Poetry competition CLOSED 17th May 2018 9:34am
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Tumultuous Darkness

poet
David_Macleod
Guardian of Shadows
United States
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Joined 5th Nov 2014
Forum Posts: 728

CLICK  
 
I’m loading the washing machine
There’s a violent click
I am 6 years old
The cigarette sizzles and hisses
As it is stubbed out on my back
The bath water sloshed helps
But another one lit – repeat
I don’t scream loudly
I have learned not to
I scream through gritted teeth
And pray for it to stop
There’s a violent click
And I’m back in the room
Still loading the washing machine

I am setting the table for dinner
There’s a violent click
I am nine years old
I am forcibly draped over
A communion table
Men of the cloth and others
Take turns getting off
The madness feels endless
I do not scream loudly
It has never helped
I painfully grin and bare it
And pray for it to stop
There’s a violent click
I am back in the room
Shaken not stirred

I am watching a television comedy show
There’s a violent click
I am eleven years old
I got caught stealing today
The beating is coming
Oh god! It’s here
I am kicked and punched
Up and down the hallway
Dragged outside by the hair
Locked in the coal cellar
Black and blue and bleeding
I do not scream out
Why scream for more beatings
I whimper like a kicked dog
I pray for the pain to stop
I pray to get out of the darkness
There’s a violent click
I am back in the room
The show is over

The memories that linger
Like a background singer
I can easily deal with them
As a victim I can condemn
But the PTSD click
I cannot un-stick
It’s like being back in that place
And being forced to face
The fear and all of the pain
A pain clearly with no gain
There’s a violent click
I can’t write any more

poet
_Me_
Twisted Dreamer
United States
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Joined 4th Apr 2018
Forum Posts: 127

Whoa man, that was intense. Hard to make words after that.

poet
Hepcat61
geoff cat
Dangerous Mind
United States
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Joined 27th Nov 2015
Forum Posts: 893

HEP-ATITUS

(a sonnet…what else?)
   
A plague of fetid blood so I’ve become    
Who vomits only bile and drywall dust    
In horrid little squares whose added sum    
Is so much sewer pipe and iron rust    
A blood that has no purpose left to serve    
But poison heart that nothing should remain    
A black oil crust that’s shredding every nerve    
Like shards of ground glass coursing through my brain    
I wish that I could open veins and smear    
Cute rounded flowers everywhere I see    
But even then would square on square appear    
My blood coagulates in squares of scree    
To vomit bloody squares is all I can
Which takes me back to where my shit began.
Written by Hepcat61 (geoff cat)
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poet
runaway-mindtrain
Fire of Insight
United States
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Joined 30th July 2017
Forum Posts: 63

walking their haunted mind

Chorus six part:
Oh such brilliant contradiction the antiquarian rewound
The verse of ideas shows a world of people the same
Mistletoe carried tree to tree but never reaching ground
The scope of people shows a world of ideas the same...

Ol' Jim atomic crow bombing of the minds in the streets
Squaring the circle headed with some smoke and blow
A pack of pyrias ten deep with minds of women in leech
As the enlightenment brought darkness so we pimp and ho...

Ten sec drum solo with bass...

Organ:
An old master ringing a sounded delight
With a dash of evil in the societal soup
Twisted song of a hopeless center might
Their savory bowl of a forgotten truth...

The winter stained us grey with sorrow
Full moon and new when tides are high
As remembering rain of hurt to follow
A murder's moon because of the light...

Out chorus:
Slow dream before the nightmare in squared recourse
Info slavin' shackles are now clamping minds down
Intellectual property was never the natural resource
Their syntactical parallel worlds are now in bound...

Bass harmonic:
Step on logical and empirical foundations
Skip irregular scheming mindless imitations...

Repeat and fade...
Written by runaway-mindtrain
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poet
case28
Alexander Case
Dangerous Mind
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Joined 16th June 2013
Forum Posts: 1954

The beating of two hearts in an elevator [on the axis of heaven and hell]

case28 (Alexander Case)
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poet
_Me_
Twisted Dreamer
United States
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Joined 4th Apr 2018
Forum Posts: 127

Very notable submissions flowing through here.
I will mention "walking their haunted mind" by Runaway-Mindtrain.

Still though, much more time.

poet
AEMelia564
Y
Dangerous Mind
Norway
36awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 20th Apr 2016
Forum Posts: 1642

Dire, verse five, Nocturnal

Silhouette skies  
proclaiming horizon awareness    
   
Crows speak in orbital oath    
A stiletto echo balances their tune    
   
Near of night brushes rouge    
Upon her golden boned cheeks    
   
She breathes siren kisses    
To wear air upon her skin    
   
She is sheer fabric
 Wind will make a gown    
I am her bride  
Written by AEMelia564 (Y)
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poet
AEMelia564
Y
Dangerous Mind
Norway
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Joined 20th Apr 2016
Forum Posts: 1642

Orbituary of  time

It is called a viscious circle
Something like a black hole
A mural painting
of non-exsistence

All matter
is but
swept
dust
Written by AEMelia564 (Y)
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poet
AEMelia564
Y
Dangerous Mind
Norway
36awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 20th Apr 2016
Forum Posts: 1642

MELANCHOLIA

 I have always known
That I belonged to the sea
The ripples are waving
The tide sets free

As I sailed the sea of sighs
I wore the scars of the stars
Upon my bare skin

In my gown of expectation
I cupped my hands
Around the white butterfly
Almost stilborn
It flew into infinity

Today I am not
Awoken by the soot
I am An echo

Life has chosen me, I know
I exhale each broken part
Living is a dying art
Written by AEMelia564 (Y)
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poet
cloventongue89
Nathaniel Peter
Fire of Insight
United States
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Joined 18th Sep 2017
Forum Posts: 340

my demons are more faithful than my friends

Making my acquaintance with the devil
It's as if I had to make my encounter with HIM before I could appreciate the idea of knowing God
I don't know much about making my dreams come true but I effortlessly realize my nightmares
Blurring the lines between this world the next one and my own
Demons that are a manifest of my subconscious
I watched the mirror as my eyes bled imagination
And my reflection was a canvas for these scars
Scourged by the trauma of a thousand wars I wage in the reincarnation of an undying thought
I'm at the mercy of these memories that you so conveniently forgot
And should I call it quits the pain won't go away
It becomes an epidemic for those that remember to care
If you loved me when I was living than why did you save your affections for the graveyard
Why did it take my absence for you to finally be there?
Save your pennies and I'll keep my thoughts to myself
Let the silence say what you want it to while I make my refuge in the depths of hell
If words are so cheap than why didn't you waste any on me?
Just one last conversation might've made the difference between the death of a captive or the life of the free
But if I'm not worth your breath then I must not be worth mine
Push me off just one more day, waiting to be worth your time
Drifting slowly out of consciousness trying to save my neck while I lose my mind
From one extreme to another, I'm either supernaturally conceited or insane
This is out of my control wasting on the other-side of your disdain
Waiting for tomorrow to realize your promises or whether I expire first
You've got the well at your disposal but you'd rather watch me die of thirst...
Written by cloventongue89 (Nathaniel Peter)
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poet
cloventongue89
Nathaniel Peter
Fire of Insight
United States
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Joined 18th Sep 2017
Forum Posts: 340

Stillborn Poetry

You're speechless
I say enough for the both of us
Loaded questions versus empty answers
You're out gunned
But your silence is a tell all that's doing me in
 
Trace back words and let the pen choke
Your face intrudes to monopolize my unvoiced prayers
Occupied by thoughts of you
Spending quality time with a memory
 
I am the offspring of an apparition
A love lost to a flesh forged as one
From the repurposed wreckage
Of a broken home
 
My heart is a record on repeat
Replaying these lines
I'm trying to break past the tide
And say something to merit approval in your eyes
 
You're just the scapegoat upon which to assign blame
A convenient target upon which to aim my resentment
I'm a sharp shot but I'm misfiring
In my attempt to resign my sorrows to your actions
All the while coming to realize
I'm disappointed with myself
 
Perpetuating afflictions with sin
I'm lovesick and starved for affection
The hunger wears me to the bone
I'm dumpster diving for the scraps of someone else's discarded love
 
Desperation charms so easily
And I'm suave on paper
But my way with words only goes so far  
Prone to empty promises
I suppose that's one thing we have in common
 
Forgive these words bereft of metaphor
But honesty plays when my heart is on the line
Still I find myself recoiling as I force feed these pages
Filled with empty words
 
I'm killing myself behind the art
So I can masquerade worthwhile
Spelling out these scars in the dialect of a broken heart
 
I'm alone in a room full of people
All I have are these pages
Laying my heart out in a monologue of stillborn poetry...
Written by cloventongue89 (Nathaniel Peter)
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poet
cloventongue89
Nathaniel Peter
Fire of Insight
United States
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Joined 18th Sep 2017
Forum Posts: 340

Pain Killer

On display in a museum of self-objectification
I'm window shopping in her eyes
Looking for what's left of her soul
Reluctance is the only thing we have in common
Watching her become who she doesn't want to be
Cursing with her body language
Silence is her native tongue
And I respond to her self-hatred in kind
We're both guilty of destroying ourselves
And the only part of this that's our best attempt at "love" is what we're making with our eyes closed
Blinded by physical attraction
Where reality bleeds fantasy
You're all skin and no heart
Companion to loneliness as a mutual acquaintance to our grief
Let the lust catch our tears as we bury our sorrows in each other’s flesh and a knife in each other’s back
Looking for a way to forget ourselves
We're cripple making a one-night stand
Using each other like a bad habit
I'll be yours if you'll be my painkiller
Masquerading integrity
A promise on the lips of a stranger has no risk of being perceived empty
It's only till you know me baby, you realize how cheap my words really are
But your self-worth is an easy lay sold for a drink and second rate pick up line
Born to a culture comprised of users
Innocence is a lost cause
And consensual rape is routine as we violate ourselves
If home is where the heart is then we're living on the streets and giving a whole new meaning to sex trafficking
As we put our souls on cruise control in the dictates of someone else's arms
Then we wonder why we're casualties in a collision of broken hearts
Without any insurance to mend the wounds
We eat the cost and it takes a toll we can't afford
Selling out to a cheap thrill and overrated affection
Giving self away in an attempt to preserve what's left
Only to find yourself all the more depleted and spiritually bulimic
With eyes like a salivating vulture
Where you're inner child is a feast to the predator within
And your guilt perpetuates a vicious cycle of pleasure that equates to pain
As you look for the next one "better" broken in this disassembly line...
Written by cloventongue89 (Nathaniel Peter)
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poet
cloventongue89
Nathaniel Peter
Fire of Insight
United States
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Joined 18th Sep 2017
Forum Posts: 340

Murder Is Such A Funny Way To Love

Trust is easier to give when the bullet is holding us accountable
Bloodthirsty and starting a tab on a seared conscience
Blood drunk in a war of self-promoting martyrs
Caught in the crossfire of someone's ideology
We live subject to a system comprised of damage control
Marketing on tragedy, living in the legacy of our scars
Preventative measures are our mantra
Everyone's got their own cause to personalize the endeavor of a custom holy war
Writing the eulogy of America in a code comprised of statistics
A trigger is easier to pull than a soul from the fires of hell
I've a warrant for the arrest of your weapon
Take your assigned seat on death row
Nothing purges better than the redemption I find at the end of a barrel
It’s trigger happy hour
Terrorism needs no proof of age
Because the children have become their nightmares
Cultivating a tolerance for the hangover of taking a life
Give me a good reason for the madness
I plea premeditated insanity
In third person dissociation
This is alien body syndrome
There’s no border patrol
No regulation for my lack of mental citizenship
Dodging that which attempts to tax the reality
With the toll of having to give account for what I've done
Manufacturing a spine from the sword
Selective love and bloodshed
Conditioning the gauge to measure the weight of a life's worth
Casualty to the battlefield of a self-inscribed gospel like the marching orders to purify
Inquisition conversions, slaughter the sheep behind the wolf
Neutralizing anything that seeks to threaten wellbeing
I spark the war of vengeance contrived of an enemy I see in the eyes of everyone I play victim to
I’ve yet to know the peace you speak of that claims to swell beneath the siege of your “preyers”
Murder is such a funny way to love…
Written by cloventongue89 (Nathaniel Peter)
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poet
cloventongue89
Nathaniel Peter
Fire of Insight
United States
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Joined 18th Sep 2017
Forum Posts: 340

Flesh Casket

Strong arm my complacency with tough love and silent mistreatments
Cure yourself the cancer of me
Victory secured by way of resignation
If I'm the toxin than you're my anti venom
Give me what I need when I want it the least
Misery finds companionship with compatible demons
Starve the wolf to save the sheep
Wayward wanderers meandering down these streets
Writing back alley love songs to the unrequited affections of the self that I abandon
Trying to entreat the will to hope again
Sometimes learning to love your enemies, means learning to love yourself
Whispering declarations of codependency
You can't starve your flesh at a table adorned with vices
Glutton to affliction and anorexic self-worth
Dressing the dead in wedding gowns
Proposing to the grave
Betrothal to damnation, to desire I'm a slave
Wishing I were not that which I am
The failing paradigm of my identity
A junkie with veins whored to a cheap romance of chemicals
Dead but unbeknownst to my lungs
My heart incinerated in the chest cavity while I cook my organs beneath the skin
The same which makes me feel alive is killing me within...
Written by cloventongue89 (Nathaniel Peter)
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poet
Madbuttonhatter
Ryan R Morgan
Twisted Dreamer
United States
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Joined 19th Apr 2018
Forum Posts: 36

Scrawlings of a Madman

Beyond hellish gates,
do foolish martyrs dwell
Assembling forth
at their master's beck and call

These martyrs, these fiends,
amass from realms and eras unseen
thrusting pointed snouts in my visage,
a manner most obscene

One hundred sinister grins
sheen with deranged idiosyncrasy
Hollering at a broken man,
An amputee soul's malignancy

The merry go round procession
It circles, never stops
Men observe their riders,
gauging the oscillation of their cocks

Chants from time immemorial,
once grazing ears of ancient kings
Heathens rejoice in melody,
libidos drunk with corporeal gifts and kinks

Seas of dark clothe enshrouding the floor,
revealing a shrine to the wicked
A sacrilegious chamber,
the edifice constitutes inhabitants most convicted

A promised land of righteous sinners,
deriving euphoria in forbidden acts of lust
A boar snorts in my abdomen,
Like a psychopathic fetus in womb it thrusts

Speaking in tounges,
begging to partake in pleasures of the flesh
Restless, insatiable, it clamors to feast
upon bratwurst, mother's milk and caleche

Martyrs piss on feet of beloved company,
jovial tarnishment and ecstasy is the goal
The drummers conduct their savage tunes,
Archaic pounding with rythems that cajole

An orchestra of sin emanating
from such a primal instrument
A symphony once considered impossible,
The chorus of orgy and excrement

improbable as the flinging hatch
that lays agape nether the grand procession
and Bursts forth with bolts of Zeus,
casting upon his harem at love’s confession

Chambers commandeered by Beelzebub
who hauls with chains his feminine treasures
giggling and screaming, debating forever
on the thickness worth ravaging for pleasure

Slapping and arguing,
slipping on fruit skins and shrugging
Accompanied by howls of raucous
laughing, stomping and whistling

Jesters donning vulva, snared into performing
vaudeville and burlesque swaying me to convert
Vessels neglect shallow lines, refusing to utter
sick drones of baby talk to caress the perverts quirks

Beelzebub erupts, lifting his thorny cat,
striking wenches deemed thoughtless
Women tremble under the taskmaster's gaze,
the malnourished wretches cloak their distresses

There is no disertion from wrath,
nor weapons to obliterate the steel gates barred
Restrained by a crude selection of piggish men,
With towering statures and skivvy faces marred

Now the children of Eve descend upon my phallus,
thirty or forty in total
Squirming through my body like maggots
My warm corpse gone fetal

Every crack, every crevice,
my body is smothered
Smeared by fingers, breasts, tongues,
and slits like my mother’s

My neck is swollen and red,
barbed nails carve my bare chest,
Trails of scarlet stain their flesh
secreted from my orifices at no behest

Portions of my body formerly pure
whence harpies tore through skin
bathed in crimson tears
that poured from my mouth with a grin

Wriggling their appendages
as they sang mad tunes
Spreading fingers and skipping
desecrating walls with red sticky glue

The feminine products who remain
perform acts to awaken my manhood
coating it in their mouth juice
like a twisted passage from Atwood

Frowning as their masters gaze
Their vile hearts surge with condemnations
Once a sublime festival,
intoxication wrought unspeakable ramifications

The women begrudge their turns,
each line in rows under stern eyes
My vision blurring through copious drink,
but shudders with harlot's cruel reprise

Each glass, finished,
the mad hatter subjecting my tolerance to more
Cowards desperately scrambling,
dragging full barrels like a lure

The women continually seek
to awaken the pointed spear
While sanctimonious beasts toss goblets
in frustration or fear

Lifting the barrel,
my mouth held by greasy assistants
Passion melds into rage,
hearts erupt in the abyss of forgotten flames

Men, once of their prime
complicit to their holy swindler’s crimes
Drowning my harrowed throat
with salacious dribbling of wines

The breasted fools surrender,
task deemed futile for all who endeavor
My cylindrical flesh deflated,
much like egos of those who fellated

The eyes dwell upon my eccentricity,
their judgement hath passed explicitly
Forever embroiled in my own hole
I shudder as the walls close upon my soul

Mad hatter approaches
ever so sharp, ever so demeaning
My lord, my savior what have I become?
This persecution, this torture it burns me in twine.

This man this man,
he touches my head
The void in mine belly
spews its dissolved contents
His hands so large,
his protrusion so massive
I desire it not,
I desire none but my sweetheart

What is this madness that has consumed me
Who is this maniac of which looms before me

Torches ignite,
and the songbirds are hanged in a wire
The voice from the mist,
she whispers to save me

I cannot rhyme, rhyme’s cannot describe this abyss
I see his eyes
those gremlin’s eyes once more
I’m sick of the eyes, I’m noxious at their sight
They mock me, they curse
and spit in my mouth in ghastly extortion

No reason or rhyme, the night dawns on the shephard
He follows his herd, they nap in open pasture
Grabs his sheaves, and conjures a brilliant plan
The sheep line up one after the other,
beckoned by the Shepherds humble tone
One after the other, slaughtered head to toe,
the sheaves sharp as his mind

The sheep fall, down, merrily merrily,
one after another
Drooling and slobbering
whispering bahs one more time
to their forbidden lovers

The lovers are same,
constructed from the same parts.
“If only one listened to reason,
if only one could breed"
Perhaps we’d have more lamb chops,
yummy as they bleed.”
The shepherd declared, wheezing, laughing,
throwing his crooked hat to the dogs
Then the shepherd develops one further idea,
perhaps more extreme than the last

One poor helpless sheep remains,
well endowed it must be,
and not a lass

The widower Shepard, had his fill of the slaughter,
saw one final opportunity
His trousers flopped to the floor,
the belt fallen with a mighty clang
His undergarments folded atop his head,
a neat little pretty white bow

Up and down, up and down
he slid atop the sheep
It growled and hissed,
scrambled towards freedom,

For it loved the sheep of the same construction
But not this man,
not this man who sits atop and dances upon him so foul
The sheep could not escape,
and nor could it moan.
To moan would imply it felt enjoyment
And the shepherd would persist evermore

It screamed for assistance,
For heroes to run towards its safety
But no hero could be called,
For the heroes were all dead

He was the last sheep, a minor token
And humans cannot discern
their bahs from their baaaahs.
The shepherd had enough,
the shepherd was satisfied with the thrill

His bum was nice and warm
from liquid that trickled and seeped
But the sheep was not fargone,
the sheep had a trick up its sleeve

No, no matter how many, comrades lay victim to slaughter
The sheep had hooves,
hooves of steel, deadly hooves.
Hooves gifted from a god
most compassionate and forgiving

The sheep bahhd one final bah,
in his alluring the way
The shepherd couldn’t help being lured by the sheep’s call
Like a sailor of ages,
amid the sirens of fall

The sheep lay in suffering,
the sheep’s life would end soon
But not without removing the heart of one who betrayed him

The Shepard trudged over, with maniacal glee
Greeted by his cranium smashed before it bleeds
The victorious sheep, exalted it’s last laugh
As it faded from existence,
proud as a new mother.

If only I were that sheep,
if only I took that final stand
Though I may not be dead,
but my soul is an empty carcass
Ravaged by vultures most malicious, most uncaring
A mere sex doll in their eyes
A pleasure doll for their own perverse desire
Oh how I hate him,
how I hate all of them so
But the sin, oh the sin feels so good.
It pulses through my veins,
I can feel it vibrate in my chest

This is wrong, this was all so wrong,
I do not like this man before me
And yet this feels so right,
so demeaning yet so demure.
This white hot ecstasy so addictive,
yet worse than the bottle

The figures don their attire,
bathed in shadows decamp this cursed structure
Doors slam shut, silence abounding in my brain and mind
The man in the hat winks,
releases my breast

Bulging assistants
expunge him of filthy properties,
Shroud him in cloth most extravagant,
cloaking his indecency

They saunter through aisles
whispering nostalgic ditties
And now I am alone, with nothing but thoughts
and these ghastly robes

With no assurance, that the man I see in reflection
was ever myself.

The wine, the wine, the glorious wine
It’s all I have now, all I’ll ever breed.
Just wasting time away with the only lover I need
That good ol wine.
Written by Madbuttonhatter (Ryan R Morgan)
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