"monstrosities" poems
I cannot pick a color
I love more
Each is thrilling
and some seem
the breath of life to all the rest
I loved my crayons
They became my escape
from misery
the contrast to any given day at school
Any excuse to use them all
or just one
to avoid that lowest reading group
the monstrosities of math
If I couldn't sing it
there were no letters in the alphabet
I could not tell you A from Z
But you see--
That day was
purple!
That was all that mattered
I loved its richness and its depth
its mystery
its royalty
King Midas would have liked it, I was sure
almost a religion
Vestments of the priest
in the times of expectation
It is the explanation for
the last of day
As a five-year-old
I drew my love for purple
Passionate
and outside all the lines-- off onto the desk
I was so proud!
But--
Miss Platt, so horrified
asked,
What is it
I was trying to do?
I didn't know....
I was suddenly ashamed
and frightened too
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 1:06 PM UTC
between
the monstrosities
of glass, concrete and steel,
i spy
an infinite expanse of Mediterranean blue sky,
transporting me to a spiritual high.
way up there,
a self absorbed lonely eagle
soars in ecstasy,
untouched
by the noise and suffering
going on down here.
© 2022
Jan 8, 2022
Jan 8, 2022 at 9:36 AM UTC
I see the demons in these people,
Tired eyes carrying the weight of self infliction and the sight of monstrosities,
They do not see the sun,
And their breath is a tax
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 10:46 PM UTC
As a child
I wasn't really afraid of the dark,
There weren't really monsters in my closet and the feeling of checking under my bed was never something that I had to fear,
But as I grew older,
I learned that the monster was always in a far away place,
I learned in school that monsters didn't really exist and there was nothing I should have to fear,
I grew up in a Christian home
Learning that in some way I needed to be saved and I accepted that protection
Learning that living in hell for eternity was worth being saved from
But in my innocence I forgot about the monsters that live here
As planes are crashed into buildings
And snipers in cars
Inciting terror upon innocence
As a child in a free nation is oblivious to the fact that there is something to truly be afraid of
Something that's hidden
The cracks in the glass of this facade only seem to spider across the dark crevices of my brain wishing to...
Wishing to be free
Clawing their way up my throat
Asking for forgiveness instead of permission
Wishing to let go of their bonds because the only thing that's keeping them there is the thought that they could be kept at bay
Brittle chains with keys in the locks and the only thing that stops them from being set free is us
I've been told the eyes are the window to the soul
That if you look closely you can see their thoughts and desires
And demons
And as it turns out I'm blind to the fact that when I try to look in the mirror
That monsters won't chase me in my sleep and claw away at my soul
That no one is in control of the monsters
The monsters are in control of me.
Humanities greatest lie is that we can save our selves.
The monsters won't be free because we won't let them take control until they do
And this great deception has conceived this monstrosity that nobody has seen because everyone is afraid to look inside ourselves to see how awful the wound really is
We can't see our own glass houses caving in
The monstrosities of this world are our own creation
With homicidal tendencies
and a Picasso like disposition
Spraying our own blood upon this ripped apart canvas and calling it art
As a child I was told monsters didn't exist
That, the monsters were in a far away place
They couldn't attack me in my sleep and that there was nothing to fear in this world
I just didn't realize it was all in my head.
As children we are afraid of the monsters under our bed
Asking our parents to look under neath them for us so that they can prove that it's just our imagination,
"There's nothing to be afraid of" they tell me
Running to the parents room in the middle of the night to ask to stay with them because we don't grasp the reason why we are scared to begin with.
I wonder if nightmares are from the monsters trying to be free
Breaking out of their shackles of our parents lies telling us that monsters don't exist,
That there's nothing you have to fear because the monsters can't touch you.
And you as an innocent young child convince yourself that they only tell you facts because you can't comprehend that,
It's all in your head,
The greatest lie that the devil ever told was that he didn't exist,
The second is that there are no monsters,
Lying to ourselves cause we are the monsters
And they lie to us so we put them off as non existent
It was all... in my head.
I'm gonna ask you to look in my eyes,
I wonder,
I wonder if you can see mine
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 11:34 PM UTC
The battle is upon us
We can finally put ourselves to the test
Memories of the past still haunt us
We fight for freedom so that our minds can rest
Easy knowing that we took a stand
Against twisted beasts of human form
I hold my blade in a trembling hand
I'm ready to weather this mighty storm
*I thought i was a man ready to protect
but now i can't even stand *****
watching my team mates feet and necks
be crushed by these mountains of dreck.
I have't even started combat but i am seeing the light
now here one comes what is the point of putting up a fight?*
Most of us won't see tomorrow
Why is Armin so frightened?
Is he just going to stand there
And get eaten by a titan?
I need to protect him
He's one of the last things I've got
And I can't let a monster dissect him
My targets locked
I'm going in for the nape
This wretched creature
Will never escape
*Without being able to solve this place's puzzle
I will my life will end by being guzzled
By a ******* belligerent beast
Only looking for its next feast
How could we have a king when these monstrosities rule this domain
Our society might all as well burst like there's a flame over propane
It is a fitting end for this monarch's curious servent
being killed by the real king for being too observant
Hey I am a king too I guess... of cowards, my friend's blood is my moat
And their pieces of the mangled bodies will be my mink coat
Now I am slipping down this demons throat, it doesn't matter who I am
***** this... Wait what is this grabbing my hand?*
I won't let him go
What lies beyond these walls?
We've always wanted to know.
How could he surrender to fear?
The look in his eyes
We can't die here.
I'll trade my life to keep his going
As I slip into the belly of the beast
My sense of urgency is growing
All I see are the bodies of comrades who have tasted defeat
The light is fading
Why is existence so bleak?
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 10:23 AM UTC
Perspiration accumulates into salty beads,
Falling into her eyes, eyes that have lost their gleam.
We’ve been trapped like savaged animals for three agonizing nights.
Diminutive apertures in this death box supply minimal light.
The screech of the rails are a bittersweet melody to our ears.
For we only know what these horrific monsters have taught. Fear.
As the door slams open, I’m pried from my wife.
I wonder if this will be the last moment I see her smile.
My people are marked with terror and pain.
I realized were barricaded in with barbed wire chains.
My subverted clothes reek of secretion.
This camp is untrustworthy, raising apprehension.
They claim we are not human.
But I ask, do we not bleed, when we are injured?
Do we not dream blissful thoughts?
Do we not pray to the same God?
The same God that punishes the innocent;
Bringing blithe to those sinners that shed blood.
When we lose our cherished, our loved ones,
Do we not shed tears? Do we not mourn?
No! We must not, for we are not human,
According to what the Nazis see.
We are the innocent, robbed of life.
They are the monsters who roam free.
At least, that’s what I see.
I see men, women, and children stripped of clothing,
Stripped of dignity, stripped of all things humane.
While these barbaric monstrosities make allegations.
Claiming they are purifying society, when they are to blame.
Men lose wives; children lose mothers.
Families are torn apart; sisters lose brothers.
Those of us who survive, work until brittle.
Still we carry on, if our minds are able.
Backs of men are scarred from arduous lashes.
While the sick are trapped in rooms imbued with gases.
My hands are enveloped with calicoes and cuts.
My mind grows weary, I dream an ending abrupt.
I’m crippled with anger, and tears that still drip sore.
My heart crescendos with pain, about to implode.
It’s difficult to refuse the tears when I hear the desolate screams.
I’m trapped in a perpetual nightmare, a ceaseless dream.
Still I carry on in life, for that is the greatest revenge.
The day we feel the kiss of freedom, will be the day we have avenged.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC
Let us mine into the depths of Shakhty, and scorn the Western state of communist superintendence.
We are embroiled in a political and industrial conglomerate where cold wars lay the foundations of unstoppable monstrosities.
Converse with Andrei Romanovich Chikatilo, as you splatter milk across the surface of your psychological cereal, and raise questions around the episodic nature of criminal profiling.
I love the olfactory beauty of a railway station, whose stench is dissimilar to the pastures of raunchy and deadly opportunities which result in Rostov butchery.
Nevertheless, it is rooted in crop failure and the enforced collectivization of agriculture.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 10:11 PM UTC
Covered in rust from pig iron girders, and dust from the nicks in old bricks that time cracks
I cannot relax and wish
I could just blow up those buildings and stack them in mounds on the ground,which I realise is no different to what they are now.
Fred Dibnah would know how
he would have taught me,teached me
he was a preacher man
and could demolish with polish as easy as pie, all those monstrosities that laugh as they scrape at the sky (they should bow)
It should be back to the drawing board for those clowns in the towers of the towns where the ring roads depress us.compress us until we're back in the mould.
and the old men in whitehall who still play billiards with no ***** should heed what we say,
we don't want it this way.
We want works, we want perks,we want more out of this living that you are not giving and we're sick,
do you hear?
we are sick to the pits which no longer exist except in the memories of miners and women who scrabbled through dirt and put scraps of coal in their skirts and then carried them home.
Poverty is the bone upon which poor people chew
but be careful down there
one day it may be you
that's being eaten
being beaten
by us.
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 7:24 AM UTC
From the moment
the tale of her ruin
made itself known,
mankind has
coveted proof
of her existence.
Many a curious hand
has stalked across
the glossy veins of maps
and the cracked vertebrae of books
enclosing information
most pivotal to
her secret whereabouts
and the tragic evanescence
that initiated her exile.
Many a
sailor
explorer
scientist
poet
have perished among
the gnashing jaws of the sea
in their pursuit of
the glory
her exploitation
would surely bring.
In response to such
grievances--
the reality
of losing oneself
in the midst of
searching for what
has already been lost--
imagination--
the belief in magic,
in the seemingly
unbelievable--
was outlawed
within the
human psyche;
now,
they say she is merely
a madman's legend,
a myth concocted by Plato
so as to warn against
the perils of greed.
But never did they consider
that perhaps she did not
want to be found to begin with,
that her seclusion
has always been a necessity
so as not to repeat
the monstrosities of the past--
so she should not resurface
to satiate their earthly desires
only so she can be drowned anew.
{Atlantic}
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 9:11 PM UTC
Tired
Brain spits words in fits and starts
The internal running commentary misfiring badly
Ideas stuck in bottlenecks
Traffic backed up and down the on-ramps
Leading off the congested thoughtways
Tired
Stormwater overflow pours out of blocked drains
Sidling up the gutters of fallen leaves
And other assorted detritus of modern existence
Spewing out over footpaths and under cars
And over the tops of the boots of downtrodden dawn treaders
Tired
Mountain pass impassable under it’s mercurial precipitate mask
Features only glimpsed in snatches
Like looking through a white picket fence while running
Thought trees bunching up around the middle
Warping under the sun and the scrutiny of others
Tired
Collapsing under the weight of the wave function
Subatomic particles currently in a state of nonexistence
Abandoned altogether by the Higgs, thoughts vibrate and dissipate
In extraordinary frequency and noise
Drowned out by the audible hum of the big bang
Tired
As if running a marathon in treacle
Start with a whimper then dribble to a halt
Running barefoot on salt flats
Or over pillows in stilettos
More time spent on face than feet
Tired
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more
The court jester prances for the Big Queen *****
And her merry King of Fools with his band of merry drunkards
Quickly losing the point of it all
As words start tumbling down in random order
Staccato signal messages like binary or Morse code
Information overload threatens to upend the boatload
Like the military dumping refugees into the harbour
Buckle up armour and wait for the onslaught
Of somnatic visions, twisted psychedelic impressions
Land mine concussions in the fevered dreams of veterans
Who witnessed limb torn from limb
In the name of something nobody remembers
Lose their tempers and start a war on home turf
Jungles petrified into concrete monstrosities that blot out the sun
From the flowers that feed in the cracks of the pavement
Everywhere bereavement and none shall take leave
From the cold, impassive logic of Death
Who comes knocking as you read this
Wired
No chance of sleep now
This is why one shouldn’t write poetry late at night
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 12:41 AM UTC
Goya's not gone
his nightmares and realities still shadow us -
the Los Desastres de la Guerra
still palpitate in our desert lands and hills
beating like hearts the Aztecs offered the sun;
and the barbarism of an axe over heads still thrives -
and barbarians can never hear the plea of a mother
Tampoco
tells us of women and girls ***** in war
and Oh, the Fight with Cudgels
looms large over our skies
and the horror of Saturn devouring his son
pervades the earth
and the Black Paintings
run amok in the form of men shrouded in black
Ah, Picasso is there too in our madness:
Guernica bares its teeth and monstrosities
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 8:18 AM UTC
WHO WILL SAVE ‘HUMANITY’ FROM ITSELF?
Ayad Gharbawi
Come down, and celebrate with us all
The beginning of a senseless
******
Where children sat awaiting
Trying to
Understand
The necessity
That you humans found in yourselves
Was so necessary to enact
Against the innocently impaled victim
I guess, that no one
Can ever
Accept truths
That for me and for you
Were so different
And yes, the medieval priest
Did laugh gutturally
In his drunken paradise
Yes, that man you loved
Was very sickening
In his punishing self-imposed bleeding dictums
And he can no longer talk
Through his burning tongue
That has been mercifully stabbed
Just far too
Many times..
Eternal laughter
That tries to memorize the renaissance poetry
Is a silly game
That gets you somewhere
Endless rows of frowning fools
I tell you
What did you learn from
All those poetry you did memorize?
I tell you
We must all decide
To stand
Somewhere of relevance and depths
Here in our personal hour
That God
Has dictated for us
Sing, then, the songs of deathness
Wherein the lonely dance
Hundreds and acres more
Of corpses have been recently
Unearthed
Rotting statues
And you can no more bear it
I know
Just as the world
Drowns her dulled eyes
Flying fast and far
Away from your memories
And now all the clowns disguised as priests
Have told me to die
So soon
I guess, they want me to say
“Goodnight”
But I will try to breathe
One more breath
One more escape
From this imprisonment
You classified as ‘life’
You see, I wasn’t really sure
If they weren’t in truth
Priests disguised as clowns
Come tonight and throw your
Second-hand flowers
In that grave for
The princess that has been assassinated tonight
Murdered deeply
In this Paris night
And tomorrow we’ll all laugh idiotically
In astonishment, once again
And the bewildered children will, once more, sit not understanding
The murderous nature of you human beings
And yes, I myself, once more
Do not understand what is impelling you all
To **** ****** and butcher again and again
Come ye saviours!
Save us, ye saviours!
The crucified darlings
Tearful you stand
I pray for you to rise up and do revenge
Against these sadistic monstrosities
In my increasingly disorientating brain
Christ!
I did try so hard to reach out to you
For you to save us
And my doubts are brimming now
As you wither ever more
Decomposing on that wooden cross
Jan 4, 2010
Jan 4, 2010 at 8:28 AM UTC
The autumn's scent has now released
As air is crisp and rife with chills,
But cold like this is far from bleak
With all these trees where crimson spills.
Orange leaves that catch the sunlight,
Skeletal, their frames are showing.
In their shades of death they give
A final dance from breezes blowing.
The prickling tickles fingertips
To stiffened, numb monstrosities,
And you could swear your blood had froze
To cause such harsh viscosity.
For it's now that summer weeps
A solemn, meek exhailed despair,
Which whistles in among the leaves
And dissipates in frozen air.
The autumn's scent has now released,
The orange, red and yellow shows,
The rigid fingers point away
As summer sighs, and summer goes.
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 2:57 PM UTC
#Kabuki monstrosities of cute
*White snivel, and children who sniffle as they walk.
The containers used for oil. Little sparrows*
**shopping-malls of Shinto reactors
tsunamis of Hello-Kitty schoolgirl ****
*Pretty, white chicks who are still not fully fledged
and look as if their clothes are too short for them*
**tiny plates of aesthetically-arranged trivialities
meaningless Engrish phrases on T-Shirts**
Last year’s paper fan. A night with a clear moon
One needs a particularly beautiful fan for some special occasion
**in herd-like apathy, they download Anime Girlfriend App
the robotic allure of the Orient defined**
*To wash one’s hair, make one’s toilet, and put on scented robes
An earthen cup. A new metal bowl. A rush mat*
cramped restaurant-bars with detailed replicas of food#
Apr 10, 2019
Apr 10, 2019 at 2:15 PM UTC
Take a trip inside of my mind
But be warned that there are worse things than
Lions, and tigers, and bears.
The monsters that guard this jungle mind
Aren’t soft and nice when they choose to be
They are horrifying,
Bloodthirsty,
Larger than life,
All sharp teeth and horns.
Take a trip inside of my mind
But know it’s easy to get lost in
Mazes, and illusions, and metaphors.
The jigsaws aren’t easy 50 piece puzzles
They are thousands of broken words
With no guarantee
That they will fit together
Nicely-
Or at all
Take a trip inside of my mind
But remember that you will find memories
Broken, and wonderful, and messy.
These recollections will tell you who I am
They say where I came from,
fears,
dreams,
hopes,
And lack there-of.
Take a trip inside of my mind
But it isn’t overly charming between the
Monstrosities, and mazes, and memories.
If beautiful is what you were searching for
You can only find it in glimpses between
Sharp teeth,
Broken words,
Lost hope,
And jumbled jungle vines.
So if you decide
To take a trip inside of my mind,
Take note of the
Beautiful disaster,
Organized chaos,
And sweet sorrow.
Be gentle,
Be cautious,
Be aware.
Because this is one mangled mind,
And you are one of the first
To go inside.
Feb 9, 2021
Feb 9, 2021 at 9:58 AM UTC
A silkworm burrows through the building
creating narrow passages for the many to follow.
A path designed to teach them how to live,
as it slithers through each hallway
it spews out gray compost for the people to thrive on.
Mindlessly this creature repeats it's pattern knowing no better;
each corridor the same blend of dreadful and brain dead.
Beneath it the muddled mix of moss green and **** brown tiles
symmetrical caverns line it's domain as feeding homes for the children.
Third stage monstrosities recycle what they have ate for the young
what they seek is what they are losing the longer they feast.
Their lust for creativity and a sense of humanity fades with each nibble
minds that were ever able of change become part of the cycle.
Ripe with potential until swallowed by the worm
losing their limbs: Hands that could have sculpted new halls,
feet that could have spread the news "to escape while you can",
and their minds for the future can only relish in repetition .
They themselves become part of the system of life--
where rotten fruits of thought are absorbed and digested by all.
The struggle for survival of the fittest
becomes the fight to find your own knowledge,
keeping your mind fresh and alive.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 2:37 AM UTC
A feather has been placed on the breast of Mother Nature only to be blown away by the winds she created,
crafted out of good intentions and placed onto the wings of irreplaceable mystic holding super powered
beings that claim the ability which mere mortals only dream to obtain.
Spreading for all to see, each climate of generously sparing and over populated monstrosities
unable to be reached by force in calves and thighs,
these which i object to call by given proper letters haunt me in conventional senses.
Ugly, foul, wretched, I personify my adjectives as ammunition for these paper dwelling drawings
that seem so fascinating to common folk. Fly my mother told me, fly.
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 11:05 PM UTC
I wish they could hear me sometimes.
I wish they could hear me crying in my bedroom over an idiotic boy.
I wish they could hear me throwing things left and right as I create a storm of my clothes over the latest thing that is enraging me to no extent.
I just wish they could hear me as I repetitively scream,
"YOU'RE SO STUPID" to myself over and over again until it is embedded into my brain and I feel it in my body.
But they can't. And they never will.
Deaf. That's what my parents are.
Deaf as they talk to each other with their visual language,
Creating a three-dimensional image that communicates all their ideas through art.
Deaf as they imagine what the music I love so much sounds like,
But all they can ever do is wonder.
Deaf as they can see me, but never fully grasp what my voice sounds like as I screech and howl for their help.
My screeches and howls are like tiny whispers in their ears.
My mom once asked me, "What is it like to hear? I wish I could."
But mom, I am here to tell you that your ears are blessed.
You cannot hear the monstrosities that exist in the world:
The sound of loud eating, the sound of two cars crashing into each other as both drivers finally heed what's happening, but lastly, the sound of your own daughter weeping in her room with solitude as she mopes hopelessly.
Mom, you're so lucky to have never heard that.
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 11:19 PM UTC
Life and its ups and downs..
..towns
Becoming cities
Growing into
Monstrosities.
People pushed together
Like storms and weather
They grumble
Rumble
And in this rabid dry tumble they come out
All creased.
At least in the countryside where I reside
We have fresh air that fills the lungs..
..not forgetting the smell of fresh dung which they put on the crops
And then sell to the shops
Where the folk in the city can buy..vegetables to fry.
Stirred?..I could cry.
Abominations of regulations..the world is insane.
Takes in a deep breath
And looks once again..it still looks the same.
Men in the banks..those corporate tanks..it's a war
We fight on each and every side
Even in these hamlets where the gentlefolk reside.
There's not a hope..no release..
..from the unceasing march, of the shiny suits
Who would with their boots seek to trample and tred..
..and that being said,
We should surrender?
Tender our resignation and in utter frustration go home.
This is the New Rome we have built
Guilt you can keep.
I'm going to sleep
Tomorrow is only a dream.
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 6:31 AM UTC
Did you hear what that old man was thinking?
Morphic resonance is the experimental name,
I think we are served by nodes on a net
not spread in the sight of any bird,
a chthonic net of stone,
girdling the globe in granite, crystalline granite,
take it for granted, these boulders are the witnesses,
the scars of catastrophe,
causing us to wonder
how came this to be? Think Yosemite, Ansel Adams POV
Think Matterhorn und Mt.Blanc,
Old Rockytop, and
Dos Cabezas and Long Valley Mountain, all that granite,
old as earth.
Listen.
Time is the idea we share at the moment,
Earth's is the life we share at the same time.
This is Spaceship Earth, looping Sol as Sol loops Sirius,
and there is no mothership,
no resupply.
This is the only earth, it has survived several civilized
monstrosities. As you know, some mortals can't
imagine not surviving with it, so
we words of earthbound muse,
let slip the bands of pride in time to see,
we are the music,
we make beauty behave as will believes, voluntarily,
it seems,
we choose beauty with little de
liberation, no need to
unlock ledgers and boxes of known safe knowns,
we imagine ourselves
defying the
de-ified con instituted authorities warning,
given us, they swear by the very vicars of the oil:
We warn you…
hell's the price, they swear, that we,
the people, pay for heresy,
dare not think those-
no, no, nor hear and see, or never imagine thinking
a selfish thought,
one you find curiously comforting, for you, your idea,
but
stop…
one heresy breeds another,
soon we shall have a collective
of individual minds agreeing at once,
as all see a particular arranging of colors, in a sunset's
single effortless existence as a thing
with mortal mindable beauty,
did you belive the sunset, or may you, if you wish?
__ unravel, and re ravel to save the thread,
it has lead through the maze before,
I have a witness who tests ifies.
Great unquarried granite, but that forms another story
upon precepts as yet
unglued, un-coagulated, ah, curdled, precepts cultural
curdle and clump together.
Biomes are adjusting the rethinking of pathos,
ethos shall follow,
as night follows day, just wait.
Patience is formed from memes more than experience,
you bet the old man was not lying.
Slow and steady, wins the grace. Take it easy. Fade away…
Sep 19, 2020
Sep 19, 2020 at 5:03 PM UTC
Do you see what I see?
We have descended into the belly of the beast.
Houses crowd together, their dead eyes staring out.
They’ve sprung up overnight like
Ugly toadstools.
The machines on the hill are busy
Scraping away the old. By that I mean
What was there before,
A forest naturally,
And putting up these monstrosities instead.
It can’t be let well enough alone.
There are too many people and someone’s got to make a buck.
The world burns down to the filter.
We suffer the fevers of the dry needle people,
And are left with what has been
Torn out from under us.
Some privy chair propped us up with potions.
Dutiful pawns, riding the arcs they have fashioned,
They pay us a small ransom
To cull and sell their wares.
Simple sticks and carrots are not enough to wake us.
The damage thus wrought we pay no mind to –
Subdivisions, shopping malls, parking lots.
There are too many people and someone has to pay.
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 9:33 AM UTC
*She was delicate
Untouchable
She was fragile
Yet unbreakable
No other feeling
Could compare
To the way I felt
When I was with her
Between heaven
And earth suspended
We were even
Our time was expended
Oh to those were the good times
She is now long gone
What was once delicate
And had it's rarity shone upon
This others you call mortals
Because to them you were a god
But I knew you weren't perfect
I knew you were flawed
But once you saw me
For what I truly was
my monstrosities
And all my flaws
That is who I was
That is who I am
You casted me away
Your love was a sham
You casted me away forever
Banished me in to the darkness
For centeries of eternal despondency
Nothing but complete blackness*
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 10:24 PM UTC
The sound again
No the lack of
You can't hear anything
You try snapping
Nothing.
Yelling full force
Nothing.
You know you're not deaf
The world around you returns to normal sound
But it isn't right the shadows
Their deeper almost pit like
The oddity of the day pushes you
Now in a cryptic room
Cobwebs and silence
Scattered bones catch the eyes
The sound leaves again
The shadows deepen
Sound still missing you hear a sound
A something a nothing
A scratching sound
They
Scamper
Crawl
Slither
Ooze
Lurch
into the room
The darkness now trivial
These beast
No not beasts creations
Imagination run wild
The monstrosities of sleep
The monsters of fear
Death shrinks away
God flinches away
Jesus prays for your swift demise
The devil pleads for your quick end
These are long forget nightmares
The monsters that haunt man
What lives under your bed
What little toys man actually is
These are the devourers
They follow you home
The live silently
Until you notice them
The monstrosities wait
Don't try
Run and never stop
They still watch you
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 11:52 PM UTC