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john oconnell Aug 2010
Is there to be no reprieve
from the mental rack
of present hauntings
resurrecting a persistent
and pervading past ?

Into the more than endless night
they loom, dressed in cloaks
and armed with countless daggers,
rusted in their deep graves.

They plunge and contort
the heart into a shapeless mass
of free-floating anxieties
dominating and dissecting
every half-conscious syllable

destroying all feeble endeavours
at any semblance of normality.
Hilary Thorpe Jul 2013
I’ve got a ribcage of sprigs,
A mind full of snow.
I really have no clue,
Where I will go.
I’m not lost,
But not certain
What path I’m on.
It seems that all clarity
Has up, left & gone.
My mind is in a dizzy;
I’m spinning at top speed.
There is something I must fulfill,
Some sort of need.
The empty path is open,
All the choice is mine.
There is nothing definite
About what I will find.
Maybe I will see
All that has haunted me,
Or maybe I will walk
On for centuries.
There is something I must do,
There is something in sight.
But I’m being held back,
Although I struggle with all my might.
The hauntings pull at my feet,
A heavy, dying weight.
I try to free myself
And banish this hot hate.
For hate will not help me,
In reaching where I will go
Because all I have to lead me,
Is my mind full of snow.
Zyborg Jan 2013
I am tired of my rants
like a millions hammers
pounding away in my brain
constant chatter drowns sanity
expectations love and affection
comfort insecurities and misadventures
regrets lost and found
a million lives not lived
what could be and what is
hauntings and remembrances
shadows looming large on today
today that is not perfect
perfection that is just in mind
mind on verge of lunacy
constant screams drowned
in the agonizing void
void that is my life

I am tired, very tired

tears they have a mind of their own
roll down when you least expect
open your soul to strangers
strangers that glare
stay in dark away from glare
tucked in blanket of oblivion
lost and lonely yet sane
lost and lonely yet sane
Lightning playful through a poisoned bloodstream,
Veins on torturous, burning fire.
Whispers through my home, hauntings of the faux trauma and unresolved crucifix standing ready to bear.
Left unfulfilled by the crushing unrefusable statement of self sabotage.
The flaming star of the avatar, the nomadic extreme of the eternal hellscape that resides in my hunted stomach.
The predator and the prey, predetermined and praying.
Just another eternity until the monsoon departs, the season ended. From there the calm waves will carry me to shore.
The dark restful, kiln, I am your dough, as I am your clay, a grateful panettone.
Mold me, endow me the drug, the decree, the great recipe of relinquishment.
No Elysium, I denounce Gehenna,
I crave nothing but the sweet, serene, comatose clemency of unending hibernation.
Cold blooded sunbathing in the radiant rays of the great bird's wings.
The boiling embrace of his feathered fire.
The brutal, unrelenting, chaotic, climactic, adrenalitic pull into the hot murky depths.
Scald me, lash me, revive me in death.
For I can wait no longer.
Living in fear of the Reaper is worse than The Harvest its self.
So come unto me my lord, my peace,
And engulf me in the ******* rest of departure.
Pretty hot. Haha get it .a ha ha
Sarah Mar 2015
Shatter music as relief
when the rest will burn away
until only bits remain
and I beg for it to be day

Nighttime as my prison
when my hauntings ride the dark
and even in the morning
on my eyelids leave their mark

When sleep unfolds my mind
my dreams leave scars upon my feet
where my demons creep inside
and my fears and sorrows meet

I'm encrypted in this pain
and I feel as though I'll never escape
so I submit to endless agony
of death and torture, sin and ****.
Emily Mar 2014
ARIES: stay away from cats claws and hours past midnight. good day for purple lips and kissing your mothers cheek

TAURUS: your leg hair will grow and it will feel like beauty. you are lost and will not be found and this will feel like being a child again

GEMINI: clocks will move backwards for you today. when his hand catches in your hair, go home with your shoes clutched to your chest.

CANCER: spiders beckon new hope and your feet will crush the crocuses in your front yard. don’t be late.

LEO: today is a day to listen. listen to silence, listen to noise, listen to sobs, listen to laughter, listen to your heartbeat. hush

VIRGO: itchy scars are a sign of past romance bubbling to the surface. avoid broken windows and crying

LIBRA: you will love your freckles in the mirror and when he says he does not, leave him. good day for hauntings

SCORPIO: you will feel it. bad day for fresh-cut flowers

SAGITTARIUS: two chimes means a secret is about to be revealed. watch for smudged mascara and track marks

CAPRICORN: destruction comes with a price. squeeze her hand extra tight when you leave; she’ll be back eventually.

AQUARIUS: you can not be silenced today; this is not always good. bad day for second hand books

PISCES: read your mail and stay out of the rain. avoid gray eyes and sleeping late
OnlyEggy Feb 2011
Hello, Hello
You avenger of the dark
I see you sulking, waiting
Are you hunting or do you fear the light,
Vampire?

Vampire, Vampire
This place is your temple
Your victim the lamb
Are those fangs for blood or romantic
Desire?

Desire, Desire
Hearts pumping life
Lovers hunting lovers hauntings
Do you fear the cross or the sun's
Fire?

Fire, Fire
Set to burn
Sent to blaze
Shall I burn your world or show you the
Empire?

Empire, Empire
Watch it grow
'Till it crashes and falls
Will you save yourself, or feed on the ******,
Vampire?
(AIP)
LS Martin Oct 2016
Reliving the horror of a past I laid to rest*
The words sprang to life like dry bones becoming as flesh
I heard his voice so real in my head
Knowing full well I should shut the book
*I turned the page instead
Pink Kator Jan 2010
Today you choose to haunt me
Or shall I say who you used to be
What we used to have
Your energy
Your smile
Got lost somewhere
I miss who you used to be
As if you were dead
A shining star that lost its light
A beating heart that doesn't love me anymore.
It used to be so precious to me
No matter what anyone said
No matter how badly I was treated
You were precious to me
Who you were is precious to me.

But in these days where we do not speak
Where you haunt my dreams
I cannot tell you
How much I wish I were in he past
When your voice still had that light to it
When your eyes were excited
And you were still happy about life

When you had your punk music and your rebellion
When you hated everyone
But me.

But now I will be the only one you hate.

Some days I'm ok with that.
But today it haunts me.
G Rog Rogers Aug 2017
I knew Her as an angel
She is remembered as a ghost
Haunting every memory
with love that now is lost

Her ways were
near to perfect
until the shadows
touched Her soul
The bitter winds
they overtook Her
far more fierce
than She could hold

Now the hauntings
of Our memories
and the tragedy
that did befall
is all that's left
me to remember
of the angel whose
name I once did call

Beauty then to darkness
as the shadows
haunting pause
Reveal a ghost before me
where an angel
there once was

Remembering an angel
when surely She is lost
I turn and focus onward
Righteous vengeance
then my cause.

-R.

(12.16)

-LA
-4MAR
©2017
honey ashes Sep 2014
how do you stop yourself from becoming a living contradiction? what do you do when no one has taught you the proper way to respond to the pain sprouting through cracks and seams and overgrowing the gardens of your mind, suffocating the beautiful because there is simply not enough room, what do you do when you’re trying to swallow the panic bubbling up in your throat? where does that heat come from, that builds in the backs of your eyes like all the hurt you bundled up for safe-keeping because some fights aren’t worth having, even when you can feel your heart breaking, a little at a time? why is the emptiness and the darkness always so much bigger than anything else? when does it stop feeling like a form of torture to leave the house and when does everything stop representing him in small and insignificant ways, every hour, every minute, every second? how do you stop the deep pit from forming in that area of your chest every time you accidentally stumble on a song that holds echoes of him in it’s crevices? echoes that escape like whispers of smoke and riddle holes in you, relentlessly and eternally? how the hell is someone both everywhere and nowhere all at once? when do you stop waking up in cold sweats because you are so achingly alone? where is the pavilion of shelter? when does it stop feeling like a war that you’re only fighting with yourself?

-*k.c.
Sadie Brock Mar 2013
Silence is what I've heard,
Pain is what I've felt.
Darkness is what I've known,
against my skin, hate pelt.
Salt thrown o'er their shoulders,
crosses upon her chest,
spittle lining the streets
where my feet came to rest.
Prejudice and hate
surround me where e'er I go.
And still I fought my battles
so that other people might know.
Branded with a scarlet letter,
mistrust and spite abound,
Tell me truly, does it get better?
Or does hate the world surround?
I wrote this about the prejudice I faced when I was growing up. It's one of my most treasured poems.
Silence Screamz Sep 2014
Welcome inside!
My own purgatory.
My twisted mind.
My melted story.

Down every hallway,
open a different door.
Tempted by temptation,
fearing nature's *****.

Mirrors on the ceiling,
reflecting a dark stare.
Blood drips from the corners,
makes you want to dare.

Tiptoe to the staircase,
spirals out of pitch.
Death grip on the banister,
devil makes me trip.

Sinister and evil,
shadows follow me.
No more mental hauntings,
wake me from this dream.

Trapped by my surroundings,
biting every bit,
Seeing everything red,
by every blowing hit.

No perfect little world,
or perfect little bell.
Won't you trade me places?
Within my own living hell
I accidentally deleted it a few minutes ago. I apologize!
Melinda Éva Jun 2015
It’s these memories that haunt us
remind, confine, and shape us
Love, faith, betrayal, and death
are all elements that have dug
a permanent grave in our
cognitive cemeteries,
six feet deep in those feelings
of despair and regret

And those memories make
their presence known,
clawing at the top of the coffin,
trying to escape the grips of
earth that surrounds
their holding place

And no matter how high
of a mound we pile on top of it,
rain and wind slowly withers away
our efforts of concealing
those demons of ours

Their pathetic cries
seep through the cracks,
reminding us
of our broken pasts.

But we must take this
as an opportunity of growth,
because the more we suppress
those pestering cries
that try to make us
retrace our steps
to that grave sight we swore
we would never visit again,
the easier it will be
to shed light on those
living things that give
us purpose in life
The past haunts if you let it
Kimmy-Nichole Aug 2010
Zen.
Never have I felt it,
Quite as much as I do now;
As the hours pass on,
And the nights pass quicker,
I am positive-
That all the toxic filled problems
that haunted me day after day-
Are finally coming to shore;
To slowly be brushed back into the sea,
Forever and Eternity,
Just as they once were.
Skaidrum Apr 2017
...
I was born into this shadow of beauty we call the American dream, but I was raised in foreign silhouettes. The same exact silhouettes that raised my mother. My first memories were of her forest gods and alpine stories that have taught me how to write spiderwebs into the hearts of the miserable so my words could hold them together. My deadushka's magic could turn monsters into swans with a wink because his love was so contagious. My babushka's, on the other hand, showed me how to howl like darkness so even the wolves would know silence. I was born as spilled as it comes; as ink.  I now understand what tragedies look like at first;  ("Blessings")

As my mother picks her way across a war with me in her arms, the world catcalls that I am a half-blood puppet. The daughter with Russian strings and American footsteps. I arrive in America where I am reminded I belong here, but that was the first lie that my mother ever fed to me. To this day, it still tastes like expired love.

As my father spent all his kindness on me in the earliest years of my life I was given an English tongue and it bullied my Russian one into suicide. That is the only thing my father ever planted in me that he wanted to grow. Those seeds of words I would later bear fruit as ripe poetry.  Those fruit of the novels I will someday write as fiction into flesh. However, what is written beneath our skin doesn't necessarily always fit in our mouths. My father's greatest mistake was beating me into a ghost, but giving me the power to write about his hauntings.  His abuse moves into our house shortly after he realizes I am a tragedy, not a blessing.

As I write myself into the moon one day I will become, I meet a boy who's laughter makes all the planets look dull.  We learn to not walk like apologies, but like young legends. He was my first real taste of sunlight since I was brought here, and he spoke heaven into my eyes until I saw it. We loved each other like Peter Pan and Wendy did; deeply, cluelessly, and forever. Our immortality was a toy in the eyes of those who envied us. Yet he summoned the fires we should have feared as kids, but instead we stared into them and smiled. We were happy, and we were never sorry for that.


April 3rd, 2007. He died. That was the day I was old enough to grow out of a blessing and into the clothes of a tragedy. That was the day the heaven spilled from my eyes like the great flood and went with him. My mother theorizes that is why my eyes aren't as blue as hers anymore. The sounds of bullets hitting bodies today, even ten years later, between then and long ago, has the power to create painful afterimages of him. The post traumatic stress unfastens my blood from my my body and the poetry reacts by shutting me down all at once. Death asks me to write a spiderweb into his own heart, but I refuse.

I adopted grief into my family and he got along with abuse pretty well. To survive, I've left the nostalgia of that boy to hibernate deep in my bones.

Today is April 3rd, 2017.  I stand before a headstone that exists only sometimes in my head. I kneel before it and leave the skeleton of my love like a bouquet of roses. The shadows and silhouettes align, and I hold hands with both of them.

I weep as the odes of "it's not your fault" fall onto my ears like they do every year. From friends, lovers, and family. They mean well. Who knows, maybe someday I will have what it takes to believe them.

But he never grew up, so guilt still ***** it's wings here.


---"Sermons with a colorblind priest."
© Copywrite Skaidrum
Vinnie Brown Jun 2013
There is a man I see from time to time
His eyes look like they have seen my sorrows
His smile looks as if it is mocking my happiness
His scar on his eyebrow brings back some foreign memory
His ungroomed ****** hair reminds me of when I lost even the will to shave
His arrogance is relatable in almost everyway
His confidence gives me jealousy
His smirk angers me
Angers me to the point where I am enraged
In this enraged stupor I react irrationally
My fist within seconds is going to connect to his skin
His skin which looks so familiar but so unknown
Realization
Blood trickles from my hand as I pull the broken pieces of glass from it
The mirror is cracked and shattered
The insanity is much clearer now
His sorrows, happiness, scars, ****** hair, arrogance, confidence, and smirk yes they are quite relatable
The hauntings of this man that I see from time to time I hope do change for the man I see
My heart goes out to him
For he is me
My third installment I hope everyone enjoys it, I was listening to sensible heart by city and colour while writing it.
soliloquist Oct 2014
you type:
call me
and it almost always sounds like
you're choking
on the hauntings of the day.

my heart is racing,
heavy breathing
as i punch in your
number and i
still get startled when
it starts to ring.

but once you utter: hello,
everything falls apart
and time slows
and the world stops turning
for that split second.
for that one moment,
your shaky hello
tells me so much more
than you have ever said to me
when others are with us.

you become my everything.

but then when the call ends,
and you whisper a goodbye,
the thoughts start to fill me up again
and i start to miss you almost immediately.
in that one hour,
you have made me forget
all that was sad and wrong in my life.
when you go to sleep,
i just want to die.
THANK YOU FOR THE TINY MOMENTS OF BLISSFUL PEACE
A K Krueger Aug 2013
Yes, it happened to me.
I was there
In the warm moonlight
Of his touch.
The fire glowing,
Revealing the lines
Of my hands,
So slowly caressing
His face.
The stars grew bright,
The promise of life,
In this thing that we had
That grew bigger than us,
And took over everything else.
He held me,
His touch, I had only dreamed about.
But in the present,
In that moment,
Time froze for us.
And I told you,
The words spilling out of my lips
As carelessly as laughter,
And you held it and returned it to me.
We had everything in our heads
And no one else knew.
I loved you then.
But couldn't find that word.
Why? When I had just found you.
I wake to the sunlight coming through the white curtains.
I roll over to see those green eyes looking back at me.
You smile a mouthful of shiny white enamel that reflects the light I just turned away from.
These moments are the ones I’ll cherish forever.
When everything means little and all I care about is you.
Time moves slower when I am in your eyes.
I forget where I am and all care to know.
I reach out to touch your face
But my hand hits the sheets beneath your head.
I blink and you are gone.
I remember that you haven’t been there for months now.
Yet, I am still having this dream.
It makes me fear that I am stuck.
Doomed to always wake next to empty pillows and cold sheets.
Obsession, you’re my ***** word
my secret, wanton lust
for I can think of no-one else
to have you, oh! I must.

But when satiated
shaken to my core
obsession ups and leaves me
I don’t want you anymore.

So, call me fickle, darlin’
just as you always do
I’m not fickle, just bedevilled
occasionally by you.

Though, you ain’t my only hang up
don’t go thinking that you are
I’ve a lifetime of obsessions
and you’re not the best, by far.

Not all are made of flesh and bone
some have no soul at all
but I host their hauntings just the same
always at their beck and call.

I’m helpless to their honeyed charms
so easily am I led
take me by the hand, my love,
keep my obsession fed.

Come, wrap me in your many limbs
pour your magic in my ear
captivate, infatuate
for as long as I am here.

Then I twist my form unshackled
alight and fade away
and you must wait, unknowing,
for only time can say.

If I shall visit you again
one small fancy of my flights
but keep my name upon your lips
‘til my next obsession strikes.
I am obsessed with so many things, for so fleeting a moment, that it's a wonder I get anything done at all.
Sir B Jan 2014
The universe doesn't care
what you are doing to yourself
It doesn't want to **** you
because your time isn't over yet
It has no emotions
so if you keep cursing it
for never ending your life
its fine.

Universe won't feel a thing
because it has nothing
no emotions/no feelings

So,
henceforth
we should all up a decision
that
since the Universe doesn't care
we shouldn't care
but we still do!

We have emotions
we have feelings
we want to help each other

or do we?

hence, i decided to do this to myself.
*torture, with hauntings of your face
or just
plain torture
Nope nope nope nope nope nope nope nope nope nope nope
I am tired
very tired
very unhappy
very sad
very unlikely
to do anything
besides cry myself
to sleep.
Nevermore May 2014
Reading about the paranormal,
The unknown,
Hearing of ghosts and spirits --
It hurts.

The otherworldly
Stirs up the painful memories
Of you.
I'd rather feel
Horror and fear
Anything else but this.

The demonic
The satanic
Can do little else to me
That you haven't already done.

Ghostly visitations,
Hauntings,
UFOs and their merry little abductions --
They all remind me of you
Still lurking my nights

When people trade stories
About aswang and demonic possession,
Cattle mutilations in the middle of nowhere,
I get chills
Thinking of you.

You are as inscrutable
As the Works of the Old Men
As the Nazca Lines
As the Coseck Circle.
Deciphering the Voynich Manuscript
Is nothing compared to the puzzle of you.

Listening to UVB-76
Max Headroom
The Bloop
Rebecca Black
Makes more sense than listening to you.

Unmask Jack the Ripper
Explain the Toynbee Tiles
Solve the Taman Shud Case
And I can solve you.

It's far less taxing, really
And more merciful on my limited cognitive faculties.


Bring me the Mongolian death worm
And Spring-heeled Jack
The Wandering Jew
The Dover Demon
And the Am Fear Liath Mòr
Before I decide
That sympathy and love
Are more that mere legends
Roaming the windswept wastes
Of your icy, shriveled heart,
Closer to reality than cryptozoology.

Abandoned cities and colonies
Only remind me of how abruptly and senselessly you left,
Leaving me a decrepit mystery of ruins

You believed in Atlantis
I said it was Plato's illustration --
His Republic,
Like Augustine's City of God.

Perhaps this was why our Atlantis
Sank to the ocean floor --
We were just good on paper.
Or maybe we started slaughtering
Noble half-breeds and changelings wholesale
Out of a misplaced sense of pride,

Or our union was unholy
And rankled the senses of the Sovereign
Who deemed it an offense
And thus condemned it,

Or perhaps this was an act of mercy
The equivalent of what Lovecraft said
The most merciful thing
Is the inability of the human mind
To correlate all the ******* he encounters
And has to deal with
On a daily ******* basis.


That the solid waves of mindfuck,
Pushing and heaving like tides,
Emanating from little ole you,
Would have finished off
Whatever was left of my mind.

You believed in ******* everything
But us.
Lost continents
Fox spirits
Psychometry
Were-boars
The ******* occult
No problem
All that which science cannot quantify nor qualify
You embraced
Yet you ran from me
And into the arms of another.

You claimed to be an empath
So tell me
How do I feel
After what you did to me?

You tell me.

And isn't empathy
Supposed to make people more compassionate?

The **** is this, then?

These stories
Of yetis and apparitions
Poltergeists and precognition
Used to intrigue and thrill me as a child.
When I grew up
I started ignoring them.
You put meaning back into the whole thing,
However insipid.

I was a skeptic.
You walked the line
Between the physical and supernatural
At least
If what you said is to be believed.

You were nothing but a specter,
Luring another hapless soul
Out into the barren wastelands
With a *** of stew,
Just beyond reach,
To its doom.

You're nothing but a ghost
Of an angry girl
Murdered by the cruelty
Of your parents and the church
And now I'm one of your victims.

Now as I start to see
Faint vistas of the supernatural,
They start to run
With memories of you
Until I can no longer
Distinguish one from the other.

So I'll ignore the glimpses
Of lurid phantasmagorias
And lock myself in
My world of letters and literature
Of armlocks and flying elbows
Of video games and liquor
I will pretend your world never existed.

Please, please keep out of mine.
*****.
Beaux Sep 2013
You're the ghost in the mirror when I'm standing alone
You're the breath on my neck when I start to feel cold
You're the whisper I hear when my head hangs low
You're the hope I hold but can never make whole
Nikol Alexis Dec 2014
Laughter and loved ones
Surround me
But still I cling to
Your empty promises
To fill my heart
All these holidays.
Oli Mortham Aug 2014
Walked down to the river at midnight -
Used to be terrified sneaking through that
Lampless village in the dark,
Could hear villains from a horror story calling,
Over the precipice of each passing garden wall.

But now I'm impervious,
Desensitised by hourly hauntings,
Which whisper that my adult brain itself
Is the spectre and the jangly skeleton,
That once lurked round those corners
And chilled my childish bones.
Lame Poet Sep 2013
We made sapphire-love.
It was tanzanite-rare,
and emerald-lucky.

I took a ruby-risk
and left us
with onyx.

And amethyst-hauntings--



-LP
American... I sometimes regret having to call myself that... it can be a confusing notion
Our leaders are brought to power built on lies, hidden treason, and times of war
Yet those that somehow break the mold, brought in as one of pure heart
End up being the face of evil of their time

The majority that struggle for cash are faceless
The few that have more then what is needed are praised
What had flown ever so red to keep us alive is replaced by green
Would spill down the mountains fast then the spills of red

Our toys broken sheds more tears then the loss of innocence which goes swept under the rug
The young at ten once knew they where ten, now they think their twenty
Taking pride in crimes they mimic from family
At first one might think it was a need for attention that caused these lies
The police just shake their heads in disappointment that revealed the truth

I fear the future when the masses tried to draw me into the darkness
When they grabbed on I grew in anger and broke their arms
In the abyss I hear them cry at the result, but it did not matter
It was my time
I turned to the spirits and walked away
Made my own times which its fruits tasted ever so sweet it was surprising to the market
That all of this and more was done by sixteen

Now immortalized in the Hauntings from the Snake River Plain
I look back to the abyss, shining my lights
To search for those born in its mess just like me and show them the way out
So they can enjoy a similar reality to my own

I started as a being with fear and anger, now I live waiting to see everything else the next day brings
In my own America I am finally proud to say that I belong
Leading my own life, making my own reality, with thousands gathering behind me
Perhaps enough will gather in time to take me to a new world
All because I fought as an American that saw the need for true change
And cut the strings tied on by the rules of society placed at birth.
Raj Arumugam Sep 2012
at last, I’m dead, now a light ghost in the dark
an energetic, leaping ghost
and I’ve got abundant hair
and it’s always shiny and radiant

over here
one never worries about
eggs and shampoo, and making such concoctions
And it feels always light
airy, floating at will, gliding with ease
And one lifts off into the air
and one flies (I don’t need to worry
about ground control,
and foul weather is fine with me)
And I never worry about clothes
it’s always the same, and they stay fresh and smooth
all night long, all hauntings along
- Woooo! Woooo! Hooooo! Heeeeettrrrr! -
And nails - wow! Do they grow!
and they take care of themselves
and you don’t need those pesky, nosy manicurists!
But the best – oh – the best – is the jump up into the air
and to descend, to pounce so effortlessly
on unsuspecting males
right in the darkest of nights
to pounce on them, as it seems, from nowhere
from up, up, up ever so light from high in the air
and with my ghostly touch
to feel them shrink in their pants
- Ha, ha, hooooo! Heeeeettrrrr! -
and to bite off their you-know-what –
a fruitful and eventful end to the night…
they taste like cucumbers,
with water, minerals and fibre and all…
- OOOOObbooo…TooTooo! Heeeeettrrrr! -
- ah, the joys of being a female ghost –
it is light revenge on those men of dark hearts
poem based on artwork "yurei (ghost)"  by Katsushika Hokusai (葛飾 北斎?, ?October 31, 1760 – May 10, 1849)
DaRk IcE Mar 2016
I hear the echos of
A snide
Tongue
While you
Say
I love
You
The worst times
Reside in
Your last
Words
The air acts as
A knife
That cuts with
Each movement
I
Take
A darkened tone
Fills the space
I stand
That the light
Never
Touches
A place where
Right isn't
Practiced
Enough
And wrong is
Always
Right there
Emotions grow weary
With each
Failing
And I can go
No
More
Im motionless
A victom of
A
Similiar past
That haunts
My every
Movement
Insanity grasps my
Reluctant
Defeat
Of something
That seems like a
Dream
Except my eyes
Are open
And im very
Much
Alive
ryan Sep 2014
This house is haunted.
Not like black, running with blood haunted,
But like a grey tinge, a missing of something ---
Important.

The walls are dead trees,
The lights are like white lifeless faces.
The world is a colourless kind of beautiful,
The black bough the red petal faces appear on
At the metro.

This house is haunted.
Not with ghosts or spirits. Not with creaks, but silence;
Not cold shivers, but an utter lack of; Not
Full of things that shouldn't be but
Instead lacking, missing what should
Be in the space you don't occupy.

This house is haunted,
By the silence your footsteps
Don't create.
It's such a dead
Silence.

— The End —