The Walking Dead

'tis a curse  
for those who sought  
a deathless frame  
their sanity deposed  
rotten flesh rose  
the soul intact  
only to perceive  
malicious act they  
have no control  
a driver then  
now a passenger  
in the dark they roam  
as puppet with soul  
the limbs drags
reluctantly...  
feed... must feed  
they feed on what  
once was their own  
the sad muffled groan  
when the crimson chrome  
of the cherished, drips  
the eyes they cannot close  
cursed til a silver bullet  
murders their soul  
 

Here's a quick little thingy thing, I'll probably post more later and hopefully edit this.
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An eruption of fire and ice surges through my body. 
My ribcage rattles and my tongue writhes
as my organs slowly shut off. 
Feeble screams come off as moans. 
The voices coax me to keep going. 
I dont even try to resist.
My feet hit hard concrete. 
Gravel cuts deep into the soles and dirt infects soon after. 
I need to quicken the pace but my body will not take heed. 
Staggering like a drunken fool. Lusting for just one more drop of whiskey. 
I need that taste and feel. 
The feel of my teeth tearing skin from muscle. 
Vermillion ambrosia filling my mouth, 
Staining my cheeks and trickling down my eager throat. 
The thought tortures my shackled body,
animal instinct just won't let me rest. 

The Walking Dead

From East of the sun
And North of the Moon
Beneath the pale starlit night
They come again
To seek the boon
That once they were pledged
By gods of old
When crossed spires were unknown

The pledge for them
to walk the earth
Just one more time
To breathe the cool sweet air
To see their beloved
All warm and snug
Before their homey hearth
All comfort just remembered

Thus they walked with staggering steps
With limbs so long unused
Dragging their rotting rotted husk
They stumbled to their doors
And lo they saw the sorrow
Of widows and widowers
They did exist no more
Cosy in others arms they rested

The motley horde they did despair
For they had long been forgotten
Curse they did for cursed they were
For pledging their souls to ancient beings
To whom promises were un-sacred
For what they had was what they kept
No discount and no refund
The souls they kept for wicked deeds

The walking dead were dead indeed
In both their mortal coil and spirit
They wandered disconsolate
To wile the night away
Until dawn breaks when they would leave
For the portal of Gehenna
Never more to come again
To regain memories that had grown faint.

I know we have more Zombie Fans then this. Great writes so far, now spread the word or I'll send a horde to eat your brains

The One

Shut down. . .
Mind.
Organs.
Heart.
Humanity.
My body becomes of weapon, survivoral of the fitest-- Animals insticts have returned, if it moves it's prey. Human blood tastes as sweet as chocolate once did to me, I remember what it was like to be alive. To breathe air and not ash, to smell ambrosia instead of the iron scent of blood. To taste food instead of human flesh, to feel emotion instead of the yearn for human blood. I saw my family ripped apart by my own nails and teeth, I tasted my parents blood and ripped out my sister's organs and watched her blood soak into the carpet. I saw myself in the mirror, my gray slowly rotting skin, my yellow eyes that are slightly red. I saw my torn clothing, I saw my sharpened teeth. I was a monster, I didn't want to be this thing but at the same time I knew that was all I could be.

I was dead but now I am alive. But I want to be dead, I do not want to live like this. When your only point in life is to kill or make more people into monsters like yourself-- What is the point of living.

There it is.

Human-- It's near by.

Male.

I smell the salt of his sweat, the fiber of his hair, the blood in his veins-- The blood, yes I want the blood, to rip the tender flesh and watch the crimson juice flow onto the ground, to watch the pile of red and pink organs fall out of the vessal of human body.

The screaming of my victims is music to my ears.

I am cursed to never die.

But why would I want to live?

Found him.

He has a gun, but he's out of bullets, I can smell the hollowness and it doesn't matter if he can shoot-- I am faster than most as I grab him by his neck and pin him against the side of the building.

Looking into his eyes, they turn green in the right light-- I know him, human memories come back like a bad taste in my mouth and I think about all of the times I spent with him.

I know him.

And he knows me.

And this curse that has been made of me, makes me want to kill him.

I still want his blood and nothing can be done to stop that, I dig my nails into his throat but his eyes burrowed into mine-- The ones that no longer hold any soul, he still had the gun. He takes it off safety and loads a bullet into a chamber, so I was wrong there was one bullet left.

Kill me. . .

Set me free from this prison. . .

So many have tried to kill me and failed.

Now. . . You. . . Be the one to kill me. . .

One bullet into my chest, enough humanity left inside of me to allow him to pull the trigger.

Thank you.

There is no life in being one of the dead.

Shut down. . .
Mind.
Organs.
Heart.
Humanity.

I'm done.

You were the one to save me and set my soul free.

Shut down.

Survival of the Quickest.


Rust-colored dried blood
is plastered to a face.
If that is what you call it?

No shells in my pistol,
no air in my lungs....
I feel the sensation of falling.

Emaciated hands grope me,
with a ratteling breath,
and a simple blank stare.

Really, this is simple.
He just wants the flesh,
if it is mine, he does not care.

His face is gaunt,
and he has fresh cuts,
infected at best.

My heartbeat sets him off,
every dance of my pulse,
drawing him closer and closer in.

I could scream,
if it would help,
I could quiver.

But he has no conscience.
No guilt in his shell,
he just wants to make me his dinner.

So I think in science,
primal and instinctive,
I only must run faster....

And if this is the case,
anyone pumping blood
will satisfy my almost-captor.

Chucks to the pavement,
sweat rolls off my head,
I know what I must do.

Down desolate highways,
up hospital stairs,
I lead them to the broken,
the useless, but living,
I bring them all to you.

THE ASSASSIN

Temptations bite a holy night. The Vengeance moved by silent times.  The prayers don’t come close to mind as doors are shut with stones and lies. Evening loses its attentive shine and darkness illuminates the breaking sky. The hearing is soaked with groans and sighs as the streets scatter-empty like fearful flies.  As houses fill up with un-thoughtful   goodbyes, the footsteps begin with the shutting of eyes.  He hides in those cracks that seal up tight and wears the dark cloak that blocks most sight.  Empty expressions are stored in behind un-tearable masks with nothing to hide. The black and grey castles, many hold each prize but familiar victims individually rise. A final hault is on the by, as a face with forced hate starts to sign. Like there is no wall, he walks the line and enters the realm of a victims surprise.

Confusion ties a hunters wise. The fear-steps force to grow in size With every beat there is a tide that blows the fear into the blind. The ladder of heroes has yet to decline as the forced dark saviour begins his climb. The ringing in his head proceeds to their minds and touches the lair where nightmares lie. Though doors are blocked by misery ripe, hope, the stranger still will not find. The happiness blind, unlocks the right and the strangers keep is now burning bright. With his hidden hands he hires the knife and adds a face to the stolen lives.

Cold silence strikes a crying life. A creeper running from the lights with blood on his trail and gold in sight. The exits of cages are many but tight and wings to disaster are starting to flight. The living could not of seen the time of the dark savioured heroes saintfull crime The screams of the seen cannot be in eyes, for footsteps surround the one with most lies. In heavenly stones the fearful can see, the runner goes down to the ghosts destiny. The gates of the mirror show trembling signs and visions of gravestones with each organ lined.  The wanting grasps his hands as might, but cannot see the screams in sight with only hills to block his kite and temptress teeth to give the bite. Injustice takes over the night and the hero crescendos in through  the white and lets the angels give a cry as he fades in through the grey moonlight.

You know what would be hilarious? If someone would post a poem about the Miami Zombie

Devils from within
They were stuck in a frightening situation,
Feared by their thoughts and shadows of themselves.
Stirred mind walking in great passion.
Demons of hell, shouting thy name,
"Hail the master of evil!"
They scream until they get insane...
 
They were like vampires, craving for the blood of the master evil,
They suck, they crave and they sip for they thirst,
They tried to unleash their burdens,
They tried to unshackle themselves but they failed to conquer the thoughts of hell.
As they wipe the pain of hatred and deceive the people of the master were killed
by the devils from within....

ZOMBIE PORNO
I'll let you hit it doggy style
Just do not call me Lassie
I already took you home
Even bent over i look classy
You clench so tight
Your fingertips
Always be leaving
Fingerprints
The evidence
Is in my hips
But you had me plead the 5th
With the first lick of your lips
If you drop dead like Fred
Before my eyes it'd be traumatic
But your lovins so good
I'd fuck you dead
Nekromantic
We could make Zombie Porn
You know I'd be your fluffier
Eat your brains, drain your veins, run a train
Your friend's next, Sucker
And when I'm all done
You know I'll bury you proper
Cause I kill em all the time
Keep their dicks for a doorstopper