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The rain set early in tonight,
      The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
      And did its worst to vex the lake:
      I listened with heart fit to break.
When glided in Porphyria; straight
      She shut the cold out and the storm,
And kneeled and made the cheerless grate
      Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
      Which done, she rose, and from her form
Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,
      And laid her soiled gloves by, untied
Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
      And, last, she sat down by my side
      And called me. When no voice replied,
She put my arm about her waist,
      And made her smooth white shoulder bare,
And all her yellow hair displaced,
      And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,
      And spread, o’er all, her yellow hair,
Murmuring how she loved me—she
      Too weak, for all her heart’s endeavor,
To set its struggling passion free
      From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
      And give herself to me forever.
But passion sometimes would prevail,
      Nor could tonight’s gay feast restrain
A sudden thought of one so pale
      For love of her, and all in vain:
      So, she was come through wind and rain.
Be sure I looked up at her eyes
      Happy and proud; at last I knew
Porphyria worshiped me: surprise
      Made my heart swell, and still it grew
      While I debated what to do.
That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
      Perfectly pure and good: I found
A thing to do, and all her hair
      In one long yellow string I wound
      Three times her little throat around,
And strangled her. No pain felt she;
      I am quite sure she felt no pain.
As a shut bud that holds a bee,
      I warily oped her lids: again
      Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.
And I untightened next the tress
      About her neck; her cheek once more
Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:
      I propped her head up as before
      Only, this time my shoulder bore
Her head, which droops upon it still:
      The smiling rosy little head,
So glad it has its utmost will,
      That all it scorned at once is fled,
      And I, its love, am gained instead!
Porphyria’s love: she guessed not how
      Her darling one wish would be heard.
And thus we sit together now,
      And all night long we have not stirred,
      And yet God has not said a word!
MereCat Dec 2014
Sometimes I want to shake your head from your shoulders
Try to dislodge the barbed twists of your perverse thinking
And the ideas spearing through your tissues
Like whaling harpoons that hooked their many heads deep
Latching and Leaching

Because you might have ****** your packet of Love Hearts a little too hard
Until it crumbled and fizzed in desperate ecstasy on your tongue
And the rest in the tube read MISS ME
Whenever you asked

But you are not Isolde,
Capulet, Karenina or Earnshaw
And as much as you desire the piercing pity of your broken collar bones
The caress of the lost-souls melody and the razorblades of a ribcage
The bitter corset of an appetite that pays for itself in crocodile tears
And the romance of a noose of flaxen hair
You are not Porphyria
And he is not her lover
indigo chandler Apr 2013
your face is still scrunched up with angst
"she put my arm about her waist,
and made her smooth white shoulder bare"
i want you
i want you
i want you
"give herself to me for ever,
but passion sometimes would prevail"
it's getting slightly awkward
we've made 3 sketchy glances now
oh, that makes 4
you know
i know
"happy and proud, at last i knew
Porphyria worshipped me"
you know
"that moment she was mine, mine, fair,
perfectly pure and good"
starts to sink in
"i am quite sure she felt no pain"
guilt starts pumping itself through your veins,
coursing through your body with such force
you can't hide it
"now why did he **** her?"
"he must have loved her too madly."
always love
with that you look directly at me
as i choke down some water to keep myself from throwing myself in your tempting arms that are "like home"
ready to have my yellow hair wrapped
3 times
around my little throat
going limp
forever wrapped in your disgusting guilt
wordvango Dec 2014
dead bodies while alive poor Porphyria
strangled by her own hair
which could be no Fairy tale ,
jabberwocky, listens
as does that famous semicolon concise;
By Ezra Pound.
  creepy
innocence or infamous
we all get to sooner.
On to Popeye
"Farm Implements......"
title and poem supplied by Ashbury,
hang  an albatross but don't shoot it
Mr. Coleridge,
it will hang around your neck.
zebra Sep 2017
in a veiled world
i am light like a feather
disembodied
lightening in a bottle
everything here is alive with madness
wild walls and chairs chatter
like wise cracking gangsters
always sporting for a fight

blood tulips cry and sing
rise and wither
and rise again
loop dancers move from rhythms of light
there are many kingdoms here

in a broken terrain of night
an obsidian ash sky howls
and we are shut in
to a starless and opaque sky
behind an impassable slate black gate
the ground a curse
all teeth and rocks
bones and weeping flesh

vampires live here
like clans
all blood porphyria
their mouths a beautiful rust
a tempting visage
half seduction, half terror

needled fingered hematologists
prepare our dinner

her name
Mercy
all body candy
tattooed with a snake ****
her ******* pierced
with rose paved sparkles
and *******
stabbed with bat shaped studs

nurses sharpen knives
while quack doctors
tend to
little plastic dolls
blood bathers
with crossed femurs
in hospitals beds

she
a naked lunch
sumptuous
and willing betrothal
in a pearl satin gown
black lips glossed
hair red and purple
thighs and belly trussed

******* scorched and punctured
from incensed flames, teeth and ravaging kisses
eaten with panicked jaws
her **** torrid
a gushing river banquet
of blood black jam
chained and strapped
legs stirrup wide
feet silky glisten
for tongues and kisses

a candle light ritual
as she is copulated
by both sexes
and fed upon

Mercy
laughing like a loon
screaming
eat the feast
you lovely beasts

and half devoured
emerges
a blood perfume delirium
she all
writhing wet mouth drools
saliva like diamonds and pomegranates
back arched
withered from a blistering frenzy
her eyes a white glaring tempest
gone vacant
her mouth like licorice slur
gaping
frozen in a ghastly shriek
her belly nectar
oozing
as the very last of her
a rattled blood moon
surrendered
her remains
a crimson splat
in a wasting lament

matted hair
warm languishing mucous
scattered teeth
and a single smoldering
finger still  in flames
on a worn blood stained porcelain buffet

wolfed down
in the
house
of
Dragool

skull on a stick
black candle wick
draining her soul
cant let go

Dragool drinks deep
legends red teethed
burial chamber
prayers bequeathed

its all blood day
dark kisses bite
his ghastly bride
waiting for night
DULCET VAMPIRES ***
****** HORROR
FOR THOSE VOYEURS OF THE DARKLY ******
Aly the Pear Jan 2015
You're ******* the marrow
From my brittle bones
Leaving decomposed white shells
Within the wilted flower that is me
But I forgive you
Once
Twice
Three hundred times over
I know you're struggling with porphyria
I know you're projecting your
"daddy issues" onto me
But if it hurt so badly when he left you,
Why do you subject me to the same pain?
Why did you want her but not me?
She is no princess and I am no peasant
I don't want you, not one bit
Life would be a breeze if you would have just left forever
Though I need you
You and I, we're more alike than I care to admit
We're both users
Searching for affection in enigmatic futures
Rather than addressing the wounds of broken childhoods
But in doing so,
We're breaking adulthood
Burning bridges we haven't yet walked
Extinguishing trails unblazed
Never exiting a situation unscathed
Daddy issues.
The Napkin Poet Mar 2019
A man comes out of the shadows,
as so it goes.

Held his fist to the doe,
Her money, you know.

“I’ve only but a rose,
one of friendship despite my woes.”

And with that rose she choked.
Like Porphyria’s lover,
coaxed.

Soft mane of death,
like a thorn to the chest.
Only the rose of amity saw the rest.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2020
the "abstract" fun of drinking wine
from a bottle on the day
you find out your mother is a pain-killer
******...
a: near-death experience of...
flashing... memory cinema...
   of every single time you experienced
love at first sight...
and you know the cast.... by names...
the "abstract" fun of drinking wine
from a bottle on the day you
decided: drinking is becoming boring...
literally: you have drinken so much that...
what the drunk you said of sober
you: said of sober per se...
now the sober you is saying of the drinking
you that the drunk: of you...
  the moral hangover is a *****...
i don't want to feel sorry for...
   something that's not akin to drink-driving...
but i am...
but i am... drinking some wine from
a bottle...
after all... that tally-game of:
             100cl of whiskey...
                divided by 3: divided by ||
                                                             ||
                                                             ||
                                                             ||
  and sometimes over-stepping the division...
all wonky...  
                               ||||||||/|||...

eh... drinking beer from a bottle...
no head... beer... glass... afro... head...
beer... glass... afro... head: albino afro...
better than bleached afro... head...

  a totally different experience when drinking...
wine from a bottle...
but... it's not a red... and it's not a white...
it's a rouge... a... rho-z\y...
  ****... it's a... rosé...
                                 4am and sitting up so late...
that was... fun... when...
i still had... all the love for writing in me...

but the funz not there...
anymore...
    porphyria... no syphilis...
                paraphernalia: chiromancer...
necromancer... and that lost one...
pyrotechnic... fire-reader...
   or no other alternative...
the electrician...
                      chequers with fuses...
in the plugs... sir...
   before one... throws away...
                      a perfectly good appliance...

there were two variations of a sentence...
but then... the sentence became too long...
the original...
   the "abtract" fun of drinking wine from a bottle...
vs.
the abstract "fun" of drinking wine from a bottle...
and: drinking wine...
  also... drinking wine...
                   from a bottle...
not smoking a cigarette for a whole
day... i say... cigarettes go best with wine!
drinking wine from a bottle...
a welcome break from drinking that sort
of knock-out bourbon...
invested in purpose: wait and hour...

oh the heavy "stuff" doesn't kick in...
so early on... it's no fun...
not enough... sugar...
             it's no fun... clearly none...
    s. beckett's watt contra... anything by dr. seuss...
anyday... that sparring...
        i'll bet on that... too!
rhyme rhyme rhyme: confined to rhyme?
   rhyme is best guised by an importune surrender
of chance...
a champagne: a discovery of champagne...
not that... repeated...
hammering of a horse's head against
a wall because: it has a grain of sand
lodged in it...
      a rhyme by no surrender...
by chance... a rhyme by no caging...
   this pretty pretty pretty sore-spot
of.... buttering the exit... for a thorny sort...
sort of "soul"...
   the joy of drinking wine from
a bottle... the need for a glass...
    when drinking beer... for the head: froth...
crown... head: afro: froth... head...
all the joys of drinking wine from
a bottle.

— The End —