This is a collection of my poems, most are dark, but not gruesome or disturbing. |
In the Drowning They try to lift their head above water They can’t. They are trapped in the salty vat Of the pacific. They lift their skull, Gasping for air. They are getting pulled, Towards the darker part. They are suffering in the light They will die in the dark Alone. A weeping rose It is bent, it twitches. What it needs is not enough. It still weeps. Given up on itself, with no hope. "Take me" it says, "Take me." It's a sad story indeed, when they no longer believe in themselves. But we're Optimists, we'll fight through it. Untitled A writer can only have one piece thats "untitled" it's the patch of the quilt it does not breach any force but just shows a little whole. A little... block. Here is my one and only untitled piece one writes to fill up a page, yet all the words are there to fill that empty space, labeled as "untitled." Ashes Look up. Do you see the dust particles falling from the sky? Try to catch one on your tongue. Parachuting down, settling on one of your taste buds. The chalky sliver of cooled fire. Oh look, one has landed upon your shoulder, just give it a flick. Watch it flutter down, you watch it gracefully land. Though really, it is plummeting to it's death. Walking a goat It takes a while, but the collar is finally on. You pull and pull, but nothing works. It simply will remain where it pleases, or so it thinks. Let the animal think that it won, that you have given up, but while it's gloating and cheering because he defeated the human. Then pounce. Get the goat and pull him as far as you can before you officially quit. Well congratulations, you are now done with your first lap, five more to go. That thing Stop copying me. You are nothing but a figment of my imagination. All I need to do is; Close my eyes… Count to three And open them again. One Two Three. “Still here” Why are you taunting me? Why are you haunting me? Please, Haunt and taunt someone else with your sick games I don’t never wanted to see you again. Yet here you are, Standing before me now. You make me sick. I hate you. Why me? Funhouse I’ve lost my marbles I’m insane I’m being kept in this wacky-shack I don’t belong here Tied up like a dog. At least that’s what they say. But the people outside, The real people say I’m not well That I… Belong here. The black substance It engulfs me in my dreams, I do not see it coming. It is but a shadow, its creeping into my bed, it slithers into my covers I try to bat it away with my fists and blanket but it's still there a black, substance is crawling closer and closer, it has me. Then I wake up sweating and panting. I sit up for a few minutes. Then drift back off into Hell. True Horror The blood curdling 90 minutes Except its real and I’m trapped Isn’t it? Falling into an endless pit Onto a field of dust and despair It haunts them But I am not affected I feel like Prometheus But I am the birds… And the titan. Slip in a dream; Two minutes is equivalent to two hours. But five hours is equivalent to two hours. It doesn’t make sense. The mind is complex, But what lies within is so much more sophisticated. A mask of lies He scratches and pulls at it, but it won't come off. It has become permanent, It has become a part of him. Morphed onto his flesh, slowing sucking the little truth there is left. It is not him, it's merely a disguise, but he has made it permanent. Pesky you, are like a fly constantly buzzing in my ear. If I hurt you, I hurt myself it truly is a lose,lose sort of thing. So you are there, and you will stay until you want to leave. It makes no difference to me. Stay there for eternity or leave me tomorrow, I don't care. Deadly decisions He’s waiting for the chance, but alas. It does not come. He shall remain there, for another century. We are getting impatient. We are all waiting on you. So make your move and fall back into the dark meadow and let the grass consume you. Sink down until you’ve hit the magical six feet. It’s understandable that you’re not ready, but when you are, we’ll be here. Waiting. Rock, paper scissor Rocks are for bashing Scissors are for slicing And paper, well what the heck am I suppose to do with paper. And how would it possibly go against a pure force of granite. If I'm paper, and you're rock then I don't smother you, nor do I try to get in your way. I just crinkle and blow aside letting you pass, and letting you go on your way. Death of a Bear The head pops off And stuffing gushes out. They rush it off But there’s not much they could do It’s too late. The line has gone flat. They call the family No one comes. Look at all the lonely people. Nickels and dimes The sac containing the metal pieces sails through the air and bursts against my chest. The medallions spill everywhere, burning irises and corneas. A stream of coins rushes to the tile floor, a waterfall spewing on smoothly edged stones. Nothing can stop them or hold them back. They fall, tortured. They plunge to their death. I walk along the beach. With sand. I approach people with empty hands and all they can do is scream. They cannot see me running away. Giggling. A "good" friend The spindly fingers reach out and touch you. They get you in their grasp. They comfort you in a time of need. Like a good friend the cylinder shaped bottle will be there for you. The lips are smooth The body is perfect. They seduce you into friendship and you go ahead and give in. You lose. |