Poetry competition CLOSED 18th August 2019 8:02am
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Dark poems

poet Anonymous

Poetry Contest

Write a poem about the problems, and pain the world causes. Tragic beauty, is in fact beauty!

poet Anonymous

Hollow Shell

This is it; Iím done
My heart still beats, yet no warmth flows through my veins
My face is an emotionless mask, and I feel nothing inside
Tears pour from my eyes, yet they offer no relief
From the pain and torment Iíve subjected myself to
Life is cruel, and Iím merely one of its foolish victims
Iíve irrevocably damaged the lives of the people who matter to me
No matter what I say or do, I can never make up for it
Iím in a dark and unstable place
I canít find the light and set myself free
Life isnít worth living with this pain Iím going through
So why not just end it all with two momentary pains?
And watch my life bleed out of this hollow shell of the person I once was.
poet Anonymous

Silent Madness

Looks can be devious  
I look strong, balanced, calm  
supposedly impervious  
Silence and Madness laugh  
hysterical at your naivete


Silence sighs, cries †
never lies, never dies †
Madness supposedly sets you free  
That never happened for me  

Completely unwelcome  
I cannot send the shadows away  
To banish Silence and Madness  
I must exile myself  

It took a while to accept  
the frequent visitations  
Silent mania suffocating  
voiceless misery shrieking  

Silence dances with Madness †
Iím not them, shadowed fiends  
Yet the muted delusion is me
poet Anonymous

In Bits

For some of us
the measure
of success
was surviving
the crazy times
the broken life
the painful why's
finding that balance
sadness and screams
some thing
we wasn't even
looking for
the balance
found us
as we now
but surely
three steps forward
two steps back
picking up
along the way
the shattered pieces
of our
self respect
of our
growing intent
to control those thoughts
that we no longer
without walking
the path
of poor me
self regrets

poet Anonymous

Adversatio order to the beast

The table tilted by their game rigged in hiding
Breaches anti-seals by a scarlet woman riding
Made desolate as the perverse dragon rhyme
Turning the natural mind to inverted sublime,
By no reason materializes out of nothingness
World view as a pointless line of meaningless
Untrainable raising the human being priority
Superimposing pedestal as highest authority,
So neglecting an origin for the idea of power
Accompanying a man in the transpiring hour
Willingly boosting their highest arrogant line
Mislaying true breath within old fogs of time,
Approaches spectacle soon made polarized
Subsisting near co-occurring continuum lies
Within exchange into any presumed frivolity
As a Rosicrucian Golden Dawn Royal Society,
Anomalous sacking of Constantinoplian land
Shifting Byzantine manuscripts barred band
Greecian Romanic practice of Medici sadism
Diverted antiquated hermetic Neoplatonism,
Blended pedagogy Kabbalah amalgam seam
Trithemius Agrippa operative stream dream
Magical Lutheran spiritual revolution in plan
Such singular Apocalyptic prospect by hand.
poet Anonymous

This Is Ghetto

As the gangsta dies
On a hot and humid Florida mornin'
A poor grievin' young wife is torn
This is ghetto
And his crew cries
'cause if there's one thing that they don't need
it's another corner boy to bleed
This is ghetto

Society, don't you understand
the hood needs a helping hand
or they'll grow to be all angry young men one day
Take a look at them and me,
are we too black to see,
do we simply shut our mouths
and speak in another way

While the hood rolls
and an inspired young boy with a funny jive
deals on the corner as he collects high fives
This is ghetto

And his crib burns
so he starts to scare the folks with fright
and he teaches how to deal
and he teaches how to bite
This is ghetto

Then one night in conversation
a young rat screams aloud
She buys a toy, steals a heart,
tries for fun, but it won't even start
Then her man tries

As the crew gathers 'round a stupid young hoe
face down in the pillow with a dildo in her snatch
This is ghetto

As the neighbourhood sighs
On a hot and humid Florida mornin'
Another poor grievin' young wife is torn
This is ghetto
poet Anonymous

The Agony of Reality

If this is reality, then why does it feel so agonistic to my soul and just?
It is this foul wintersí slapping gust
That wants one to conform their ďabnormalĒ psyche to certainty,
But I want my surrealist mind, and I can only hallucinate the senses of reality.

Can a flame live, breath and burn
In a mold of ice?
I have nowhere else to turn,
The realist world is not very nice.

And why is it when I walk down this surrealist, slush-ridden path
That my shoes donít damp?
Sometimes I feel it is an innate wrath
When I suffer from writerís-cramp.

Am I the flame?
and surrealism
are not the same!

Though I stand in the corner, I am the flame,
But the light shines not from what realists can see.
Iíve been there my whole life,
Its solitude quite hellish; loud with internal strife.

We all stare at corners; at whatís veiled within them;
And we donít like who we see within causeí theyíre reticent.
I donít like what I see hiding in the corner either, yet I stand there too!
I love me, yet I despise me. I canít hate what I am, nor will I change it.

I am me
And not you.
You are you
And Iím glad youíre not me.

All my realistic thoughts subdued,
Like a drunkard swigging wine.
Keep you to your solitude
and me to mine.
poet Anonymous


The bell rings for recess
The kids go to play
But little do they know
This will be their last day

They're laughing and singing
And all having fun
'Til a stranger shows up
With a loaded machine gun

They don't know why he's here
There's no time to ask
He pulls down the trigger
And carries out his sick task

Innocent lives lost
The shells gleam in the sun
The man's taken down
But the damage is now done

Why are people so evil?
This whole world's a mess
All these kids wanted
Was to enjoy their recess

But now they're just lifeless
Their bodies lie slain
How does this keep happening
It's fucking insane!

poet Anonymous


We're close to death,
you and I,
we tread the thin line between the living and ghosts.
You wired up,
and I unable to leave
your bedside -
You've been sick a long time
and I've always been
attracted to the sick,
it brings out my own sickness.
Don't you see,
mental health is contagious?
You and I infect each other.

And I mind
since I actually like being healthy
an allure is always there
to dance with you
beside the car crash
waiting for a new day to begin
neither of us want to greet.

poet Anonymous


As the pink evening sky turns into navy blue night, a cozy home becomes the homefront of a battlefield.

When her eyes close, the nightmare begins, the boogie man arises again with 2 horns, blood red eyes, a machete tipped tail and razor blade claws that are constricting the bottle that contains the last drop of his vodka.

He grabs her from her shelterd bed and drags her to a dungeon hell which she has recently come to know so well.

Clawing her clothes off thread by thread, this undeveloped angel is being stripped of her wings.

Minutes turn into hours, hours into days, days turn into eternities for this girl who has been threatened to be killed if she screams for help.

Finally after the punching, choking and
and skin crawling sexual slurs the slaughter of this girls innocence has ended and the beast returns back beneath the bed to his bottomless pit.

She awakes, heart pounding body sweating and emotionally exhausted.

She tells her mother about the dreams she's been having and her mother says "don't worry they'll stop soon" as she knocks back her hourly dosages of Lexapro and Prozac with a fine hardened glass of Scotch.

The girl says ďbut momĒ, but her mother interupts "go to bed, nothing is wrong with you, youíre just having nightmares, go to sleep".

As the navy blue night sky turns into dusk orange sleeping beauty returns to her cherry color stained bed, with hopes that the boogie man won't return again.

Recieving only neglect and no comfort from the women who gave birth to her
She sees only one way to escape the beast that attacks her at night.

The Lexapro & Prozac pills her mother left on the bathroom counter.
She takes 3 of each and drifts off into an eternal sleep.

Now, months later with my angel wings fully developed I watch down as my mother wakes up from these same nightmares.

It appears after taking one soul the boogie man is after another, she has endangered herself by refusing to chase down her own demons.

She endangered her daughter by not recognizing the demon that she slept next to, now she must deal with them both alone.

The battle is over but the war has just begun.

A note tucked in between an inflorescence of violet Chinese Wisteria and marble stone says "I'm sorry, I was too late".
The marble stone reads.....
"Hailey May 3, 2003-July 11, 2011".
I was 8 years old.
poet Anonymous

An Endless Dance


On a bitter cold winters night in the poorest part of town.
Where abandoned homes and factories crumble slowly down.
A discarded place that once stood proud still was someoneís home.
There in a room of family gatherings one sat all alone.
A grimy soul in tattered clothes and ill fitting worn out shoes.
The kind of man thatís turned away with out the least excuse.
In earlier times when he was young he dressed so very well.
His honor earned was taken when he accidentally fell.
Stricken to a weaker state with the impairment to his mind.
A mean and frightening world was waiting for him to find.
His refuge was this place forgotten like some distant dream.
It was his castle play ground at least to him it seemed.
As the night wore on he felt the pain that only cold can bring.
In a trash can lid he built a fire and faintly he would sing.
Too cold to move and search for wood he used his paper bed.
First that burned was his covering saving some to rest his head.
Up in the air danced charring flakes that quickly loose their glow.
As piece-by-piece rose overhead theyíd drift down white as snow.
He saw somehow ash form into dancers turning in the air.
How he wished as he watched to be dancing with them there.
Laying down he saw the last flickering amber wave him to his sleep.
In his rest he remembered the dancers a vision he would keep.
In a vacant house a huddled man is dancing and held so tenderly.
A cold reality has been replaced where heíll dance eternally.
poet Anonymous

Menstruation At Forty (Spider's Curse)

Stung to death,
an ill begotten fate,
sisters in tangled limb,
sisters in wombs' blood
rendered of yesterdays
remains still hunted.
Weaving angels
hover over the early death
trapped, entangled,
consumed in poison,
wrists bound together
praying for new life.
Son, beseeching
all I have acquired of you,
You, whom the dusky late hours have made,
You, whom I lusted for and listened for
rattling as bells toll,
clocks revealing our closeness in hour,
our embrace before  
the splitting apart of our loves' codependency.
I rock you inside the empty lull,
my quiet one,
unrecieved of longing,
bare of hearts' tethering,
a last siphoning from which
sisters in kind fall away.
weaving a web over your own,
a thin and tangled poison.
bad spideró

  † †.....
poet Anonymous

Amid Applause

With their voices they always blame
A reminder our skin color is not the same
Talk from the left talk from the right
All they suggest now is the time to fight

Children are dying in our streets
Children are dying as their fetal heartbeats
We all fight within our cause
As we sit on our thrones amid applause

They cross the line to dwell in a better place
To be a burden to the ones that give is a disgrace
Promises are empty like the essence of a snare
Only to abandoned their neighborhoods in despair

My God your God the the trust is the same
Love and forgiveness is the bridge in which they came
If you walk through the shadows with words of red
Society will tell you your convictions are something to dread

Freedom is so misunderstood
To be free from to make us feel good
Freedom is so misunderstood
To be free to achieve acts of good

A choice to make... itís all up to us each and everyday
To make the world a better place before our footprints fade away
poet Anonymous

Keep Scrolling

Keep scrolling,
You donít want to see thisÖ
My finger is ready on the trigger,
Cocked and loaded my willís eroded by the troubles from the world,
Thereís no consoling,
Thereís no swing and miss,
At the moment thereís nothing bigger
Than me ending it right now that will somehow send my head back in a hurlÖ
Keep moving,
Thereís nothing to see here,
But if you hear a loud boom ignore it,
I donít have the balls but Iím done with it all because Iíve lost all hope,
Donít look or face your fear,
Shitís ugly out there and I abhor it,
Itís getting tougher everyday but now I see Iíve come to the end of my rope.
Keep going,
Itís just another poem,
My words will be gone in the wind,
My heart and mind are tossed and lost in the twister of emotions I canít explain,
This self-loathing,
My spirit is all but gone,
Because I know Iím near the end,
But I find beauty in the sadness when the pain and madness overflow my brain.

poet Anonymous

Blue Devils

laying on my bed, looking at the ceiling with a hopeless mind
my eye lids are getting heavy, tired from the world
my face is sagging, by the gravity of life
my breathing is getting slower, but my anemic heart drums on faster and faster
my voice is lost, just a monotonous sound
talking to myself, with no one around

listening to this angelic symphony, that's being played effortlessly
listening to it to feel something, sad or even angry
but not feeling anything, when I hear it, nothing is surfacing
cause my happiness got lost with my innocence
and my pain exceeded my expectance
it doesn't hurt anymore, just sediments of num feelings floating

I have come to a halt, frozen, and getting colder
the voices inside my head are getting louder and louder
go on! do it! you're better off dead and you know it!
tilting my head to look, at the razor blade on the table in front
then screaming into my pillow to out shout their plangent roar
they are dragging this moment of weakness to a point of no return
and this time they might actually win

then it will come, the lonely departure
leaving an invisible mark on the world.
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