"hellhound" poems
I'm losing hair
As I'm losing air
For what isn't fair
In your electric chair
You strapped me in
And kept me waiting
Your craft of sin
Got me hating
The pain on the other end of the line
The pain that tortured away my time
You're an executioner
With the flesh of Lucifer
And the keen nose of a hellhound
So you can bury me in the ground
And return as you like
To shock me back to life
I feel your electric pain
In a lightning rain
I am reborn
And you're sitting there
I begin to mourn
The fact that you don't care
My death is repeated
After I am defeated
I feel the pain
And need to gain
Someone to share it with
Instead of your electric chair grip
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 5:12 AM UTC
Beautiful Soul tunes booming
A dance with the devil looming
****** tendencies, stop assuming
Only one way to bring me down
Is with hex bags, have them drag me around
Hell on Earth by my 22 piece bringing peace
A paradox, a pair of docs couldn’t pick up on
Point blank piercing ears, hiding wounds tear
I point blanks just to introduce fear
I shoot rounds just to step with the devil’s snare
Conjure up the hellhounds for this is their heaven here
The good Lord and his reverend
An a irrelevant justice for revenge ends
I’m hell bound, show me the hellhounds
I can’t let these last few rounds go to waste now
Oct 26, 2021
Oct 26, 2021 at 9:32 PM UTC
Beloved wanderer,
What are you running after?
your external commitment to reach crassness is taller than a benevolent Tikbalang
you are quicker than its long legs to lead a soul astray
But my beloved,
where is your soul?
your Passion is non-existent
like an ondine, all you seek is an immortal soul to waste
on your blinded fate
on the woes you continue to create
and your petty blown up mates
a thick, bold flesh they’ll never extricate
surrounding the empty stems from which they originate
My beloved,
your eyeballs were so viciously extracted and replaced
with poisonous bile
your hellhound eyes are so vile
if one stares at them twice
they’ll be seized, and they’ll be sacrificed
and their souls disintegrate
their roots begin to decay
they merge with your spirits
and they aimlessly gyrate
around in circles,
my beloved, you **** the souls
dumping their bodies in holes
indulgent in mutilating the skin around your heart
vandalising your worth and claiming it's art
but my beloved wanderer
where is your drive?
where is your start?
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 11:11 AM UTC
Misery haunts me like a vengeful lover’s phantom
Grey clouds of solitude drench me with the rain of cold silence.
The thunder startles my vision with its sudden piercing vibrancy,
but the accompanying sound is inaudible to my ears.
Perhaps the deafening screams of my soul have rendered them useless.
Misery bites into my flesh like a famished Hellhound
the crimson of unrequited love bathes it mercilessly.
Its dagger like fangs bite into my calf,
but the accompanying feeling of pain on my skin is nonexistent.
Perhaps the innumerable pinpricks inflicted by words have rendered it numb.
Misery paints me like a mournful artist,
into the monochromatic shades of abandonment.
The slicing strokes of his brushes, highlight crimson suffering,
but the accompanying cries of bitter pain are not possessed by my throat.
Perhaps the incessant demands of respite made by it have rendered it sore for an eternity.
Misery slithers inside my nostrils like a toxic repulsive snake.
Trails of blue betrayal are left by its slimy flesh while it travels to my lungs.
Its venom covers my nerves in the burning sensation of ridicule,
But the accompanying smell of approaching death seems absent
Perhaps the putrid smell of my burning conscience has rendered my senses immune.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 10:24 AM UTC
Got a Hellhound on my trail
Devil Dogs locked on my scent
Hears the barkin and yowlin
Still runnin but my energy's spent
Got a monkey on my back
**** thing stranglin my soul
my skins crawlin, liver aching
self abuse done took its toll
bill collectors keep callin
dialin me up in real time
debt for ill spent life past due
bro won't spare a **** dime
ol sun did rise this mornin
Lord gave me one more day
to see the light, set things right
before he takes me away
sick and tired of sick and tired
can't play this tune no more
take one step to a brand new life
before I knock on heavens door
Music Selection:
Robert Johnson,
Hellhound on My Trail
NYC
3/19/05
jbm
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 10:04 AM UTC
For so long I thought I'd never find
the one I couldn't get off my mind
but she was standing right there
wind blowing her perfect red hair
I never thought I was good enough
I always had to be 100% tough
nothing ever went right
I cried myself to sleep at night
"why can't I find... the one for me?"
"why can't I see? is she right in front of me?"
everything changed, I saw her in the rain
feeling like nothing more could ease my pain
I spoke to her and instantly fell
for this demon spat from hell
she's a hellhound, a fiery little wolf
I hoped her fire burns, hope it will engulf
my heart, make it throb again
so that I could love again
it only took three days to see,
to ask her to be the girl for me.
its seven months later and we're still together
every day is the beginning of our forever
she sleeps in my shirts every night
I tell her everything will be all right
my hoodies are her pillows, she loves them to death
because they smell just like me, i'm all she has left
for her to take, to make us whole.
that is my only goal.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 1:14 AM UTC
I'm burning with every soft whisper down my spine, my pulse is vibrato.
Like the soft and energetic hum of horsehair melting into song.
Writhing in dance against the twisted embrace of chromium on the strings.
A clash of furious titans.
Making storms when they collide; the wind and the tide.
Wrestling for power 'til the waves crash one over another, gasping, growling.
Oxygen.
When my lips meet cotton crisp and sweet, and beg for freedom of another kind.
And there in quiet whimpers do we seek, together this enlightenment of lone and fallen ones.
Grazing sharp and silent little wounds, quieted by scar tissue.
Healing through our fingertips and moans, twisted as an ouroboran knot;
feeling mirrored heartbeats strike like savage drums.
When the guise of warpaint loses shape, cast aside for inner feral forms,
grinning cheshire, hidden thorny claws.
In the darkness of another night, heavy with the weight of misty breaths, there from underneath do they then come,
the master and his hound, the lord and fallen one.
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 2:14 AM UTC
you have not held anything close to your heart since that night.
you hellhound. you dog of war. you ********* you absolute fool.
when did a knife to your throat become your hail mary?
when did the blade become your prayer?
justice, oh, they talk about justice
and it makes you want to laugh
there is no justice in this world, only
judgement.
this gun in your hand is the reckoning that you have needed for years.
you are his punishment.
(and, for all your sins, is he yours?)
Nov 14, 2016
Nov 14, 2016 at 1:04 AM UTC
Okay that's it
I finally quit
I've had my years of fun
I've got exercise
Clear in my sights
Fat will soon be on the run
Had a problem in
Getting in the gym
The doors won't fit my **** double wide
So in disgrace
I plaster my face
On the window to watch the skinny's inside
In my depressed state
I went and ate
Another meal served up for four
One thing I like
About the places I dine
There's always room in and out the door
Then guilt overwhelms
Like a hellhound
As I was in the middle of my desert
It could have come sooner than this
And for that I am blessed
It could have come during my last course
Here I am back in my boat
Without a paddle to row
My only form of exercise
But before it's to late
I toss a little more dirt on my grave
With another order of double fries
With my meal out of the way
I go back to the start of the day
Which seems to be sunnier than ever
I decide to go for a jog
Before all my arteries clog
Maybe though I'll wait for better weather
................................................................
Here we are a new day
This is the earliest I've ever been late
You know what they say about catching the worm
I stop to eat my worm on the way
IHOP double stack pancakes
Will that worm never learn
The only exercise these days
Is a fork in my face
If this were the Olympics I'd win a prize
I wonder if this is considered a sport
The reaching of maple syrup
And wouldn't squeezing the bottle also be exercise
I'll try tomorrow again
To reign myself in
One of these days it's bound to catch
I'll look to the future in life
Instead of behind
Then at least I won't have to look at my fat...
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 8:27 AM UTC
My hands shake and thoughts clash
I revise life, like flashbacks
I won't last living in my past
Pull back, snapping leash he attacks
The scent is strong he's on the prowl
A predator of beings foul
Revenge dished he's hellbound
Took a vow as hellhound
His loyalty holds no borders
He's borderline disobeying orders
He's ordered but he ignores
Okami, a lone wolf
In midnight his eyes shine
Blood red it contains skies
He's hunting down a worthy prize
Defending honour he can't die
Vengeance and fuelled rage
Powerful and untamed
For too long he's been caged
He suffered so, debts be repaid
With head high and hackles raised
He's raising hell, his endgame
All cards held have been played
Run and hide, its too late
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 6:42 AM UTC
Piercing your eardrums
Cower in fear as you hear
the deafening howl of a hellhound
Echoing of deathbrought crying
and screaming of banshees
Body burned from the inside
incineration by the infernal flames
burning from the black flames of hell
While being immobilized by
the cold lifeless kiss from death
Pain?
None come close
to that feeling
when you find out
that your loved one
loves someone else
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 7:07 AM UTC
august
I share my bed
with a memory
Something is off,
a pale yellow
a dull white.
The dread and lingering,
the fear
Something is off,
coyly passing you by
A scent maybe
or a colour
a flickering light
or dead flower
or maybe
the hellhound
staring me down
on its leash by your side
You are going away now
but you have left this behind
and you still live here
between off-beats
Aug 17, 2010
Aug 17, 2010 at 4:52 PM UTC
First kiss at the psych ward, strap me to the gurney
Deliver me from evil, tempt me eternally
Lucifer’s hellhound is space bound like my mentality- Venus.
To be great like em-inem I bet he has a big (rocket ship)
Alliteration, pronunciation like Smash Pan-
Alley where we used to fight about it.
Drinking king cans by the river
A blimp of a memory drifting endlessly
Listen to your voice emanate synchronicities
Haunting me vocally as I condemn myself to his servitude, I’m holy
Saint of the church like Mother Theresa, pray with my rosary
For forgiveness.
Undress me slowly, ripe for the picking
A flower blooming seductively under duress of the past atrocities committed upon me
by trauma
I own that **** I’m a sinner.
Repentance for misdirected animosity
Be who you are
And love endlessly.
©rhetoricalcuriosity
May 14, 2021
May 14, 2021 at 4:18 PM UTC
Shamelessly flaunting a "good life" but never own it
They're only snapshots of good times and staged moments
You've only come across carefully selected, rookie opponents
Never felt how hard struggle hits
But...
What about when the floor drops out and a new rock bottom is found?
What about when the relentless doubt is the only thing registering as sound?
It's a generic cliche but a legitimate thing to say,
Who are you when judgment isn't around?
Do you explode in secrecy if to tightly wound?
Do you trust what stops the breakdown from happening in front of a crowd?
When you can't distinguish between right and wrong, when up seems down
When "elementary my dear Watson" proves too profound
When inner thoughts are unbound
When your own mind releases the hellhound
When you lose the comfort and security of solid ground
Control and reason give way to confusion and treason and all you can do is lie and say "change is inbound"
Would exposing the real you leave those closest to you confound?
See,
They say there's two sides to every story
I believe the same is true for every personality,
So I'm just asking around
©2024
Mar 8, 2024
Mar 8, 2024 at 2:21 PM UTC
Sometimes I think I am alone
And I don't know where to go
Sometimes I wonder why I feel
So utterly inhuman
The things that I remember doing
That I could not possibly have done
Though I have hurt a lot of people
I also remember killing one
My name was Ire, I was transformed
He screamed, but still I struck him down
My hands, they trembled, then I was gone
I was a murderous hellhound
The next morning I awoke
And fear was struck in all of them
I wonder what I actually did
I wonder where my victim went
Apr 6, 2020
Apr 6, 2020 at 12:53 AM UTC
Pages turned, memory bound
Your life is resting in the lost and found
Uncertain, creation and evolution pound
Affirmations, sought and found
Bleeding questions, pulling you, southbound
Frantic scramble, run from the hellhound
Your body and soul, earthbound
Awaken from this nightmare, underground
Unadulterated Exploration, consciousness resounds
Absolute freedom, profound
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 8:38 AM UTC
The raccoons on this Kentucky farm formed a quagmire. They're wild thieves embedded in the ecosystem. Irreplaceable valuables are erased in the cover of night. The farmer offers to negotiate with the masked vermin. A raccoon response results in scramble trash, they say they've got a birthright from the past. Wits end is where dog ownership begins after the adoption of a rabid dog that only sees death. Regret rocks raccoons wrestling with Cerberus but there's no turning back, Cujo is chained in their yard. Hellhound terror leaves spellbound hares abandoning their warrens until only reddened raccoons remain with their canine warden.
Lamenting the loss of liberty, a revolutionary raccoon resolves to romp around. The dog of damnation's laser locked bloodlust focuses on the rodent-like rebel. Charging like a rocket out of its launcher, the driven dog is lured from its isolated den. This game of cat and mouse has magnanimous stakes reaching across the farmer's lake.
The rebellious raccoon runs rapidly from the rabid ravenous Rover. The runner dips and dives through cover to avoid the teeth of the other. A snapping jaw matches the movements of the juking and cutting critter. Inside of a hollow tree becomes the raccoon's destination, he enters and ascends, the snarling snapper chasing in after him.
Death's embrace seems certain for the raccoon as the hound's teeth shave the edge of its fur, but at that point the fatter can go no further. The hound's blinding bloodlust vanishes upon realizing it's stuck. Its unwavering rage turns into panicked fear once it realizes its end is near. The raccoon revels in the dog's misery, enjoying watching it slowly starving.
The raccoons revelry is rebuked once the dog just starts staring at it. They both stare at each other, unblinking, waiting for the other to die. Neither of them willing to move an inch for fear of accidentally helping the other. Both willing to die to ensure their opponent's death. The hollow facade that saved the raccoon now becomes its tomb. Defeat and death act as a sedating punishment for the dog's aggression. Fierce foes drink the poison of resentment as they both accept their demise while staring into each other's eyes.
Sep 3, 2020
Sep 3, 2020 at 9:01 AM UTC
". . .THE WONDROUS ARCHITECTURE OF THE WORLDE. . . ."
I laugh
the road over the Hog's Back
closed because....it melted
was the sun ever so
back in your day
eh Kit?
and what do I read
Mr. Marlowe?
why words, Kit, words
that word magician
Dr. Burgess he presumes
to bring you back
to life again
and so it seems
I see your blood Kit
streaming in the firmament
nay only a Deptford sunset
dragged screaming from memory
your blood upon the page Kit...
mere cherry juice it
stains the words
and so to Deptford I
do go
thanks to Madame Remembrance
I a poor
purveyor of poetry
clutching at words
and here
a great reckoning
not in a little room
but on a lost street
staining the scene
a sickly yellow
and so enough
of Prologue...
Act 1 begins
a smiling ruffian
see his knife smiles too
the blade eager for blood
alas I
in so much pain I
have no fear of death
indeed would welcome
the flicked knife
if it would release me
from my life
a man prepared
to die if it be so
"Come live with me and be
my love..." I doth quote
in my best Passionate Shepard
"Wot?" he wots
scared of my insouciance
the ghost of Marlowe by my side
ahhh he the very villian
a scar from eye to smile
he aims to do the same to me
"Where, rogue... did
they get thee?" I mock
"VILLIANS 'R' US?"
Marlowe's ghost laughs
"Aye lad...aye lad
to him!"
"Only one of us..."
I warn my hellhound
"....will come out of this alive!"
I pause for effect
"And I'm afraid
it won't be( hee hee ) thee!"
I take a determined step
towards my would-be
now trembling killer
who all this wordage
being too much for him
he flees
ahhh the glint of words
defeats the glint of steel
he my would-be-not-to-be-death
"What God or Feend, or spirit of the earth,
Or Monster turned to manly shape
Or of what mould or mettle he be made...?"
I declaim to an audience
of cats and cans and
other streetly filth
I...I. . .unable to
find the next line
and so I etc., etc., etc.
and once more
I am of Guildford yet again
30 years or more away
and there melts a road
upon the Hog's Back
and I laugh to be alive
"Doth teach vs all to have aspyring mindes:
Our soules, whose faculties can comprehend
The wondrous architecture of the worlde.."
Jun 23, 2017
Jun 23, 2017 at 5:04 AM UTC
Poseidon's hellhound
slithers in remorseless seas
bloodbaths are just feast
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 2:16 AM UTC
Give up the ghost
Pour water to try to put out the sun
5:47 am, take off my glasses
Rub fingers on my face
Woke up aching, half on
And off my bed
Stretched, screaming
Awfully upon the rack
" I have pains in my heart which
Have taken my appetite "
Go bow down to Robert Johnson
Godlike
Poet extraordinare
" I have stones in my passway
And my road seems
Dark as night "
Ended up dying on his knees
Howling like a dog
A hellhound on his trail
Well I guess it finally
Caught up with him
I hear it's terrifying
Footsteps, padding, panting
Slavering, enslaving
80 years on and
Little has changed
" I have pains in my heart which
Have taken my appetite "
So, go pour buckets of rain
On the sun
Steal the moon and
Stash it in my backpack
Then run off drunkenly
Laughing
Laughing
Laughing at death
Laughing at life
What else can you do?
When there are;
Guilty lying tombstones
Obscene newspapers
Dead T.V.
The poisoned glass of whiskey
The dying mother
The weeping boyfriend
The creeping boy fiend
Drugs and alcohol
" Stones In My Passway "
Living too slow
Dying too fast
Stealing the moon
******* on the sun
The young girl beaten
And ***** in broken glass
The poisoned death
The poisoned life
5:47 am
Stretched upon the rack
Sep 30, 2017
Sep 30, 2017 at 4:30 PM UTC
She danced amongst the Goddesses
Trembling ankles and all
Their beauty eclipsed hers by far
Wandering lightly on feathered feet
Trying to avoid thoughts of distress
Be discreet
She smiled as they took her hands
She smiled as they combed her hair
She smiled as she was draped in gold
She smiled as flowers turned to ropes
She smiled as they laid her down
Feels of ice marble along her spine
For Goddesses she would become Divine
Intoxicated by ceremonial grace
Flames drew from their very breaths
She could feel the pain of melting flesh
Holding in all of the screams
Howls of a Hellhound
A sacrifice is what she was meant to be
For her Goddesses knew what was right for the world
To ashes she fell
All left was her smile laid out like pearls
A simple sacrifice for a complex world
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 4:08 PM UTC
Life comes and goes
Nothing stops the flow
To the sound of a beat-up guitar
Some believe back to the Creator
We all must go
To stop the panic in their hearts
I just believe in that old guitar
And the melody it sadly plays
We dance to its rhythm
Which is all we can do
Until our dying day
Some ancient but ageless Bluesman
Blasting away in the key of E
He hammers on, bends strings and twists the tune
That is life to you and me
He lifts the bottle to his black lips
And starts to jam on ' Dust My Broom '
Our lives are just swirls in the dust
Of his beat-up, broke-down room
He knows the Crossroads, the Hellhound too
Many times he's rode the blinds
He's walked down all those dusty roads
Knows his first and second minds
He opens his mouth to sing, out comes a moan
Darker than a moonless night
Deeper than the depths of all seven seas
The Bluesman sings of wrong and right
Of salvation, sin and all between
He weaves his words of woe
To the unearthly clang of his guitar
On the world must go
So pray he never runs out of songs
That there's always another to choose
There drinking whiskey in his old railroad shack
Sits God singing the Blues
Sep 30, 2017
Sep 30, 2017 at 10:59 AM UTC
the door creeks
"Ah, I've been waiting it for weeks."
"It's surely the Reaper, the final undertaker."
waiting for nothing
"Maybe, he has another job. The door creeked, but he sent one of his helldog to do the job."
the void avoids my thoughts
"Hellhound or a fluffy bunny, stop me feeling so moody."
"Somebody, take my thoughts and take me voice. Not to feel more sore."
waiting
creeking
Oct 5, 2019
Oct 5, 2019 at 2:55 AM UTC
Don't scrape my fresh wounds like a hellhound,
I'm a fallen angel of broken wings and fainting death,
A stinking rotting odor of blood and flesh on my rotting bones,
I'm a venomous fang, I'll **** you.
I'll tear you up from the chest, crush our ribs
And grotesque your heart under my clenched gnarled fist,
Rinse me in your blood.
I'll drink the sins in wonder of hate,
Under the savagery of my beast soar scream.
I'll burn the wings of fire,
Flicker my joy in the sinful air,
On the plane pale, I'll play the rain in blood,
My throat choked in soot
I'll wander under the fire and wait my thirst to cause drought
Wrench the lands of life,
Gallop all in my hateful eyes
And make a dark world where I'd want to hear writhe,
Screams and cries.
Songs of melancholy overseas should reach,
Elegies must be burned into ember like my innocent heart was once,
Don't leave me on loath,
It's my turn to be an evil destroyer,
An uncontrolled monsterous creature,
On the lead to pave for hell and end peace on slits of sin,
Make me that or I'll end up here
Just as a human or a fallen angel.
It's that insanity caged me in it's fist of innocence,
But I don't want to stay anymore.
Don't scrape on my fresh wounds,
I'll fill you with venom of my hate and pain,
And the aches would be terrible to survive,
Don't make me the fallen angel again!
Feb 7, 2020
Feb 7, 2020 at 12:20 PM UTC