make your prayer.
And beg your God t'ill you're sore.

For my eyes are drenching.
And there's a hole in my chest.
I'll always be watching.
Waiting, lurking to **** you my guest.

Blood will be drooping and clench
Into the screams that are made.
Covered by my sweet revenge,
Please let them be fooled by my façade.

And my eyes twitching hard.
Sore dry and red.
As it all gets discard.
When I'm not being fed.

My fingers scratching my face.
My mouth drooling with war.
And a lady in white lace.
Who had been stolen from far.

The typical muddy nails.
The well timed rhymes.
The screams that prevail.
The horror mirrors the dark times.

Oh, it's that cinematic feel,
Of when Dracula emerges.
The devil and his deal.
The night got so gorgious.

And the taste of the brains.
That are reaching my troat.
No more personal gains.
No more original quotes.

It's that creepy nights cough,
And a horror be feared.
As the jumpscare was just bluff.
Yet I thrilled as they dared.

It's that creepy night upon my eyes.
Big swollen black eyes on both sides.
Oh I know this is goodbye.
That alone I have abide.

It's the zombie feel when your eyes want to shut.
You're forcing you through this movie with fright.
With the creep, the witch or the nut.
Say goodbye to your sleep tonight.

For you won't sleep for a while anymore.
Oh the joys of a horror, making your eyes sore.
Not sleeping from a horror, therefor becoming the horror myself.... haha enjoy.
As black as the coffee it is you drink every morning.
As black as the view as you lie in your casket.
black.
Joshua Myers Aug 2018
A brightly lit room still holds darkness.
Look deeply,
Leopard like sharpness.

In a corner or behind the door.
Look closely,
Maybe under the floor.

Look high, look low.
Bring a friend,
Let the search grow.

Look to the wardrobe,
Maybe you see it.
Pressure building in your lobe.

Look under the bed,
Creepy crawlies,
Infecting your head.

Look in the closet,
Careful there I say,
Untold, unknown,
A ghoulish made deposit.
I had to try a childhood nightmare of mine
You enter into the neighbor's room, clenching a knife cutting the morning light across the room. You are moving surreptitiously.  
There is a colour on the knife. It's colour reflects an image of you upon it. You look down at your body, and notice the colour reflects there too.
You notice there are two people around you, a male and a female, and their colour is yours too.

You taste the colour of death on your tongue, you share the taste with the people in the room.
You share it with the knife, you share it with the floor, you share it with all the neighbor's next door.
You followed them home, to share the colour with them..
The colour alludes you, it brings you a high. You like how it tastes to die.
Who knows, when His Watch will tell you the Truth
And reveal the Sins he refused to Pour
Mostly when the Priest he tries to Conduce
When in Practice their Ripe Karma does Sour
How you Dive and Resist at the same time
Mostly on Cards you purse and refuse Face
Even if they show Numbers worth in-Line,
If not from the Isles are locked in Disgrace
Yet the Wheel-Friend still refuses this Fact
And tries to re-file this False Document
Even at-risk to be billed a Blackheart,
Booting that supposed Good Sentiment.
Daily, no pause, fold my hands for your Health
If you find Creepy, not my loss of Wealth.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
ryn Feb 2015
.
•they'd               
come at night•               
these footsteps are               
never light• always                    
heavy and running ar-                      
ound•...they are annoy-                        
ingly creepy..., these aw-                       
ful sounds•every night,                          
after eleven without                        
fail•into rooms,                        

us they would                        
tail• making a                        
din overhead                        
•when all                        
                         should
                        be quiet inste-
                         ad•like barefooted
                          children i would ***-
                          ume...•wandering and
                          exploring into every ro-
                           om•...could they come
                            wilfully•from the cou-
                                ple who live above
                            me•i very much

                             doubt so•bec-
                             ause this much
                             i know...•that
                             the neigh-

bour up-                    
stairs, they're                        
old•frail and meek;                            
never bold•they'd re-                            
tire early•after late, ne-                            
ver a party•now... there                            
the feet go again•drivi-                            
ng me almost insane•                            
on my ceiling now,                            
they're pacing•                        

they know i kn-                        
ow and they are                        
playing•these                        
invisible                        
                        feet•ne-
                        ver would we
                            meet•one thing for
                           sure•this is not a friv-
                            olous tour•determined
                            to tell•that they exist
                              as well•nothing i'm
                               certain but it is clear
                               •i think they really
                              like it here...•

                              •i don't think
                               they're leavi-
                              ng•they're
                 ­              bent on


staying...
.
I live in an apartment on the 2nd storey. My family and I would hear these footsteps every night.

Initially we would dismiss it to be the neighbour living upstairs but that became very improbable simply because the couple who lives above us are far too old to be jumping and skipping in the wee hours...

We have tried ignoring the sounds but they would intensify. We'd hear intentional heavy footsteps, running, jumping between rooms but most of the time they would follow us to whichever room we're in.

Lately these sounds had progressed to rapping on the concrete walls in my bedroom. I could hear them as I lay in bed knocking and tapping on the wall by me.

The thing is... I live in a corner apartment and beyond that wall is the exterior of the building... There is no way anyone could be on the opposite side of that wall...

Creepy much?
.
The Vault Sep 10
A creak in the floor
Chills cover my skin
Once thought I was alone
Not anymore
Checking all corners
Not a single soul
But then the ceiling creaks
Telling me
This is not just my home
The books hold stories
Not only held by me
It is odd
How in the silence
You really hear
The oddly creaks
quinn silverman Sep 2018
dark tendrils flirt with her eyes
people pass her ****
she daydreams of throats split open
you think she’s pretty
smiling to herself

using her ***
to get you excited
it’s better when the blood is flowing
at her dinner table
long fingers confident
pouring a pitiful glass of wine
creeping up your thighs
touching herself,
fantasizing of what you’ll look like

you catch yourself whining
attracted to this fear
teeth biting the broken lip
yes, this is good
scratching at the pretty ankles
searching beneath this gushing blood

loving the smell of it
dripping
blood pools under her french tips
mouth aching in ecstasy
licking her poison lips
she loves the feeling of this
“i could get used to this”
Kaede Jul 4
Nothing's more creepier than a dream becoming real each passing day.

Three am and I woke up gasping for air to breathe while tears streaming down in my chubby cheeks. For the first time, I don't know what is real and what is fake, and what is wrongly perceived by my senses.

As I struggled to convince myself the idea of it that it did not happened, the more I was compelled to believe that it really did. The way I cried in the dream is the way I wailed tonight. Every plot of the dream turns to be more authentic than it ever did. The vivid details of my dream are coming like a kaleidoscope of horror movies I've watched as I continue to growl in agony.

And there is nothing I can do, but to continue watching myself.

Three am and I woke up gasping for air to breathe while tears streaming down in my chubby cheeks. For the first time, I don't know what is real and what is fake, and what is wrongly perceived by my senses.

Reality felt like a little less real.

From then on, I'm becoming less much in reality and I'm becoming more in my dreams. Everything I see around in this world looks faker and faker each breathe that I take.
Go on living or go on dying? Either way, just  be brave.
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