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"disembowels" poems
Tonight is the night, be it All Hallows' Eve One filled with fright most refuse to believe, For deep amongst the shadows, silently lurking, 'Tis a terrifying creature, his jagged teeth smirking. Thou hast all heard of demons, and hast battled thine ghouls Whilst this terrible beast watcheth with hunger and drools. It's spittle, like acid, can burn through thine flesh Making thee so much easier to digest. No name shalt be found for a creature so foul That gobbles up goblins, and ogres disembowels. Dost thou think that thine lanterns shall frighten it hence? Oh foolish man, it shall consume the light thence. It standeth hunched over, twelve feet in height; Stalking thou, watching thou, waiting for night. It cometh from deep within the forest, as the moon wanes His fur smelleth of death, his claws favouring pain. He shan't be stopped ere his hunt is over Yet he only hunts the thirty-first of October Take ye heed, then, and hear the warning of the raven For this beast is coming, and from him there is but one haven. He preyeth upon the weakest, and the one full of fear So stand fast, take courage and in another likeness appear Put on a mask, as treacherous as can be Conceal what layeth within, do not let him see Or else you shall be taken, beaten and devoured For this beast prefers to torture just to see thee cower. So please, take heed to this warning and believe; Thou art only safe if thee wearest a mask on All Hallows' Eve. 11/3/16
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Nov 15, 2016
Nov 15, 2016 at 12:13 AM UTC
All Hallows' Eve
I have met a stranger hanging from the point of nothing where no wretched parochial fashion disembowels, no fellated Pop, the prop of some, is angled in, exquisite – no, the dilation of his eyes met me on a disc of white - the hands of mine spinning the entire weight, hurtling from a place of uncontrolled proportions of nothingness and patience. I fear this place of limitation – it survives on an originality slowly disappearing from grace.
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Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 5:45 AM UTC
Idea
Insomnia attacks you front on, rips back your eyelids and devours the human sleep mechanism. Depression disembowels you and you feel sick to your stomach every god **** second. Scars forming on one limb turn into bruies on another and then into deep red scabs on the next. Headaches throb and throb and bash and throb inside your head for weeks. Extensive cold showers do not suffice as an escape And fail at making you clean enough. There is only so much a pill can do.
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Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 7:49 AM UTC
When...
It is not paint that his lifeless creature wears. It is the make-up smears that animate its features. It scares me not consciously, but with a deep sticky dread hiding in the shadows of my mind. Its face parades in color and shade, in light and dark, but I know its face to be hollow. I know its fingers to be as the roots of a tree that feed on you at the slightest touch and you dare not let it ***** you love you or all you will know is hate. It withers down the soul of a man so that he will never love a woman; she will appear to be a siren and he will run in shame from his flaccid courage. It disembowels the soul of a woman until she thinks her entrails more impressive than any pecker; she stumbles around like a blunt fork never holding on to what she needs. It enrages the soul of a lover until he cannot bear to witness love endure without a scream. All the while, its hollow face feeds upon what glimmers in the sun and glows in the night, a vacuum never sated, never feeling peace's respite. I've kissed this face and I'll never kiss again, not until God and I can uproot the devil's sin.
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Jul 28, 2020
Jul 28, 2020 at 3:26 PM UTC
Portrait of the Devil...