Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Simon Oct 2019
A fulcrum to a virus, is stabilizing the charge of negativity in the bodies natural system. The heart feels it’s blood rippling with contractions. Main internal organs feeling the depth at which disturbance is relative to the norm. The norm being (activity) in the face of hustling environmental situations. Outside your system, or inside isn’t contrary by any means. It’s the same as if it were simple inputs reacting in a form able to move on its own accord. Syncing with the outputting world. Activity starting to measure itself for the greater good. A judgment calls in the face of closing a deal. The deal is finally running into something meant for challenges to address the norm from growing stale too early to experiment. Experiments meant to mold something that’s already in preparation. Waiting for the call to the fulcrum making ends meet with the negativity taking effect. Stronger as the virus who is used to surroundings of this caliber. An arsenal made to manufacturer imprints onto your biological code of conduct. Operating a system’s (will) against its own preparations. A set up of different fulcrums into the breath of negativities process. A virus! Virus includes its force of adjustment in the form of flaying innocent diagrams. Innocent diagrams pinpointing the exact locations which the virus could have a better hold of a body’s systems to executing its process of negativity. Spreading this unusual influence will boost the construct’s own fulcrum. So now it’s virus’s fulcrum versus body’s fulcrum? Can’t predict what hasn’t started processing the experiment. Knowing that much, will scare your interpretations from ever taking true shape. Never appreciating another awareness again. Only as long as it’s needed to accomplish it’s objective. Virus or systems encased in a body formation. There more alike then you think. Giving credit away from what is truly obvious. Virus…bad. No virus…good. The virus might as well shove its fulcrum right down your throat! Forcing you to understand just how premature you sound. Experiments issued by the systems controls, enacting a system wide preparation. Conceding balance controls. Its preparations already tested itself enough in its own environment. Its own tools and mechanisms ready for performance. Components never shy away from a challenge. Unless you’re a conscious base simplifier? Wanting nothing more then to not issue such orders. Getting in the way for a conscious system never understanding its own velocities bouncing one second to the next. It’s sometimes a burden in the light. Focusing on too much, is sometimes a headache waiting to run you dry! Virus prompting the systems desire to accept its fulcrums challenge. Respecting the process of negativity to run it’s course. Tempting the virus to not drown its components too easily. Virus tempted to act. Systems body waiting for virus to take the obvious bait. Which is too good to be true? If only the rules of different fulcrums were to make a biological check under the hood. Everything wouldn’t be so confusing, repetitive, or complicated. The list doesn’t go on and on. It lapses with the same circulation of promises to act on certain flaws that are made out to be one-sided believe and claim. When it’s actually the one-sided always tipping the scale in the end. Concluding the advantages of two opposites never winning the same side as itself. One-sided meant for only one giant slice of balance can be met. Never completely diminishing the result thorough to its points of interest. Interest is already exasperating its body language! Process of negativity is openly resonating from deep inside. Cells becoming soggy. Filled with disbelieve in itself. Trying to interlock messages out toward other neighbouring cells of similar placements. A cell being no more different then someone’s own home. Space reacting to your design. You’re believe system. Instincts holding sturdy promises to the experiment. Which meets every expectation available? A heated discussion between the spaces of cells. Something is radiating those spaces between ties uncut by regular motives. Fulcrums don’t imagine well. It’s a circumstance of visuals, and feeling. Nothing more to hold your own full of reflective potential in remaining stable between your relations. Don’t let yourself become uncomposed in the face of negativities actions. The virus is cunning. Yet ill tempered. Never hesitating to take the whole neighbouring block out with itself. Annihilating itself over the control of its fulcrums (want’s and needs). Diverse a charge to big for complications to arise out from the self replication that is voting the fulcrums negativity to higher platforms. Frequencies ricocheting back and force. Like kids bouncing from phase to phase, in order to find themselves. A dust settled in wrong claims of itself. The experiment was a sham. Virus has been tricked! Tricked by its own flawless nature. The system rejoices the claim of servitude. You were never really supposed to willingly action our will to newer adaptions. It’s tolerable to think two sides of the same coin, could ever amount peace. A peaceful remedy too powerful for the likes of a mere prisoner. The virus gasps in suppression. Never dislocating influence back into the stream of fulcrums not yet devised to join it’s cause. A cause made up. No servitude. Except for one ego rising better than the other. Becoming its own worse enemy. A self reflecting charge full of gimmicks too in denial and childish to RIP succession apart! The virus speaks one last time. I-I…thought we had a deal?! Now how does a deal go unaddressed, when we didn’t notify each other of such claims? The prisoner is escaping! Hold it for ransom?! The fulcrum of systems body, sinisterly grins delight. Let’s test the strength of similar brethren. In the attempt to draw more to our immaculate system of faithful desires!
A deceiver in the light, thinking it’s the deceiver in the dark. Mixed communications through tightened visuals of appealing the issue. Judges something not what it seems to be at first.
Did you see the swelling
The telling loss of control
I cut down the tree of reasoning
Then stood on the stump of withdrawal

The river of rage lies deep and calm
Beckons sinisterly it's coy call
"Come , come ,
fools , one and all .
WickedHope Nov 2014
I am riddled with holes;
Poked, prodded, punctured.


                                        Names called
                                        that drill their way
                                        into my stomach and thighs.

                       Words yelled
                       that dance
                       around my ears in pinpricks.

                                                     ­  Slaps given, shoved up
                                                       against the wall until
                                                       my arms are swiss cheese.

           Sinisterly sickening hands
           that crave more and
           leave my legs riddled with bulletholes.

                                                   ­                   What he wants
                                                                ­      taken, forced out of me so that
                                                                ­      I've been gouged with a knife.

The same knife I hold
against my neck that
threatens my life.
Their sins and mine.
Not holy. Not at all.
Trevor Gates Oct 2014
“Breathe it in
The stardust air
The lung-clamping smoke
And vile pious inflammation.”
Listening to sounds of irritation:
Humming of the fluorescent bulbs;
Shoes sticking to linoleum tiles;
Flies buzzing behind my ears,
Leaving me to count the years
And spaces between spaces
Fill the lonely night
until


All is silent now.


Then,
Tooth and nail and eye crust
Fading away to off-beat lunacy.
Her spine slithers sinisterly as she performs
With Vaseline greased hair that stands like horns
People stalking like beasts with mental disorders
Hobbling penguins and droll-*** walrus punks.
Cold liquor manipulating my contemplation
And I have moments of primal desperation
A monster suckling another monster
Bodies tangled like olive tree roots
Delicious and dreadful
Fraught and shameful


It’s the way of all flesh.


Among
Modern Soothsayers
and plenty of culinary racists,
Spraying ***** onto parchment pages
With forked tongues dancing on ***** stages
Coffee for blood and computer screens for eyes
With cool cats strutting to unknown leeching voices
Bottle-slung pistol whip hooligans with eyes of yellow stains
From chronic ink-sprayers of riots in narrow sectioned lanes
Snapping fingers to juke box ghosts and royal jazz sires.
Fourteen gypsy demons wanting to pull me apart
Showcasing trinkets and rubies she adorned
All while she smiles and performs
And the weight of the world
falls between my fingers,


Like cascading sand.


As I write,
The rhythm is changing
Like seasons in secluded eternity:
Orchestrations of sexplosions overtake the carnal scene
With hair pulling and gnawing teeth on the table in front of me
Those Bohemian idolaters basking in acid kiddy pools
Using tired variations of apologies in eastside sin city  
Arousing the vortex of virtuous degradation
In a hole of sunken matchstick validation.
Eyes of judges like the public census
And taboo connotations
Rule this attrition.
Rusting
Leaking stalls
Blue-plate special
Of sprayed blood on walls
The essence of color and voice
The culmination of illusory choice
Dances of erasers and procreators
Fever dreams of police shooting children
Like movie monsters and misunderstood heroes
Specters and Banshee sympathizers
Marching to ******* synthesizers
Burning ***** blue postmen
With afropunk priests
Of astonishing feats
To whom
May
Be


Concerned.


This deep sleep exists
To mediate the social cysts
The reprimand the blundering kids in the mists
From dreaming of their world without the risks
Of falling into fields of blackened earth
Where it all burns like a first world birth
And greater souls speak of my worth.
So I cannot wake up

The deep sleep
Is there for that.
It's been a while since I submitted some poetry.  This is like a combination of a rant, meets free-verse and urban spoken word.  It's just what's been on my mind lately.  I'd love to hear what you think it all means, or at least know your interpretation.

~

Exulansis: n. the tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it—whether through envy or pity or simple foreignness—which allows it to drift away from the rest of your life story, until the memory itself feels out of place, almost mythical, wandering restlessly in the fog, no longer even looking for a place to land.

Food for thought.
Warren Gossett Sep 2011
Hear it, feel it! Above the live oak
and Spanish moss, above their
gnarled, grasping canopies, the
night wind flies savage and free.
Without constraint or direction
it inhales, blows, flings about at will,
tearing wantonly at primeval fears.
And higher yet, to the east there's a
cooper moon rising sinisterly, lighting
the way for wary night hunters.
Is it the howling of their hounds, or
the howling of that feral wind, or
something more I hear?
Yes, something more, I fear.

Such an eerie night on the bayou,
where fireflies pulse phosphor green,
dangling, dancing like marionettes
above jutting cypress knees. Along
the farthest bank, tip-toeing in mire,
a pale night-heron walks as a ghost,
dropping its head to strike, to give
final croak to some hapless frog.
Were crows awake on such a night
they'd caw and clamor and sidle up
to each other to see which could
provide the most reassurance
against such a dreadful night.
Latch every door, shutter every
window, light every candle!
The night wind is on the prowl!

---
Shay Nov 2015
My desolation fuelled demon drove me sinisterly to the edge,
“dying by your own hand is the only way out” it alleged.
So I walked to the bridge over the M25 and stood inclined.
Then I jumped- but halfway down, I found I’d changed my mind.
Jordan Frances Jan 2014
I miss our kisses in the stairwell
The way you played with my hair
The way you would smile
Maybe sinisterly
When I would give you an off-handed compliment.

I miss when you taught me how to drive for the first time
Illegally, of course
Did we ever do anything ethical?
I was only fourteen
But I thought I was hot ****
I thought I was tough enough for you.

I miss the first time we..."you know"
As you would say with a wink
You'd send me texts about where to meet you
It felt so secret, so sensual
And it was, for a while.

A quickie in the church boiler room
Our first time in the parking lot
It was the only place we could be alone
Well, unless you count the Big Guy upstairs
I guess we're both eternally ****** to Hell.
And somehow, I'm okay with that.

It was so wrong,
But we were so right
Too bad we lived like a train wreck.

We were built up by adrenaline
We had every reason to believe in ourselves
So young, so in love
Isn't that what they all say?

It's all cliche to me, anyways.
For Matt
I can’t let society get to me
as I’m walking down the street
A white cat in the window of a white house
stares at me so sinisterly

He smugly licks himself
and tells me to stand up straight
To pin my shoulders back
he tells me “walk THIS way”

To hold my head up high
cut my hair and shave
Give poetry a break
“do something with your life”

Society grins
and invites me to come in
Come and breathe their air
but only what they feel’s fair

I feel my chest tighten
my lungs gripped by anxiety
squeezing the life out of me
I can barely breathe

As society stares at me
I feel a growing need
To walk my way
Talk my way
Walk away from here

So as I leave the white cat behind
I smile with relief
I’ll choose the air I breathe
And it won’t be societies
Copyright Barry Pietrantonio
Iris Rebry Mar 2014
Am I not a fool for writing poetry
for the sake of writing poetry?
Am I to be rejected for using words
such as ennui?
Am I to be ****** for figurative language?
Or burned at the stake for
poising a period at the end of
a stream of
consciousness?
And yet my inner critic
yearns to yell
to scream
more words!
more passion!

I see their faces when
they look at me,
their empty eyes,
like corpses.
They believe morals
are paintings on
walls
and
scruples
are currency in Eastern Europe.
They do not know.
They do not drink
in the moments
that they cannot breathe.
They are silent tombstones.
Sinisterly and silently scorning Shakespeare
They trample over
Chaucer,
calling him dull.
And I too am seen as a
heretic.
for thinking of such
fantastical, whimsical
thoughts.

Was it ethical for Socrates to drink Hemlock?
Did they giggle like a couple of school girls
as he downed it like it was a
shot of whiskey?
And yet we heretics
are given the poison
of judgement everyday
swallowing the bitter cup

How much do I remember about not fitting in?
Is there reason to believe I ever will?
And yet faith has accepted the girl with
the curly hair.

Imagination
intuition
emotion
perception
reason

All qualities which
poetry blends into
passion.
For is not poetry
the expression of passion?
And yet this can be said of communication
in any way:
art
music,
writing

And yet you don't
see Romeo whispering
the Pythagorean Theorem
to Juliet on her balcony
No it lacks
sincerity
the Words are not his own.

No true poetry is the language
of the hidden soul,
the quintessence of life.
Yet another quote I will never be
quoted for is:
"Self education is better than none"
but that has nothing to do with poetry
except for how to write it.

And yes, I do enjoy
writing poetry.
and reading it too.
From Dante's inferno
to Poe's Raven
I have swam in the
channels of print
in everyone,
drowning in the words.

And yes, I do enjoy
being a heretic.
I may never stand in,
so all I can do is
Stand out.
This poem, while some might wonder who the "they" is referring to, that I cannot say, for whoever becomes the they will be greatly angered. This poem also was just a slew of thoughts that came into my brain that I had to write down. I had to breathe.
Sequestered May 2016
And then, once upon a sultry twilight,
Amidst the ruins of bygones chivalry,
Whence maidens most fair lived in sheer delight;
Free from lustful relics of rivalry...

Until a day came, and a knight was born,
The toast of town once tranquil, now thrilling;
Thence, jealousy stirred up spite as wild thorns,
To ***** wanton urge to crave fulfilling...

Itches unrequited by chevalier
Under whose spell the whole realm pined away
In splendor bedazzling like chandelier
Lovelorn stings strewn damsels in disarray

These conte chronicled that sultry twilight
'Fore splendiferous valour bared as blight

~~~~~~

Then later, will come that sultry twilight,
Whence moist lips stained with warmth, those beaks will kiss,
To reverse the spell cast to eclipse light,
Through insidious vipers with hearts unease.

Him, they cooked strange from coven of contempt,
As monstrous man halved into an aves;
Whom none will forever attempt to tempt,
His elixir lost beyond avarice...

Altar possessed by essence most cryptic,
Breathed upon him, sinisterly omen,
Fanned into frenzy most epileptic,
'Pon this bound besieged to efface women.

'Fore that once upon a sultry twilight,
Darkness gnawed all fresh and bones into flight.

~~~
~~~

And now, once upon this sultry twilight,
That monster they created spoiled the living,
Into desolate and deserted site,
With venoms from fang of unforgiven...

Save for that last damsel left to be stung;
The fairest of them all found from time past;
Apotropaic maid, serene and strong,
Condemned to kiss away that spell once cast.

He aimed to slay, instead her lips he touched...
As curse recoiled, estranged from evil hold,
Till every grouch from within him was hushed
To find the future, lost in past foretold.

And now, once upon that sultry twilight,
He kissed those lips fated to make wrong right...
Dark
ryn Dec 2017
There's a streak of sadness
that lines the backdrop of my facade.

There is much discontent
that lurks sinisterly beneath.

Gone is the confidence
that these legs might see me
through the ribbon at the end.

Instead I’m all strung up,
all hung up
and all choked up
with misplaced guilt and grief.
WCA Apr 2014
I have uncovered that there is no word that holds more sorrow than potential.
Fate lies as only an unwitting alibi,
Malice only a valcher in its wake.
Potential is the reaching, unavoidable canyon in the soul,
So very tainted and saddened for things that never existed.
It is a pitiful nostalgia for words never spilt to the floor.
For the kisses that never stained the lips.
For the fingers that never brushed the skin,
With the electricity that was never felt.
For the places that were empty of you.
Potential, I have found,
Is a human construction.
Sinisterly designed to haunt you with who you are,
Remind you of who you are not,
And the vast, treacherous difference between the two.
-

(I mourn you in all the things we had not been,
I mourn you in all the places we had not seen.)
clmathew May 2021
Still Night
written May 14th, 2021

The stillness
of dark night
surrounds me
swallowing the light
suspending animation
sinisterly whispering
stealing my breath
stifling me

and I wonder
how long will it be
still night.
So many "s" words! I do love when it makes sense to focus on something like that. Spent a couple days running to my notebook to write down another one. But not too many "s" words at one time. And I loved the opening peaceful still night, to the ending, how long will this night go on? lol. Oh the joys of insomnia.
Judgson blessing Mar 2015
Then ye appeared !you , only that my eyes contemplated .my eyes were settled upon thee,you were deep and fresh.i seen thee and i knew that my life changed a great deal.i believed in thee dearly.i have accepted the best and the worst ,and im ready for whatever ! my soul ,my spirit , the virtue within me i dedicated it to thee.i found confidence in thee . and my heart started smiling . i fear not of anything again . cause i believed that for anything that could happen me by thy side , i feel security.though anytime when the ending was approaching , i grew wild with melancholy and felt that gaps of lapse separation as an eternal torment . i could not without thee.i had the nightmares of gloomy dismal nights , indebted out from the lost of dear sweetheart that i regretted . i just wished we were melted , into one same entity  . simply i loved you . but more than a real love , baby ! and that love burning within me i would make anything possible that you know it , to its very extend . in the pew by thee it was complete grand happiness . i could only be contented and felt good . the happiest girl in the World! yes indeed by thee im ! i felt thy warmth . thy soul that was rolling in my breathing and thy eyes that turned on me . as projectors light they allured me from within  . intense happiness and eternal glory . you are the 'man' ! the supremest , well look out and needed , unique , sage , genuine and ideal . and more what gloom  me , thick and deep . yet there was not one or another that attired me to thee . but it was something rather strong than me that i did fail to perceive . that caught hold of me and dragged me , inward thee . that weakness was dominant my soul when i faced thee . as petrified and abashed , nevertheless , im electrocuted when thy hand . that hand touched me , touched the least particle of my body ; i became as found at mortuary . my common appeal is revery . but i could only smile whenever thou art awkward . cause it was in thy eyes . perhaps it was one of thy aspect : a boy so deeply engaged in the quest of lore . mostly when i tried to find out the reason of thy submission , why this life of thine toward me ? as an apocalypse , i received the hammered blow against my head . as your ambition is deep ocean plain of action and suspense , what a sacerdotal for only a boy . now it was clear that thou art the coldest monster of my nightmares , the dreadful one . but i wanted to be told . but thou , dost only speak of present . and i understood then you only accepted me for experimental purpose . somehow lurking desire to use my cast of mind and our conversations as stereotype , to be rushed down right into your mind . and jammed down among other kind mental analyst granted by thy shadowy writers . so much to add a grain of mustard seed to your sage titan anyway ! what i could not understand was the use of my parley in your alembic tube for study that was extended as generalization . when i felt love for you ! you abused me  ! dreadful mean ******* !  so i seen that your mind had no limit . so i drew myself hard nearer instead ! truly for instance i seen you just tried to make me happy . not that you felt for me properly . tried to feel the same thing with me . how you kidded me . gush, Heaven ! im the more betrayed and deceived emotionally . your heart , your life were not destined to me im horrified . you really knew that i noticed it but kept the mum . i wanted to talk about it . but always you blanketed the topic . sinisterly feigned not to understand the message out my reaction . and when i copped with the reality that you loved me by pity and intent to narrow my conscience and sap away my mind . that is why you shared partially my mirth and some of my aspirations . what a slaughtering about my heart ad my hole existence ! honey my heart how i loved you its harp and lute praise . now i said a word did you understand that word? but i reckoned that 'love' is story among diverse other tales for you and all those notions were so shallow for you . how i was deceived ! how much i yelled and stomped down and ****** myself into the thin air of agony . im simply forlorn degraded down into company of horror . how much time i dangled down the abyss of desolation . you assassinated my heart . the happiness i felt grasp within my fingers just only eclipsed . vanished for absurdity , a tottering blank , reeled down ****** dream of grand . as the days passed on , i asked myself why? what dealt thee out from having ordinary life ? none was to tell  , so i blamed cursed the one that drove thee to this destiny . i wanted to know and explain him . always you were beaming with knowledge and running only for fame and legend . you had forgot thyself ! you are living only for the world and that gloomy empire of sages and learned . foul of fantasy and frivolity . ethereal beauty ! and thee suddenly became a sinister ocean of hulks . you know the nohow . ah! a river of hot tear ripped and drowned my heart grilled ! now let say the truth : you exchanged thy soul against sage and fame . and the gods of lore had subdued thee . yet , nothing but its chain hanging down thy neck . and anytime more when i saw thee , thy face was deepening to the extreme so i now felt that  you would be back no more for me . i could understand nothing again : you were lost in mist of terror . so any while i met with thee i drew closer my head at the beating pace of thy heart so to feel how much its speed jammed on more again . when i felt the deference , i reckoned you were nearer to hell . though i packed up and left up my luggage and heeled it away far . i rushed as more speedy as a train . and on the route i took out thy photo and contemplated thy beauty and envied thy freshness and thy innocent humbled face . though beaming from inward with hell . then my heart stopped bleeding . i rummaged your visage through ! thy charm ,thy frankness and thy humor told me that it was another Jack i was  fleeing . and thou art an angel and God called thee back . and the other was a demon coming out of hell . so i wiped my tear and raced afar from thee . as i reached the other side i gave thy picture so that they painted it the way i described it , cause it had become the other of thee . that got around out of hell . and within thy face i filled it with pins . and anytime i caressed it as i used before , the stinking of the pins made me believed that thy hatred had become an incurable decease . poor Jack thy life had become obscure , what done that to thee ? poor innocent soul . couldnt thee see ? no i guessed thou art ****** cursed .thy head into books and thy soul settled on fame . tell me why ? although i was more than woman by thy side . my joy , my happiness grand ! but thee , thee wanted not . why tell me . from the deep i could not forget thee . thou art there ! living , _ obscure deep , _sun beaming , _ and also far away . _ _ _ God ; i would never be woman again ! love ,  i understood no more the meaning and i knew not how to love anymore ... . and you _ i cursed you vehemently to thy books so to assume its consequence ...
Angie Acuña Nov 2015
You sit among those with dark thoughts
malice, malevolence, horror, atrocities
but there you are
with your terribly crooked smile
and those eyes
                    oh
                        those
                              eyes.

That don't stop shining
with the tears
of sorrow that
never quite reaches your heart
but your heart
                    oh
                        your
                             heart.

When others look at you
they see a kind smile,
a warm face,
a heartwarming embrace
but when I look at you
                    I see cruel eyes,
                         a fake smile,
                              a halfhearted embrace.

Your hugs don't warm me.
I only feel your cold collarbone
that juts out against my skin.

Your smile hides the sharp teeth
that bite at those who cross you.
Your bite is way worse than your bite
and oh how it bleeds
but
          oh
               your
                    eyes.

They sparkle sinisterly
gleam devilishly,
cry wholeheartedly,
but your tears don't
          hurt
               me
                    anymore.
November 5, 2014
what i did in english (bc he ******) instead of paying attention
Shamik Mazumdar May 2015
I have a fear, an irrational one.
But it glows in me deeper than the sun.
A fear of looking in to a mirror
I'm afraid I am a sinner.

Why mirrors? I have been asked,
I believe they have been sinisterly tasked.
When I look into one and I stare back,
I ask myself sharp as a tack.
One question I really dread,
But for far too long has been said.

"With all the life that you had,
All the times happy and sad.
After all the things you had to take and give,
My friend did you really live."

I'm have always been afraid answering that,
My voice refuses to be flat.
What have I really done?
Have I really come undone?

A rat race that I voluntarily stepped into,
A fallacy that was committed unto
Myself, I really wanted to be offbeat,
But instead here I am taking the heat.

But then I think about the happy times,
When I sat around and made stupid rhymes.
I loved a girl and was loved in return,
For all of that my life sweetened.
I made friends I made people smile.
Even if it was for a while.
I had fun , I grew a lot,
Not just in age but mind and thought.

So maybe my fear is dwindling how,
Perhaps I am not afraid to face mirrors now.
For the next time my reflection stares back,
I can answer myself sharp as a tack.

"With all my life that I had,
All the times happy and sad.
After all that things I had to take and give,
My friend I did....I did really live"

-Vagabond
Shay Dec 2015
When my victim wakes up in the morning, I am by his side,
he know me all too well so I have no reason to hide.
I smile sinisterly at him and tell him he is weak,
lazy, disgusting and convince him that his future is bleak.
I shriek that he's not trying hard enough;
and I make him feel worthless and rough.
I constantly whisper that he is broken and beyond fixing,
"you are undeserving of love" I can't help but keep hissing.
My lies destroy him beyond compare,
and to my delight he is full of despair.
I crush his world into infinite emptiness - I know it's uncalled for -
then give him a plan and say "ssh baby, nothing matters anymore".
I slowly cut off his friends and family so they cannot save his life,
and soon enough I make him go to the kitchen to pick up a kitchen knife.
I convince him suicide is the only way out of this mess,
and cutting vein by vein he takes his life after a long while of distress.
Kenzie Aug 2014
that's the thing about a murderer
they become so broken and haunted
that even their own hand
seems sinisterly daunted

but it's kind of humane
what their mind will have done
it has broken a reality
it refuses to let them run

they will only see
the life that they took
every single eye
is their victims look

and in a way they are new
nerves exposed to the earth
for a search for calm
their being is rebirthed

and isn't it insane
that a person is made new
when they **** another
without leaving any clue.
inspired by a recent reading of Therese Raquin
John May 2016
I just wanna hang
Hang out with you
I just wanna hang
Hang in with you
I wanna hang
Hang with you

All these little feelings seeping deep in my heart
The whole is **** compared to all these tiny, hazardous parts
It might be time to buckle down and get a grip
But I've never known how to stop guzzling, and just take a sip
You smile sinisterly as you peer into my soul of souls
You reap the constant benefits of resurrecting these feelings of old
The proportions of the Chauvet cave were the rule compensation for the rule and for the Wonthelimar compass, which came through the intra caverns from South Ardèche, bound for more than two thousand five hundred kilometers, but this time it would do it through intra caverns. earthly that is welded in the underworld of the oceans. With these regulas of ordered distances in the segment of the inclination parallels, every time they will enter the first pavilion of the wind tunnel, below the level of the Aegean sea, where they will integrate the outlined points from the threshold of the Ultramundis de Chauvet to its destination by joining the aa/bb ba/ca  algorithm twice, to recirculate the height that will take you to the top of Profitis, because this tunnel of the Code of Raedus had been closed while the Megaron Áullos Kósmos was being built on the Genius Loci. Wonthelimar was certain of this invective of nature, resorting to geomancy and running the stones that prevented him from adhering to the heart of Vernarth that was beating effusively from Patmos, Wonthelimar feeling it like a kardiá that bounced off the probes of the lithospheres, and exkarstikas , driving all the infra geological genesis, to align you in your conclusive destiny. The Cherubim having the sensitive auditory *****, and mutable to their ibics rings were composed with their frontal antlers, which were instantiated to relay the waves of aisthesis, betting on the Divine Proportione de Chauvet up to Profitis Ilias as a golden rule of admission as an all universal, as a trinitarian union between two passages and finally the Vernarthian temple that led him, like two shining lights on two candlesticks that went before him until they reached the entrance to the wind tunnel, here Wonthelimar never got lost because he was everything in the all, raising dissident magic to invisible heights, so that lurking demons of anarchy fell far from where they tried to mislead him. In this way, he attenuates his corporal deformation, the texture and color of his skin that oscillated between sooty and bluish-gray, with the gestures he exaggerated the addition of his animal features such as wired ears, igneous locks, and prehensile antlers on the bearers of evil. , which reported the antithetical image of the salvific role of a Wonthelimar patron of all. He came through the intraterrestrial galleries, he carried in his arms the bilocated and cloned body of Vernarth, he carried it in his arms to protect him and display him when he returned to Patmos, so every two hundred kilometers he advanced, and rested with him, leaving him on the improper ground, on the ground that glides darkness and hadic silence. He knew that he had to take care of him and bring him his bilocated clone that had been transported by him, with the help of Vlad Strigoi and his seven gold-bearing Bats, who protected them from all the vermin that threatened them in the darkness. Through dark expeditions and septenaries, Wonthelimar and Vlad Strigoi traveled, they dozed with the candelabra with olive oil from Bern that they carried by decreed carbonated gours that crossed their developing dikes, on the slopes that circulated through the active watercourse. Giving rise to staggering dams, which they used with their sheepskin rafts, making it very light with the speedy shape that crossed before their eyes through the adjacent karst cavities, and the underground rivers with some rivers that carried tree species of Saint Geoire in Valdaine, where the Chauvet grotto was nearby, climbing the speleothems (the genesis of the caverns) that even when presented with the great obstacle of not progressing in their pilgrimage of the Inframundis, they resorted to the rams of their antlers to undermine some orbits that were full of solid mineralized waters, with sharp crystals and overexcited with their sub-aquatic brilliance, leaving the morphological infra continentality of the speleothems, which would surrender to its mission to reach Patmos, carrying Vernarth in his arms for their homologous meeting, and supporting Kaitelka. The subterranean environments got out of control as they passed by and were attached to other circumscribed river caverns, to cavities that wanted to lose him, but the seven Golden Bats with anti-trickery avoided with their electromagnetic powers, which they inherited suffering from the Pleistocene without having more than evolve that in the opacity of its light.

Everything was overthrown before the silence and the darkness, with the calcites that adopted certain nuclei that did not facilitate them to advance through the protuberances. Upon reaching the middle limit of the Mediterranean oceanic underworld, images were diluted in the distance eaten away by beams of neon, which were transposed into the amber lines of the sweep that joined them to the Kyrios that Vernarth had sent, to guide them and bring them gadgets. They had already traveled more than three-quarters of the line of the Belt of the Speleothemes, before taking the low area of the fragments of the stalactites submerged under the sea in the Sicilian Cover, all under the outburst of parapsychology that also led them through this nanoscale or axon of eternal assiduity, assuring the exodus of its co-agents together with the Kyrios. The surface at times thinned sinisterly, Wonthelimar and Vlad Strigoi could see how innumerable phenomena were visualized before their eyes, with beings that moved over them when they saw them from the eroded depth of the caverns under the Sicilian sea. The pole needles were exalted, each one ascribing them to calcite rhombohedra given to them by the Kyrios masters, to indicate that they were already approaching the sunken expanses of the wrathful surface.
Speleothems Belt
Dream Fisher Jul 2020
Don't my words look good on paper,
Dripping from the warmth of conviction
Trailing honestly leading you along.
Spreading like ink blots doctors use
To show how sinisterly I am wrong.
Keep growing, smearing onto your hands
At long last, you look back at a page
Coming to see, it's only ink.
The story disappears within
Like a cave, not visible how far it goes,
How far it goes and how deep you're in.

If it's all the same, in darkness,
No one notices how far they drop.
A year can pass in seconds
Losing a second of eternity without the clocks.
Catching yourself from spinning, dizzy,
When the ride abruptly stops.
You can never get back on,
The entrance looks all boarded up,
The lights all shut off.

But don't I look good on paper,
Illegible scrawling no one read.
Before the ink took over,
They'll wonder what it said.
accursed creepily haunting
phantasmagoria wraiths
vandalize residents psyches
within their sleep induced state

sublimation shunts
slumbering souls
unknowingly held hostage
successfully sacrificing

semi-smothered silent species
snoring simians steadfastly succumb
subsequent sibilant sounds  
woo woebegone wicked transmogrification

dilapidated divested bodies deposited
wizard waves wand
watching whirling wretched lovely bones
whipsawing (in toto) within abyss
  
whooshing whistling wheezing
whets warlocks appetite wakening
brutish nasty nightmare
sinister hulking spirits

steal assorted corporeal essence
monstrous mashing somnambulant
mephistophelian shadowy satanic satyrs  
supremely swallow senior citizen bankers

deep within catacombs
of Highland Manor,
deadened defeated Delphic Oracle  
relegates human husks,

viz spent embodiments
to the under world lay siege
sinisterly seeding, via sinister spirits
one pure evil particularly wicked

witch thy capering
sickening ghastly plot against
unsuspecting spouse snatched
parch trey gnarled warty claws.
Hadrian Veska Feb 2017
Moonlight reflected
Off her long black hair

Pale skin illuminated
In lush sweet grass

Something sinisterly seductive
Hid behind her innocent smile

The closer she came
The darker the sky grew

Until the moon was covered
And I could see nothing

Her hand touched mine
In that inky darkness

I felt as if the sun
Would never rise again

And that thought
Filled me with pleasure
Sequestered May 2016
Alas! ominous moon magnified
The very soul of the silence of the night;
Like an eerie ghostly still lamb
Breathing her horror across shadowy sky...

Gloom glories of dreary darkness
Spread wide wings across heavenly breadth;
Stirring awake the sinisterly serenity,
Sleeping in branches of silhouette of doom...

Whispering winds of gory woes
Streamed beneath the chill of this creepy realm.
Tonight wholly belong to the grey moon
And her evil winged cronies to reign supreme...

Blood of apocalypse will bleed and flow below;
None shall be spared till the moon drips with blood.
inside me cranium
toady, an amphibious December 19th  
twenty twenty one sinisterly drum
intonating forty five orbitz one ***
graduated as hard school  of knocks alum.

Fiendish and gruesome
phantasmagoric denizens
dwell deep inside subterranean vault
perform an evil dance
haunt psychic landscape
with imaginary (yet realistic)
gargoyle visitations cast macabre trance
nocturnal unconscious invaders
cavort and gallivant
disturb quiescent sleep
with devilish and sinister prance.

Apparitions crept stealthily
into peaceful slumber receptacle
repository whence illusory
landscape of dreams
take place to rejuvenate
exhausted body, mind and spirit triage
rent asunder blissful sleep with
a startled fright
cold sweat drenched
nighttime garments and bedding
teeth chattered uncontrollably
heart pounded loudly inside chest
nightmarish phantoms wrought
an awful ghoulish sight.

Mushroom cloud anniversary triggered
frenzied gargantuan hallucination
seventy six plus years ago today inauguration
into atomic age took place
one country after another sought
to acquire demonic and destruction devices
maintain self-preservation in  
surreal atomic weapons race
impossible to escape the dark threat  
looms and threatens life on Earth
one launched missile spells extermination
across entire global space.

No escape from humankind military machines
munitions march mean madness
and guaranteed demise to all life
**** Sapiens violent history of bias,
intolerance and/or prejudice
characterizes vicious warfare
and chronic species strife
unaffordable legacy for future
(and perhaps alien) archeologists,
who will sift thru civilization debris
with delicate knife.

Artifacts buried in a heap
of pulverized and radioactive ash
civilization monuments
and hedonistic symbols
gone in a blinding brilliant flash
irksome flotsam and jetsam
spewed into outer space
alien nations light years distant
collect miniscule bits and pieces
offer object lesson as extinction for beings
that become excessively brash.
Iron-clad sentinels patrol the thoroughfare,
Shielding medics engaged in germ-warfare.

Quiet playgrounds and deserted streets,
Bear testimony of Mankind's retreat.

Stalking the unwary and promising Death,
Masked in the shadows lurks the unseen Threat.

Amidst frantic probes to discover its Mark,
It crosses over into the Dark.

A mutation, a faceless feature,
A deadly parasitic Creature.

An egotistic species it can Decimate,
Should Its numbers in society Escalate.

Sinisterly hosted within the living who appear Immune,
The Vulnerable are Its intended commune.

With many Isolated and feeling Deserted,
Anger and Bitterness  will be nurtured.

As Reasoning deteriorates,
Extreme prejudice will escalate.

Into a world of floundering Humanity,
It will rain down Calamity.




Come closer, closer…..
Observe through my Twisted,
Uncompassionate eyes.
NOW, what you Realise,
Will leave you Paralysed.

I am Silently sealing the final page,
Of my glorious Rampage.

This is my crimson CONFESSION.

I am sterile of Empathy,
Dead to Sympathy.

A Master of Illusion,
I will sow Confusion.

As Humanity pleads,
I will Recede.

Granting a period of Grace,
I briefly Gift humanity its “Normal Pace”.

Mankind will naively declare,
“The battle is Won”.

But slithering in the Shadows,
I will rob you off your Precious,
One by One.

Realise this is no FALLACY,
Upon your Dead,
I will inscribe my Legacy.
Shiloh Morrison Sep 2011
I settle deep within myself
a dark and empty void
filled with black- red, hatred
happiness destroyed

I recognize darkness
he wraps me in his arms
he lovingly surrounds me
says he'll keep me safe
from harm

At first I swaddle myself in blankets
then shed a few salty tears
My old lover, darkness,
has comforted me for years

As he whispers in my ear
I crawl my way out of bed
sinisterly reach for my knife
images of death in my head

He lulls me into the cut
He takes me to the brink
and as my blood runs
sparkling red
my vision gracefully
shrinks

— The End —