The little devil. There is a little devil living in me.
It speaks to me it mostly swears.
At night when the mind has its rants and the eyes burn with no intent to close.
I feel it move.
It moves inside the chest, to the back and into the neck.
Talking and swearing.
It keeps growing bigger with every restless night.
I feel my bones breaking.
The sharp ends pressing against my intestines and skin.
When it's time I'll beat it into dank submission.
It gives me some time, some rest.
Till it appears again.
MetamorphosisToo tired for wear.
The blood has dried, stained on my hair.
Drained of delight and sorrow.
I no longer care.
To dare, to gleam with pride.
How can I?
With all this pain I hide behind a smile.
I tried, to live life, dying for achievements.
To become independent. To aim high, soar and fly.
Aspire all to I desire.
I lay under the night sky.
The wind chills on my skin.
Trees whistle and clouds breeze by.
Free, like a butterfly. Hope still glistening in my eye.
Basket CaseBehind on laundry.
Stuffed animals crowd the floor.
Easy reach for a basket case in need of affection.
I keep hearing about how I'm going to college soon.
In the Fall, my Mom shares enthusiastically with others.
I close my eyes and pretend she's talking about one of my older siblings or someone else's kid.
Not me. Denial is how I'm currently coping. I don't know why it upsets me so much, it will probably be exactly what I need to break me out of this vicious cycle. But there is comfort in routine. (Even a routine as unhealthy as mine.) Something I love and hate about life. Everything is question to change. So what am I to rely on?
I told my therapist how sometimes when I was younger, I would start crying after someone would hug me goodbye because I knew they were going to die someday. I get very paranoid about things. Years ago, the paper cranes had to be perfectly stacked on my desk or my friend would suffer another miscarriage. Then I also have phobias, all unsubstantiated. A small d
Ash and Fire.I am torn in half.
My mind can't decide what it wants or who it is.
The feeling of Anger and Confidence.
The feeling of Sadness and Anxiety.
Pure and Impure.
The Demon and the Holy.
The Wind that feeds the Flame.
The Flames will engulf me.
Burn me down to the Ashes of someone I won't recognize.
Ash I will speak with the dust that remains of my voice.
Ash I will be when my coals turn gray.
Ash I will stay till my flames rise again.
The Ash of what was will remain.
The Fire of what is shall engulf.
The Wind shall take it all away.
LimitationsI would take my time
But she displays no patience
I have hopes and dreams
But she has expectations
Every night we feast
I never eat my rations
She speaks honesty
I speak manipulations
She demands the truth
I accept imitations
She is safe and warm
I am wild conflagrations
I am brutal blows
She's loving ministrations
She is limitless
And I am limitations
=no title=nothing compares to you, indeed.
each minute of your silence makes my skin bleed,
and digs down at me, furious as a hurt beast.
but what's your reason, tell me why you remain, at least?
if i'm such a bother in your days, why don't you leave?
don't stay by my side, i have nothing more to feed
your greed and vengeance, sick hunger for power
all to blame myself for something i haven't done
why destroy me
claim it's all for my own good
when our friendship never even truly begun?
corruptionYou were like a beacon of hope to me
- golden, your presence led me astray,
when I once entered unknown grounds
and you suddenly came my way.
A familiar feeling has bound me to your side.
I haven't felt fear, just a sweet, calming light.
I was safe with you, so strong, so wise
could you be my muse in this world so trite?
You shielded me from all wrong, I helped you feel better.
Even when you found love, there was no goodbye dismay.
Yet now she's gone, I can't look at you in the same way...
a shock of cold December in brief warmth of May.
Suddenly, in my own sick thoughts I lay
when you touch me, I can't stand it, I melt with adoration.
My mind heats with guilt whenever I see your eyes,
from a brother, you turned into a tempting aberration.
You don't feel the same for me, yet I can't leave you alone,
nor beg you to leave me first, for I'm still your friend
and don't want to be gone from the prose of your life,
which I once entered and never once betrayed.
Many times for this corruption
let me goThe purity of your unwavering love
is better than I will ever be.
I try, I wish to force myself to listen
but I don't know what you see in me.
You tell me there is a lot good in me
and I'm capable of more, that I could come back from any brink
but you only have one perspective, one of your own
if you could see things with my eyes, what would you think?
Would what you think of me change,
if you saw how much hatred I harbour in my heart?
Hatred that consumes all that happens to me,
hatred that ruins everything in me,
hatred for everything I am, since my life's very start?
Would your unbroken belief in me shatter,
if you saw my actions towards every kind soul?
I disbelief their love,
mistrust their help,
crumbling under what life gives me on its platter.
Everyday I fail everyone that may think well of me,
and I'm past the time of seeking sympathy.
What is it that makes you still believe in me?
What is it that makes you still remain in my life,
let alone believe in me,
when there's nothing
I'm your whisperTake a deep breath
Before you drowned yourself
Into the blood bath
This is the cure
For your insanity
This is the cure
For your madness
Let your mind being swept
By the waves of bath
Inside your dream
From the blood bath
Now you're alone
And I'm gone
Everything has changed
Are you consciously yourself?
With Eyes Wide ShutI
Through time itself
Within a dream
They are right
If they are wrong?
Does everything we worked on
You've moved beyond
Towards a goal
But never reaching it
It always moves
It knows exactly where
You will place your feet
Years before that choice
Is yours to make
You are master
This is why
Why to what?
What to how?
Who really is master now?
Technology is everything now
What could you do
You cannot make
Are not your own
One with unrelenting
Power of a mind
Is beyond your comprehension
Walk to and from
Sea of voids
Wailing through giant eyes
That have seen universe
And touched it
Too many times
Giant eyes travelling
Seeing each and every wonder
Wonders kept from us
Universal guardians holding keys
Keys of starlight
To keep you from seeing truth
This giant orb
You see too
Lusting for those keys
That jangling calls from beyond
These giant eyes
As guardians loom forth
Stepping out of holes black
Crossing arms above you
You will get those
Cosmic keys to my creations and times
Then you shall open
Stargate to Infini
When?Am I emotional?
I keep writing my depressions
In this piece of note
Why do I share my personal problems?
They must be buried in my heart
Not revealing, keep hidden
It's too late to start over
Leave me alone
You don't have to help me
Leave me alone
Let me fight through this pain
I don't need you
Don't care about me again
When I'm healed,
I will not be healed
Until my God pleased with me.
the art of moving onthe outside world
changes day by day
in a strange metamorphosis
the life out there
goes on, and time passes by
too quickly for an ordinary eye to notice
and not for one second
can I stop my thoughts
hanging outside the lightning fast pace of existence
for once upon a time
the world moved on without me
when I got hurt, cynical and resistant
you laugh at me
from your portrait above my desk,
and for once, I question your judgement's sting
is it too late
to rejoin life's course
I can't any longer to this despair cling
distanceNever been this far away
from everything I held dear in my life,
when my inner poison led me astray
and I let it corrupt my days into strife.
Never fell so far apart,
from all I loved in my young days
when a cruel gloom captured my heart
and turned my colours into grays.
Never have I lingered this distant
from what was once so soothing and close ,
when my happy days became non existent
and in the tides I gave in, morose.
My hope.What gives me life? . . .
I’ve been asking that question to myself a lot lately. Art is always a word that appears but I brush it off because I’ve long since lost the passion that once filled me. Whenever I sit down to illustrate, I lose interest after a few minutes and all I have is a page of generic looking eyes staring back at me, judging me. Me and my lack of passion, love, life. Boiling this down to the fact that maybe I wasn’t meant to be an artist. There were many others who made beautiful characters, far more beautiful than what I could ever create. Even if my brain started working again. Even if I could channel my emotions into colorful pictures without it overwhelming me completely. I know, I’m rambling but the story isn't over yet, so bear with me.
My therapist, Luna, I gave her that nickname. Not sure if it is appropriate to give your therapists nicknames, I called my previous one Dumbledore.
If you’re observant, you’ll see I have a theme
YearningThere are so many things that I need to say
But it's finding the words and then finding a way
If I could only find the perfect word that says it all
One word to make you understand the writing on the wall
From the hand on my heart to the depths of my soul
I want you and need you to have and to hold
I just need one word that will perfectly fit
If just for a moment, if just for a bit
Because every time I see your face
Suddenly everything freezes in place
My heart stps beating, my knees grow weak
My mind goes blank and I can't even speak
So how can I tell you the words I can't say
When every time you take my breath away
young pharaohmy cars are parked backwards
call me young bastard
call me young nigga
killed my slave master
call me young pharaoh
stack that deniro
only know sorrow
smiles cropped and captured
Water BirdTrapped between every
Perceived world and
Another yet more
With sparkling feathers
Watching waters clear
Soundlessly a wing beat
Drumming with precision
An atomic clock
Ticking across skies long
In V's she rides
Fervent scapes of
Of sun sets across
As water's eye
Behind her graceful head
It isn't that cold where I lie
in the autumnal ashes,
the inquisitive remains ... staring
at the skeletal outlines of the oaks,
the dark, sinister silhouettes etched
like scars, into the surface of the welkin
against the sanguine swirls of gloamtide,
their branches twisted in semblances of agony --
of possession. ...
(possession ... can we know all they have lost?)
and do they dream, lying dormant?
... dream of the world that was,
of idyllic heathen times?
... have they, without eyes, seen the devil
deep within their slumbering minds?
... do they covertly synthesize
an inverted ambrosia from Lucifer's light?
HEAVEN'S PREYLife, addiction
Farms the savannah
Obsesses to procession
To an end
Teeth's of survivals instinct
To understand the new
Define a meaning
A tear duct
A thirst for love
Wild Fog (Song)In greater dawn you were the one who lead them
In midnight calm it's you they seek to overthrow
Be the hunted
Run in wild fog
Ghosts of bloodshed
Feet at death's door
Rejoicing crowd for a crown returning
Your body rots, their cheers delivering your corpse
Fresh blood spills the room, your tomb in amongst them
And all the world will know the saint has died in vain
Be the hunted
Run in wild fog
Ghosts of bloodshed
Feet at death's door
A hunted man, in vain you ran, for them you fall
Spirit gone, now all that lives on is burning embers
Be the hunted
Run in wild fog
Ghosts of bloodshed
Feet at death's door
SmotheredI woke up last night with a gaping hole in my chest,
I reached in and felt the fibers of my muscles
And broken fragments of my ribs,
But my heart was missing.
I looked about and saw a trail of blood
Weaving around my sheets and onto the floor,
In the middle of my carpet it lied
Spitting out blood and still beating.
I stared at it apathetically,
The pain it left behind after worming its way out
Was no different than the pain it always gave me,
So I stared at it wishing it would stop beating.
Why won't you stop beating already?
I trap it under a cup hoping it will suffocate,
I keep it under the cup for days and wait,
Now I count every second until it lays silent.
I woke up this morning,
Feeling inside my chest and cleaning the blood off,
When I looked over at the cup and noticed my heart
Finally stopped beating.
Loving Those Who Overthink or Are DepressedLoving Those Who Overthink, Are Depressed, or Hate Themselves
(Or a Guide to Handling Your Cupcake)
1) No matter how many times it's necessary, argue. Every time they vent about how hideous, worthless, or moronic they think they are, fight it. Day in and day out, no matter how much they don't believe you, they still want to hear it. They need it, but they won't ask for it.
Maybe once and a while you don't want to start a full on debate. Simply tell them, if they don't tell you, that you don't want to fight again. Just tell them they already know you think they are amazing and move on to talk about more pleasant things.
2) Try not to leave them upset. Chances are, if they are already upset, it'll just get worse once you leave. If you care enough, they will be smiling before they can stop themselves. It's a five minute effort, but the cheerfulness will stay much longer than that.
3) Don't lie about your own problems. If they are reminded other people have issues to
CycleYou breathe the last breath of life.
Gently exhale or violently forced away.
In your sleep or at the end of a gun.
Death takes you in the end.
Then you wake.
Inside a room.
White walls and white doors.
Whiteness all around you.
There is nothing here.
Nothing around you.
Except for the empty.
In the center of the blank.
Infinity around you.
Absolute nothing at the center.
You walk forward.
You ask what this place is.
"There is no place" It replies.
"There is only your perception of the transition."
"You are simply because."
"No reason, no explanation."
You ask if this is the afterlife.
It tells you that there is no after.
Life is what you have become.
Death is what has transcended.
You lived your life.
You were good and evil.
Apathetic and loving.
Yet you still have not learned.
You ask what It is you should have learned.
"Everything" It replies.
You respond that you cannot learn everything.
"You are wrong."
"You were a banker at a prestigious bank."
"You lived alone."
"You never had a
Unwilling Contortions-I fear Death; Silly, wouldn't you say? It's dauntingly forthcoming, weighing on our daily lives like a soft but cold pat on the shoulder, and when it is due, a single moment passes and the curtains suddenly close. A standing ovation is breached, and it's not for you. If your hands were just a bit colder my darling, i would say i'm in love with Death!
-Don't mutter such things pet...If it weighs on you so much then you'll get fitter, by the means of wisdom, of course..!
-Sly dog you are, ''wisdom, of course''!
-I do say though..; Why this sudden conclusion or revelation, you never seemed the type to think such ghastly incantations.
-If only they were just incantations. I simply cannot fathom the infinite doom, and how we simple mortals accept it, so! I feel it too harsh my dear, far too harsh..
-Ah! But what if you had a terrible life? Full of suffering; you would see the coming of death as a refreshing cocktail, like the ones you devour every waking hour.
-I did not think of that, bec
A Stranger'I would promise you until always ends, but I want to live forever.'
dripped off his thin lips.
something like saliva
and coughed-up calligraphy.
dancing to the surface:
a parody of laughter--
pallid and festering.
'you're a stranger, so why should i care.'
'you'll vanish today,'
to sticks of flesh and bone.
'not for the first time, i hear--or the last.'
a harsh white sky.
spume and spray
like a too-taunt sheet.
longing for dreams.
pulling me down.
shining and smooth:
like the last moments
of falling asleep.
'i want you to stay a stranger.'
VOID - A PHONEEnglish version below
Sur tous mes numéros
J'écris ton nom
Cette sensation que parfois
Frantz, juin 2012
On all my numbers
I write your name
This feeling that sometimes
You call me
Frantz, june 2012
The Tempest or EmissionsBy virtue of it's cracks and broken pieces
the pavement is a sponge.
It grapples the water and sewage,
and yawns to absorb the bodies as they fall.
The highways are like the strings
connecting pulleys and cogs amongst the cities.
Or perhaps they are the vampric veins
moving stolen blood between the organs of a massive creature.
Unseeing and archaic,
it thinks in the darkness underground.
The back roads are its fingers
stretching slowly around the countryside.
We claim creation
from the palm of its hand.
Morbid-Poets is a group dedicated to showcasing poetry (and prose) of a darker nature. Because while other poets like writing about the beauty of nature and what it feels like to fall in love, we like to write about the beauty in cemeteries and what it feels like to go insane. We also accept poetry/prose dealing with mythology.
If you would like to be featured on the club frontpage, please see this blog entry for instructions: morbid-poets.deviantart.com/bl…
Any and all types of poetry are accepted, from free verse to haiku, as long as it is of a darker nature. We also accept poetry dealing with a mythological subject.
Please respect other members. Critique is one thing, flaming and being rude is another.
Membership is automatically approved and open to everyone, but works must be approved before they appear in the gallery.
Please submit to the correct folders. What should go in which folder is listed below.
If you would like to affiliate with us, just send a request. I'll affiliate with any writer's group, as well as any dark art groups.
Gallery Folder Guidelines:
General Insanity is for works that don't fit into any of the other labeled folders.
Morbid Love is for love poems with a bit of a dark twist to them.
Murder and Suicide. That should be self-explanatory. For all poems dealing with the want of death, or a more murderous subject. Basically all poems dealing in death.
Paranormal is for, yes, things dealing with the paranormal. So, ghosts, demons, The Devil himself. You get the idea.
Mythology, also self-explanatory. Keep in mind this is different from the Paranormal folder.
Haiku and Small Poems. Anything that is equal to or less than seven or so lines should go in here.
Deep Sadness is the folder for all poems dealing with sorrow and depression.
Short Stories and Prose. Stories and drabbles that stand by themselves, and only first chapters or prologues of chaptered works! Please don't submit every single chapter. And please, no fanfiction!
|More Journal Entries|