"murderess" poems
I had horrible dreams of her last night
of a Mother red haired with soft hands and fine skin that demand
her two boys' respect or the cunning not to be caught in contempt
of her as she doesn't mind burying her head in the sand
if they kiss her before she slips under her dune comforter and sleeps
for a selfish safe-keeping with a smile but is the kind of lady
who pins her lip corners on her cork board cheeks daily like a cast list
while she cooks turkey for all cleaning the wishbones before her plate
to use as window-sill ornaments until her kids come home so they might fly
or at least not to waste the magic on herself but they hide blocks away
in the parking lot shadow of the auto-repair shop's spinning sign
from the Sun and sky
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 3:26 PM UTC
Hair as black as nightshade’s bloom
Eyes cold sapphires set in a face of stone
Skin, milky pale, cheeks diamond white,
Heart as dark as darkest night
Words of honey laced with hemlock
Venom so sweet but alas so deadly
Beautiful rose, poisonous thorns
The devil with hidden horns
Bloodied hand, murdered dreams
She dares lay sleep to sleep
Slashed hearts, tattered souls
Broken is the most sacred of vows
Never to sleep, never to rest
Never to drift off in peace
For thou hast put to death
Thine sleep
Thou shalt not know oblivion’s deep
And if you sink beneath slumber’s waves
Then hell awaits there-in
To haunt and torture
To hack as you stray
Into that world each day
In sleep your dreams will haunt and chase
A-wandering you’ll try to run away
Demons of Hades devils of Seth
Haunt and torture Lady Macbeth
So arise ye furies avengers of blood
And hasten to punish this sin
For the ****** of sleep
The killing of a king
Hades fire upon their souls shall bring
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 11:52 PM UTC
I am Sarah Malcolm -
yes, the one they call the Irish Laundress
and the jury found me guilty of the murders
(the Infamous Murderess)
of Mrs Lydia Duncomb,
Mrs Harrison and the servant Ann Price
in Mrs Lydia’s chamber
at the Inns of Court in the Temple;
and the jury only needed 15 minutes
and there was disbelief when I admitted to robbery
but not ******
and there was disgust
when I said the blood on my clothing was my own menstrual blood
and not the blood of Ann Price:
I had broken a taboo in talking of menstrual blood
for, as they say,
only loose and the not so virtuous women speak that way
and of course even after the judgement
I have been deemed even more guilty
for I am of a different Communion
of the Catholic faith, not Anglican -
just as the Ordinary, James Guthrie described me
in instructing me here at Newgate on the Christian faith;
and I have earned the name now of many
as the evil, barbaric, and stubborn woman
And now Mr Hogarth sketches and paints
that you might have a view of me;
and the appointed date is 7 March 1733
when I will be executed...
and these lines I add to the picture
that you might remember me
Jan 28, 2012
Jan 28, 2012 at 5:29 AM UTC
Snake tounges rattled and hissed words of poison mechanically,
With green-eyed monsters lurking beneath their skin,
Circling the rumours of suspicion onto those of white blood,
Like a frightened rabbit in deaths doorway to car headlights fell.
The slithering tale encapsulating innocent yet friendly ears,
Smearing their venom amongst those of lowered fighters hands,
Trickling down the innocent white hart's hands,
As though regarding herself as this murderess.
Flight of fear, fighting the dark, losing, chocking, drowning,
Yet tales of talk were not in vain, but yet they failed once again,
Smearing that of lies over white walls, black onto red,
Trapping the rabbit in the snare, as though to **** it in the shell.
My friend, would you tell the old lie? To children so high,
To fall so low, by that of snakes and their hungry green-eyes.
Mar 20, 2010
Mar 20, 2010 at 7:33 AM UTC
I've seen your hand held murderess
Making note of its cool, sleek body,
Twisting and turning
Around your fingers,
Leech like.
Producing when in need of reassurance,
Its silent but deadly
At the best of times.
A strange puppet it does form;
For my entertainment
Or yours?
I wait, dumb, for the sudden ****
I'll wait
But eventually she'll slip
From your drenched palm.
Aug 18, 2010
Aug 18, 2010 at 3:28 PM UTC
Cloudless confusion blows through the dead mind's sky
All eyes envying the ever nearing end of time.
This constantly reccuring thread.
This secret sentence meant to reinvent this magic.
It is a morbid mirage.
Murdered marriage
A massacre, unmentionable.
Mesmerizing sobriety,
Majestically marauding science.
Mindless moon born madness.
Inner sinner-inner sanctum.
Sheltering some malevolent Mysterium.
This thoughtless thirst for sanctity.
The shapeless shadow wisps which whisper.
Shock of spewing blood against a backdrop of white.
A keenly edged knife ********** grins into milky skin stretched tight.
The shifty sorrow of quick fading light
Deep down dig of fright
Straining: fighting with the last vestiges vanquished
The swallow of sentience, this last candle scarcely alight.
Burial romance.
This slow turned page.
Slow revelation of cumulative age.
Empty vessel volition withering onstage.
Don't weep this ****** burned
This solace we've earned
Good sense long past spurned.
Sadistic disaster our honey and sugar.
Outlined by the end
The smile of evil men.
Sad string stung, star struck spirit spun.
The voice of Us long undone.
Screaming chorus Kingdom come.
Seance chorus all wanting some.
This cracked Kingdom collapses
Each moment which passes
One last squandered synapse and then all falls quiet... at long last.
My lunar goddess
Lunatic
******
Murderess that got it
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
Oh no,
it was not of the ordinary kind.
It was not the ****** ****
to leave a puddle in the bath.
It was not reckless, it was not thoughtless.
It was a **** of no other kind.
Oh when I think of it
and when I hear the crows
hovering above in the sound of the bell.
That rusty bell, when the sun is gone,
together with the crows,
on time they all sing,
precise as the ****
Oh no,
it wasn't a bullet, shot in shake and fear,
it wasn't a sloppy slip, one fast and quick.
It was a **** foresighted and long before known.
It was silent, yet loud and felt.
A type of ******
when a queen murders a king.
A type of killer she was,
who put poison in the chunk of bread
in the sight of the murdered.
That food was sweeter than life,
when eaten from the fingertips of the sensational murderess.
It was swallowed with joy,
yet known it is poison.
Simple, when looked from far,
venom she whispered and sipped,
from the killer red dry lips,
that ate away the skin.
Not a spot when on the spotlight,
she is a predator of no other kind;
The killer, claws the prey,
with the most gentle of touch.
It was not a moment, a blink of some day,
it was over and over,
every gasp, every second of every day.
It was not a knife to the back,
it was clean and open - wound to the front;
Facing her gaze,
oh, she pierced it right in the heart.
It was the sharpest of blades, over and over again...
As they say,
there are few swords that cut so deep,
as the blade of unrequited love.
As I walk now in the sun's light of noon
and remember the days,
I still feel the warmth of air passing in my open heart;
I still taste the blood of my already fallen skin.
I writhe a little...
Then I softly grin,
from cheekbone to chin -
I think of the time when you murdered me.
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 6:45 PM UTC
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Basically I'm saying, babe, you're hot. You know its funny, I adore Shakespeare but i could not handle writing like him. All proper and British and modern... I'm too old fashioned for his tastes.
Let's think about it. Shakespeare was a progressive of his days; making words, analogies, that are timeless to this day.
What am I using?
Old tricks of the old writers to quell my taste for old art. Gods knows I describe everything as if I were Dickens, all elongated and profoundly bloated in the most beautiful and adoring way.
But back to where I was. You.
This sonnet is for you. I did promise one this night, did I not? In my head I did, at least. Oh dear, this'll be a surprise in the morning. But at least it is a surprise just for you.
I at least hinted of a sonnet, a sonnet for you, telling of you and our love and how it makes me feel. So here we must go.
You are the moonshine to my midnight, the angel to my demons.
Too much? I dare say, it must be, you have simply gone giddy with giggles. Perhaps a different route should be approached.
If I were a murderess, which in all heart-related actuality I am, I will give this fair promise that in all my running around and cutting out hearts, that yours will simply be those one I keep closest to mine.
Alas, too dark? Oh, my love, but there must be some way to express my doting! Be in not in a dark sonnet, or an adoring sonnet, perhaps a comedic one?
There were two things I was certain of. One, that he was a vampire, and two, that I was irrevocably attracted to him.
Oh, perhaps too comedic. Perhaps too unkind. Perhaps a bit too much paraphrasing. But I digress. Anything I can do to please you, my dearest one? Anyway I can express how I feel without making you laugh, or giggle, or simply chuckle at me?
It cannot be as simple, as you say. It cannot be as easy as holding you close and whispering in your ear how much I love you. Can it?
Well I promise, then, that I will spend my nights whispering towards you my affections, and holding you tight until you can stand my embrace no more. Will that suffice?
Oh, I love you.
And I suppose that's the best way to put it.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 11:01 PM UTC
See me, how I rain through the ceiling
believing what part of me you failed to reach.
Tell me, how you tried to tree speak
but forests reek of my death unwinding in your ears.
Follow me, into your dusty attic
to tell the bats and make our story last forever.
Now sleep, my fragile murderess
sewing my soul into the seams of your pillow.
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 7:18 PM UTC
At times, the dark comes quicker
As if my mind gone weaker
As if my soul was split into two me
Similar to the ying and the yang
The Me and the Mean
The bright side and the dark side
I feel an intruder piercing my soul in the inside
I feel this part growing , getting stronger everyday
Spreading negative wave
The Me symbolize my reason of living
The dreams that I am after
The desire of beeing a father
The Mean on the other hand is like that creature surrounded by that antihalo feeling
Giving power to my fears , my hate
Eating all I have of hope, misguiding my fate
The Me became the prey , leaving The Mean the place of deadly predator
It's like picturing the beauty of spring gobbled up by the sadness of winter
But The Me isn't giving up
I'm not giving up in the search of my true identity
The Murderess war of the two Me
The winner will decide where lies my destiny.
Dec 15, 2009
Dec 15, 2009 at 11:45 PM UTC
I sat on the square of carpet and screamed
very quietly to myself.
I, the boy who
cried
melancholy.
I, the man who
watches his life
through his eyes.
I, the cruel ship that
glazes the waters of
a harsh music.
I, the silly hair that
obscures the face of
a murderess.
I, fit only for sleep
in the white palm
of an arthritic hand.
I, the child counting
backward on an abandoned
island.
I, glass-colored
and triangular like
the start of space.
I, the single ******
that begs for
a just spark.
I, the skin of glue
in a sweating
photograph.
I, the man selling
VHS players for
mega-discounts.
I, who clasped your
hand when you were
so very small.
I, an errant breath
in the postbox before
the empty Jones house.
I, keen on eating the
brick and mortar
beneath me.
I, who shall never
touch his face,
not even the one time.
I, in the midst of heat
and silence without
a single syllable of wet.
I, with a hatred for
your searching fingers
sticky-sweet.
I, sitting behind
long after the film
dies of exhaustion.
I, crayon and
8.5 by 11 inch paper
Valentines for violent boys.
I, second man,
forgotten man,
to my own movie.
I, grinning through
the lame as the
stitching wears.
I, strategic misery
on a tempest moon:
contemplating contemplating.
I, the laughing door
with a struggling ****
and no keyhole.
I, who commits
suicide every Tuesday,
Thursday, and Sunday.
I, with cigar boxes
filled with all the tiny,
grandmotherish pieces of ****
I, the knot that slips
off the head of a lonely
purpled finger.
I, and my
cloverfields,
and my rust.
I, with my dreams
about Japanese furniture
and magic, geometric roads.
I, dancing to a song
I cannot hear that issues
from a nonexistent room.
I stood and walked outside.
May 10, 2010
May 10, 2010 at 2:05 PM UTC
Mary had a little lamb
she pushed it under a lorry
what she really wanted was a Barbie doll and
for the lamb she was not sorry.
Action man who had a tan because he'd been in Afghanistan was upset by this and would not give to his true love a kiss,
she blamed it on his battle fatigue much less than post traumatic stress but all the same she knew he knew her game.
She was a murderess in a cotton dress,he was a soldier of the crown and his only thought as he walked away was,
someone should put her down.
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 7:49 PM UTC
Angela Lansbury has perished after living for nearly ninety-seven years.
In 1948, she starred in "State Of The Union" and "The Three Musketeers".
When she starred as a murderess in "Please ****** Me!", her co-star was Raymond Burr.
She is best known for starring in ****** She Wrote" and people will always remember her.
She starred in "Death On The Nile", "Lace" and "The Mirror Crack'd".
Angela became famous because talent wasn't something she lacked.
Many will remember her as "Jessica Fletcher" which was a role that she portrayed for many years.
Angela is dead and when her friends and family attend her funeral, they will grieve and shed tears.
Oct 14, 2022
Oct 14, 2022 at 6:50 PM UTC
the wretched shackles that bound my wrists clanged together dreadfully as I shook
they themselves being the bindings between my innocence and the gallows patiently awaiting me
the voyeurs shout-
"murderess, o foul murderess!
burn eternally, you foul murderess!"
I am numb to these accusations,
as I am numb to the fear of death
the benevolent masses, the enemies that seek my execution,
these are not evil spirits
and so,
the guilty verdict that once grated against my skin now feels as soft and gentle as the clouds that, too, await me
I have retired the melancholy
I resolve myself to die with the dignity and gentleness that I had conducted myself with from the moment I was given life
I resolve to hold onto the sweetness and maternity that I showed that sweet boy,
that I had used to hold him for the first time
my hands, nothing but affectionate to that boy, my boy
the same hands that loved and cared for him from his very conception,
these are the hands they convict
these hands were supposedly the weapon that choked the life out of that sweet fawn, that I had loved so dearly
and so, these are the hands that are held accountable
bound behind my back, wrapped together tightly
these are the hands of love that have been convicted
Feb 9, 2018
Feb 9, 2018 at 8:15 AM UTC
Darkness creeps on a soul
It dwells in a heart
There are no souls that cant fall apart
Hearts wither then disappear
A lost soul and missing heart build the blocks for a murderess art
Eyes once a window to the soul
Peer only into an abyss
Mirroring horrors lovers dare not dream
Showing a past of souls departed
Even soldiers dare not gleam
Thus none would see
For none dare look
Fearing the truth
Fearing the artist
Fearing all with souls departed
Ignorance becomes bliss
In a world of light shadows bring truth
Bitter as events that create an artist
A soulless body might they saved
Never more the path is paved
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 12:47 PM UTC
By: David W. Clare
Her Korean Dagger eyes, led me astray that otherwise sanguine night at the...
Going-out-of-business bankrupt sushi bar!
By far the nastiest *** I ever had; I was glad until she cut my head off and puked down my neck…
Oriental ladies are peculiar that a way...
She was the succubus or the seductress or perhaps the demure murderess…
Who knows?
All I know: she was the temptress; the fire-wild waitress in a Seoul sushi bar
I was on visa overstay; drunk almost every night and day
Akin to a spastic kid in a candy shop!
We met in the ladies room; smashed into each other like a pair of rusted nails!
Her pantyhose ripped open like cobwebs in a raging windstorm…
We sloppily kissed after she slapped my face!
Next thing I know; she stole my wallet!
Then I awoke; the joint closed down, the dark roused me up…
I was glad she ran off with the boss…
Now, I can go back to my guest house room and sleep it off!
© In perpetuity all rights reserved
℗ FilmNoirWorks
Dec 12, 2016
Dec 12, 2016 at 11:54 PM UTC
Wanting more and more
Got me here, where
All I can see is deep red blood
Splashed on pure white snow
A vague sense of guilt,
Sudden revelation:
I did this! I caused this wreckage
I am to blame. I am the Murderess.
It grows late tonight.
Nothing much going
All I want to do is get out and
Splash the walls, paint the town
red
Nov 11, 2018
Nov 11, 2018 at 5:23 AM UTC
Murderer
they called me
Murderess...
to take a life
into my pale,
sculptured hands
to mix bone
and blood
into a thick
paste
to shatter the heart
of a mother, herself
reaching into the
abyss in fear of
nothingness.
I did not tremble
from top to toe
my back arched, catlike
sensing danger
where there was only
love, taken from me
beaten, burnt, corrupted
until only this shell
remained.
I take God into account,
hold him to his word,
beg him to remember
that night when I was
six
when heaven and hell
mixed as my mouth
filled with sweat
and blood
the taste of fear
caressing my lips
murderous,
the shadow on the wall,
the whistle of wind
through long hair
I take, plunder, delve
into fields of red
Poppy's
remberence
dear God,
remember me
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 10:51 AM UTC
My Dearest Capulet,
As I write you in these waning hours
(The number of my sunrises and sunsets finite,
Easily counted upon either hand)
I do so resigned to the certainty
That this missive shall remain unanswered,
Most likely forever unread--but tell me, dear lady
To whom else would I address this correspondence,
For who else is more likely to understand
That love and hate are not opposite poles,
But are as the hissing, slathering jaws
Of that dreadful two-headed snake,
Which, if not separated by a prudent interval,
Will consume the other and then itself.
I have lived and learned this quite well
(At the hands of teachers and other lesser men)
And pondered other questions of fatality and fidelity,
Surmising that rings of gold and fetters of iron
Are neither necessary nor sufficient.
If I have not come to peace with my fortune, distant soul mate,
I have at least procured a measure of acquiescence,
For I have known love and hate and death,
Known them thoroughly enough to comprehend
That they are not wholly separate entities,
And that they will often appear at one’s door
Wearing the formal attire of one of the others.
I have burned, brightly if not in illumination,
And now I am spent, a charred celestial body
Rotating ever more slowly
Until a final, silent, unobserved obsolescence,
For after we have loved profoundly if not well,
What is left to us but the sepulcher?
I remain faithfully yours,
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 8:50 AM UTC
I'll attach my soul to yours whether you want it or not
We'll be soulmates in this life and beyond
My love is such a bitter seed
It festers and spoils itself into a toxic ****
If you could want me an eighth as much as I want you I'll be content
The time of sunshine and rainbows
Came and went
Happiness is for winners
I'm just a ***** sinner
A hopeless dream
Undone at the seams
But I'll stitch you to my blackened heart
I'll always be unclean
You know you love the way I scream
And babe we'll be forever
Our tie can't ever be severed
No not even death could cut us apart
It's cold inside my soul
Empty hollow mess
It rained in my head
And snowed inside my chest
But my heart still beats
An icy drum
As your fingers linger idly
On my aching skin
I want you
so bad it hurts
You say you love me
The lie seeps in
Destruction and decay
All that's left for me to give
Daring you to stay
Hoping that you live
There were so many before you
I hope that you'll be my last
They all ran from my crazy
But they kept coming back
There's just something about me
That makes them all wanna stay and leave
I'll make you feel real good but then I'll make you feel real bad
Here's a warning
When I beg you not to go
You'd better not listen to me
I'm the harlot in that story
You know the good book don't tell lies
I am what it says that I am
And I've lived so many lives
Jezebel they call me
A murderess, a *****
I'll destroy you from the inside
And I'll leave you sore
I'll take everything you've got to give
And then I'll take some more
Mar 20, 2019
Mar 20, 2019 at 8:40 PM UTC
i can't
fuvking
breathe
because of you
you saved my life
and now you'll be the reason
i end it
Apr 11, 2020
Apr 11, 2020 at 10:01 PM UTC
My eyes are blue.
Black and blue.
My skin is pale white with freckles.
Freckles of blood spatter that reached my face.
The red and blue go really well together.
Maybe I should redye my hair red.
Red like the blood that once belonged to someone of importance.
It was his fault he came onto me.
So I took my knife and I taught him a lesson.
1: don’t take what isn’t yours
2: say please and thank you
3: no means no
4: hands to yourself
5: if you don’t fix your mistake you die.
He died. I had to teach him over and over again.
10 for each lesson. Just so it really stuck with him.
Hopefully he received the message if not the police will find all my hidden clues. And if I’m lucky they’ll find me. I’ll tell them everything.
Like the good little girl my daddy raised me to be.
Smile and widen your eyes and tilt your head and speak soft and sweet.
Be who they want you to be during the day, so you can be who you want to be at night.
You can be the murderess you were meant to become. Or you can just blow off some steam. But don’t leave a mess now or you’ll definitely get caught. But you can’t leave nothing behind so leave them something to work with.
You’re the riddle they’re trying to figure out so make the riddle worth understanding.
My riddle is complicated because I want it to be. Because I was born to be complicated.
Nothing can stop me if I put my mind to it.
So sleep tight knowing everything’s going to be safe.
If only he had followed the rules my eyes would just be blue and my skin would just be a pale white with natural freckles not blood speckles.
But he tried to take a part of me that took so long for me to recover and I couldn’t let him get away with what he’d done.
So all the bloods on him.
He chose this path.
I just helped end it.
Mar 23, 2018
Mar 23, 2018 at 8:32 PM UTC