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Poetry competition CLOSED 27th April 2014 9:36am
WINNER
HadesRising
HadesRising
RUNNERS-UP:
crimsin
and PsychicApocalypse
Who has the most sinister mind, spirt, and soul?
Poetry Contest Description
This competition is for people who have a dark, twisted mind, spirt, and of course soul.
Feel free to express yourself. Im looking for the darkest most sinister 
poetic man/woman out there! The poems must be at least +200 characters long. Everybody is welcomed. PLEASE, no complaints about comments. I have no control over that human being. If you do win (which people will vote whos was the best)....you will be crowned "Most Sinister poet online."
P.S. This is for fun so enjoy yourself! May the odds be in your favor!
poetic man/woman out there! The poems must be at least +200 characters long. Everybody is welcomed. PLEASE, no complaints about comments. I have no control over that human being. If you do win (which people will vote whos was the best)....you will be crowned "Most Sinister poet online." P.S. This is for fun so enjoy yourself! May the odds be in your favor!
Anonymous
http://i1072.photobucket.com/albums/w371/missysub/BE0A6BE8-F176-4303-90BB-2CFEF9CF0666_zpshvlykwdd.jpg
The ballad of Sarah-Jane
They had forgotten
to make you a matching pair
of those deep green eyes,
your period dress frozen in time
the white laces on each tiny shoe
remained untied
and I was once jealous
of your porcelain skin,
the lack of effort needed
to stay thin and crinkle free
while immortality lay
effortlessly in your wake
there was no need
to attract the boys,
and protect your heart
from thieves, who
seduced by your beauty
would revel in your timeless gaze.
You just remained, attached and enslaved
as if reality was just too much to bare-
maybe you were crippled
by worldly pain,
became catatonic
and never awoke again
Oh Sarah-Jane, my spiteful light is in
your one remaining eye; your teacup fists
your perfectly smooth hair,
your pouting lips
and our spirits reside
locked inside this claustrophobic world
and will forever remain
with heart felt matching curls.
The ballad of Sarah-Jane
They had forgotten
to make you a matching pair
of those deep green eyes,
your period dress frozen in time
the white laces on each tiny shoe
remained untied
and I was once jealous
of your porcelain skin,
the lack of effort needed
to stay thin and crinkle free
while immortality lay
effortlessly in your wake
there was no need
to attract the boys,
and protect your heart
from thieves, who
seduced by your beauty
would revel in your timeless gaze.
You just remained, attached and enslaved
as if reality was just too much to bare-
maybe you were crippled
by worldly pain,
became catatonic
and never awoke again
Oh Sarah-Jane, my spiteful light is in
your one remaining eye; your teacup fists
your perfectly smooth hair,
your pouting lips
and our spirits reside
locked inside this claustrophobic world
and will forever remain
with heart felt matching curls.
Spiral cuts,
notice me,
an end of her
tied to a tree,
the other four,
fingers, toes,
nails hammered,
when flesh froze,
Can you see me,
blinkered cows?
See the anger
you arouse?
Hands didn't bleed,
that's the trick,
not a drop,
I made her lick
Tied her tight,
took her eyes,
her tongue too,
to stop the lies.
That was hard,
Nearly did it last,
with mangled screams
I tire fast.
They don't haunt me
or disappoint,
but if she can't beg,
then what's the point?
Took her skin,
laid it about,
tapped her bones,
sucked the marrow out,
licked my lips,
pinkish grin,
parted legs
to let me in,
Down I went,
on bended knee,
set the heat gun
up to three,
up it went,
with screaming too,
I almost wish
I could pity you.
Burns are artwork,
burns are life,
I knew them first,
before my knife,
The gun comes out,
its nozzle stuck,
down comes the dewer
from my truck.
"Frozen", you said,
your favourite movie,
if it's frozen you want,
that's as shall be,
The funnel fumes
with harmless mist,
as inside, your organs
will be kissed,
with liquid coldfire,
dry and wet,
pumped up inside you,
my frozen pet.
My parting gift,
though you cannot see,
is to hang hot water
from the tree,
for I cannot have
your life expire
until they see
my heart's desire.
notice me,
an end of her
tied to a tree,
the other four,
fingers, toes,
nails hammered,
when flesh froze,
Can you see me,
blinkered cows?
See the anger
you arouse?
Hands didn't bleed,
that's the trick,
not a drop,
I made her lick
Tied her tight,
took her eyes,
her tongue too,
to stop the lies.
That was hard,
Nearly did it last,
with mangled screams
I tire fast.
They don't haunt me
or disappoint,
but if she can't beg,
then what's the point?
Took her skin,
laid it about,
tapped her bones,
sucked the marrow out,
licked my lips,
pinkish grin,
parted legs
to let me in,
Down I went,
on bended knee,
set the heat gun
up to three,
up it went,
with screaming too,
I almost wish
I could pity you.
Burns are artwork,
burns are life,
I knew them first,
before my knife,
The gun comes out,
its nozzle stuck,
down comes the dewer
from my truck.
"Frozen", you said,
your favourite movie,
if it's frozen you want,
that's as shall be,
The funnel fumes
with harmless mist,
as inside, your organs
will be kissed,
with liquid coldfire,
dry and wet,
pumped up inside you,
my frozen pet.
My parting gift,
though you cannot see,
is to hang hot water
from the tree,
for I cannot have
your life expire
until they see
my heart's desire.
Anonymous
Freedom (as it were)
They're growing bigger and smaller
while the world spins disaster
labels are so old fashioned when
things keep getting faster
beyond the rabbit hole and down through the sky
the nails hammered in their coffins sound like
ticking clocks in an empty time
born to die a death not live a life
fenced and pastured before the long winter
like the inevitable slaughter is a conspiracy theory
eat me and drink me signs now assumed legitimate
nothing bad can come from a promise and a bankbook
as the plates shift underground and the core burns
always a little hotter
vanishing relatives from the tree of life as the leaves fall
burden laden to an angry earth
answers hanging from every particle
too many to count as useful as the last souls whimper
into a submission unsurpassed by any civilization prior
the first slaves born to say thank you for providing
the longer they're blindly signing their names
closing their senses in lieu of false assurances
the more I'd like to press the button
send the ending a little sooner
They're growing bigger and smaller
while the world spins disaster
labels are so old fashioned when
things keep getting faster
beyond the rabbit hole and down through the sky
the nails hammered in their coffins sound like
ticking clocks in an empty time
born to die a death not live a life
fenced and pastured before the long winter
like the inevitable slaughter is a conspiracy theory
eat me and drink me signs now assumed legitimate
nothing bad can come from a promise and a bankbook
as the plates shift underground and the core burns
always a little hotter
vanishing relatives from the tree of life as the leaves fall
burden laden to an angry earth
answers hanging from every particle
too many to count as useful as the last souls whimper
into a submission unsurpassed by any civilization prior
the first slaves born to say thank you for providing
the longer they're blindly signing their names
closing their senses in lieu of false assurances
the more I'd like to press the button
send the ending a little sooner
http://i425.photobucket.com/albums/pp333/LisaM0214/IMG_3563-Copy_zpsf0d8ac50.jpg
(Photo from my own collection, Mt. Auburn Cemetery, Cambridge Ma)
The Devil’s Secretary
When the pins behind my eyes
Start pricking, pricking, pricking,
The dark mask draws down
And gray thoughts come thickening.
Like thunderheads blown
On the wind, wind, wind—
I unsheathe my nails
To begin the dig at my skin.
The floodgate released
And blood flows, flows, flows;
A wave of red
To the place I must go:
The walk among the graves
In silence, gives, gives, gives,
A connection to those
Who no longer live.
Ah, they’re beautiful—
Don’t you see? Don’t you see?
All of my friends here
Waiting for me.
Eliza, this time,
I’ll lay me down, down, down
At your headstone atop
The old Victorian ground.
I’ll dig my hands in
To your dirt, dirt, dirt
Where I’ll touch your white bones
And there’s no more hurt.
Your silver cord’s cut
From your soul, gone of old;
Oh Eliza, today,
You’ve made me feel whole.
I’ll document this with care
Yes you’ll see, yes you’ll see—
Like I’ve done the others, proud,
As your Devil’s Secretary.
(Photo from my own collection, Mt. Auburn Cemetery, Cambridge Ma)
The Devil’s Secretary
When the pins behind my eyes
Start pricking, pricking, pricking,
The dark mask draws down
And gray thoughts come thickening.
Like thunderheads blown
On the wind, wind, wind—
I unsheathe my nails
To begin the dig at my skin.
The floodgate released
And blood flows, flows, flows;
A wave of red
To the place I must go:
The walk among the graves
In silence, gives, gives, gives,
A connection to those
Who no longer live.
Ah, they’re beautiful—
Don’t you see? Don’t you see?
All of my friends here
Waiting for me.
Eliza, this time,
I’ll lay me down, down, down
At your headstone atop
The old Victorian ground.
I’ll dig my hands in
To your dirt, dirt, dirt
Where I’ll touch your white bones
And there’s no more hurt.
Your silver cord’s cut
From your soul, gone of old;
Oh Eliza, today,
You’ve made me feel whole.
I’ll document this with care
Yes you’ll see, yes you’ll see—
Like I’ve done the others, proud,
As your Devil’s Secretary.
Anonymous
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Anonymous
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Anonymous
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Anonymous
Am into this
Anonymous
Wait 'til you see me touch the heavens
Anonymous
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