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Carys Angharad Jan 2019
I saw her deteriorate.
I looked on as she pulled and
picked at her skin.
This condition had stolen her soul.
It had trapped her.

She no longer watched sunsets,
instead, she walked in thunderstorms.
She continued to pick and to pull,
because she was trapped,
and ******* lost.

Nobody could get through to her,
As her soul had been stolen.
She was lifeless and
was now just a shell…
a shell of her former self.

Her shell began to crumble,
as she decayed even further.
She hid for days on end,
refusing to communicate
with other people.

She pulled, and she picked,
Feeling more lost by the second.
She yearned to disappear,
to simply leave with no
word of warning.

She was ensnarled by her thoughts,
and she knew there was
no way out.
collin Dec 2021
i embark
the trail is dark
the floor ensnarled
with twisted barbs
of metal shards
and as i crawl
the searing pain
of tearing skin
that’s stained with tears
and blood, a thought remains
like a sunken blade. my deepest fear.
am i going the right way?
James Court Apr 2017
Stranger than a stranger man feels
when a straw man falls out of trust,
full of falsehoods, and full of lust.
When this disease finally heals
it forms a scar, ripped open, gnarled,
but soulless, ghastly in silence,
meted out in lieu of violence
on his heart, with lips ensnarled.
But can man soothe invisible,
ancient wounds that demand regard,
deeming his broken and marred
heart no longer divisible?
Is it all too much to ask why
a seemingly sensible and
charming man would hide his hand,
and with inaction dignify
actions of others for his goal?
Certainly it's there to wonder -
if his soul weren't torn asunder,
what on Earth can make a man whole?
Rachel Thomas Aug 2024
ACT ONE

That night a savage tempest raged
the lightning flashed, the thunder roared
And boomed as loud as cannon-fire
While rain in giant torrents poured

But in his room, the prince just yawned
all tucked up in his feather-bed
With perfumed pillows made of silk
and cherubs swirling overhead

He did not think about the storm
or all the soaking serfs outside
The only thing he cared about
was how to bag himself a bride

And though he'd travelled far and wide
he could not find a maid to wed
For each of them just paled beside
the bride that lived inside his head

This girl she had to be, you see,
a "real" princess of bluest blood
Whose lineage stretched back until
that misty age before the Flood

He'd hunted her as if she were
the greatest prize a man could snag
To mount upon his wall just like
a roe deer or a trophy-stag

But still he went to bed alone
until he grew so tired he swore
He would not wed a real princess
unless she knocked upon his door

                ACT TWO

Well soon that knock came loud and clear-
so loud the prince fell out of bed
And there she stood inside the hall
a real princess, or so she said

Her hair was dripping wet and yet
it shone as bright as leaf of gold
And like a young gazelle she was,
though blue and shivering with the cold

She seemed a Tudor miniature,
with such a sweet and pearly face
It was as if a jeweller's hand had
set each feature in its place

But when the Queen came rushing down
to view her through her gold lorgnette
The girl twitched like a butterfly
ensnarled in an explorer's net

This queen she seemed to be the kind
you find in children's fairy-tales
A stiff, white ruff around her neck
and bony hands with claws for nails

A Gorgon in a diadem
with beady eyes and puffed-up hair
A dowager who could have turned
a man to stone with just one stare

And glaring through her opera-glass
with eyes of bloodshot sapphire-blue
She fixed the girl as if she were
A beast to gawp at in a zoo

"But is she real?" the old queen asked
she seemed to think the girl might be
An ignis fatuus or a ghost
and even poked her, just to see.

And so the royals hatched a plot
to see if she was who she said
They'd let the princess stay the night
and hide a pea inside her bed


                ACT THREE

The old queen led the princess through
a labyrinthine corridor
With peacocks staring from the walls
and tigers sprawled across the floor

Then showed her to a cosy room
with tapestries hung all around
A fire was popping in the hearth
and mossy rugs lay on the ground

The weary princess looked about
at all the gilded finery
The mirrors and the silk divans
the crystal and chinoiserie

And there, beneath the rafters, she
could see a bed piled up so high
With mattresses and blankets that
it seemed to tower to the sky

You'd think it would have been a dream
to lie on such a comfy heap
Instead the princess stirred all night
and did not get a wink of sleep

              ACT FOUR

But in the morning when she rose
and grumbled of her wakeful night
The prince seemed not to care a jot
and viewed her with a strange delight

"I've never tossed and turned so much
I'm black and blue," the princess said
"It seemed that something razor sharp
was trapped beneath me in the bed"

"A real princess! " rejoiced the queen,
for only a princess could be
Kept up all night for something quite
as trifling as a garden pea

The girl looked sheepish for a while
and then she said, "I must confess
I'm not, nor have I ever been,
what one could call a real princess.

I told you both a lie for I
was fearful if I did not say
That I was born of royal stock
you would have sent me on my way

The Queen turned pale and stared aghast
then viewed the girl through narrowed eyes
"You're nothing but a fraud!" she hissed
"A lowly peasant in disguise,"

            ACT FIVE

"But what is in a name?" the girl
asked, rising proudly to her feet
"That which we call a rose by any
other name would smell as sweet"

"The treasures that a person has
are not a measure of his worth
And he may be a king though he
is but a man of simple birth."

"Indeed, she's right," the prince agreed
"Who cares if she's of royal stock?
This talk of keeping bloodlines pure
is just a load of poppycock."

Besides this girl is more refined
than any royal I have met
She has no gems or castle for
a princess she is not... and yet

Her hair shines like a diadem
her eyes like jewels of emerald green
With her, for sure, I could fall more
in love than I have ever been."

                EPILOGUE
And so the two of them were wed....
much to the chagrin of the Queen
nja Jul 2019
He ensnarled her with his brutal guitar and poetry.
He was her first artisté.
He was oh so talented and even more tortured.
His twisted teeth spoke artery shattering words.
Under the depth of his performance she lay buried in dirt, thinking she was searching for a clover.
Hopefully she clawed and moulded herself to his grave.
tiny-giants Apr 2020
Shadows stalk as grain spires,
shrouding my steps among Gothic gallows
tiring of its coming close swallowing glow,
that split fervid glory into lamentful wails,
cursing the obstinate Angel's beating heart

Chained in full by a lull of envy,
looking upon those errant Angels,
If only I was just as them
then I would fear naught
so from my castle's coffin be redeemed.

Sonnets of streaming tinged torchlights,
cutting close through the soft dark Stygian starlight,
close my castles square rocks round,
my rabid heart's deepened morbid drown.

Ensnarled between the breathless Void,
Each shadow stalks my waking sleep as I wander,
wondering in muddled dark between molded dreary bones.
This castle is my home, the home that my dear Angel has flown
I speak my own language I form my own words I have no predecessors descendants nor have I any news to blurt.
I constantly moving trying to find a world in which to relate I am often unheard misunderstood and ensnarled in debate.
my utterings are useless except to my own ear those people who detest me I do not fear.
I fear myself I am my own worst enemy I often cancel myself but to no avail I end up homeless jobless x exiled to jail as much as I succeed is as much as I fail.
I speak my own language I have my own tongue the world is crude to all, even to it's young.
October 29th 2019

— The End —