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"fuseli" poems
Tossing to and fro as if combating a hostile sea/ dark thoughts cloud the inner sanctum of my mind/ the distress, the bitterness, the anguish, the grief, the sadness, the lonliness, the unfathomably lustful pain/ that I face burn with the intensity of the fires of hell that await me/ Guardians of chaos; harvesters of damsels come for me that I drown in their sins/ rip the fabric of my consciousness asunder/ my ***** sing an aria of sorrow, listen to the requiem of the ****** a miasma of death flood my bowels/ decay enters my womb and I plunge deeper into madness/  I'm an error; a fault of life as the demonic servants consume my flesh for what feels like a eternity/ as we desend in to the pit of blasphemy, defilement, pagans, and idol worshippers/ he deprives my spirit of the rightousness, tears it from its mortal bond and it unfurls into a ethereal cloud of emptiness/ being ravaged my capture looks off in the distance as if performing an exhibition/ with every touch I feel dead inside all the while the nightmare watches with a disgustingly grim grin.... This was written for a art history class inspired by "The Nightmare" by Henry Fuseli Tell me what you think of the interpretation!!
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Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 1:51 AM UTC
The Nightmare
I'm writing this because I'll be gone in about two seconds. I've decided I've had enough: It was too much or maybe too little. I'm prepared to hang myself with the umbilical cord of my self-hatred; it was a diary entry, I think. Oh, I'm dead anyway. I am dead has such a nice wring to it, doesn't it? Feel like a ***** old dishrag, used up and withered. I wonder who will clean up my act. I will lie in a playful position, akin to the Mannerists or Fuseli and the Renaissance men would look at me like I'm crazy for contorting smiles and stares in a happy niche of browning lungs. The punchline always ends with your head in an oven. I'd imagine it'd explode, but it was not so. It's sad to know he didn't love you, but hey, we got poetry out of it, you know. How is he? Did you get your revenge? You were beautiful, but I was decades late.
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Nov 10, 2011
Nov 10, 2011 at 1:50 PM UTC
Thanks For Killing Me, Sylvia Plath