" Twisted Things"

i want something that has to do with Twisted thing can be something thats has to do with nightmares or horror.Something that is  Twisted...

1.) new write
2.) 2 Weeks.
3.) Tittle
4.) Make It Something U Could Put In A Book.
Have A Week Poets ,Get Going

When twisted nature
robs you
of your children
when you look in the mirror
who do you blame
when a child lays dieing              
on a dirty street corner
or tired to a bed
screaming in vain
please
look at the children
who do you blame

thanks for starting! :)

The Leash in Daffinia

My name is Feobe
I am a purple
in the land called Daffinia

This essay is my diary
I write it to me

I grow weary of this leash
This green arm
always dragging me along
These green fingers
prying around in my clit
always keeping me down

I grow hatred toward this leash
This green
that lives as he pleases
and pulls me along
by my purple pussy lips
to his work, to the bar, to our dreadful home

I grow helpless by this leash
I am a purple
and he is a green
I make eye contact with a weeping purple in the grocery
She must be new
Her green looks annoyed

I despise this leash
There must be anything else
I must get out
When he's asleep?
But where would I go?
To another green
who would drag me along
to his work, to the bar, to our dreadful home
by my purple pussy lips

I lay my head down
In hopes of leisure sleep
And sweet dreams

And wake to scream

My mind does not stop for sugar laced
REM
It mighty spins to sour
And tremor flexed
Appendage

Panic filled head
Dreams floating corpse
Over naked bodies in torment

I recognize their grimaced faces
And hold them
They are cold
Blue lipped

And dangerous

Hmmmn I think I will join this one.

snake oil mechanics [with blastocyst in-utero flush]: decadent negligence

 
what if i hand you the keys to my car  
would you take it for a test drive  
go searching for something undetectable  
a glitch  
called the invisible truth  
 
 
or would you  
 
 
plug in your computer  
carbon black my tyres  
do a deal with the tortfeasor  
cut the umbilical OCD OBD  
[warning light systems paranoia]  
 
 
then  
 
 
after you tampered with the dash and demystified  
the smokescreen  
you tell me  
theres nothing wrong-  
sonwearingthrong  
 
 
[wrong... theres nothing]  
 
 
what if i offered you a child  
your own flesh and muck  
smeared into a panty-shield of dusk  
would you reach up into the sky  
and take this gift for a miracle  
 
 
or do you  
 
 
take it for a bastard  
dump it on the ground in the aura of her afterbirth  
do you squander love  
ignore the cries  
let it crawl aimlessly  
amongst the cigarette stubs and shattered glass  
in some virgin wasteland  
and make believe  
what you think you're not  
 
 
a precious cunt  
 



Written by Alexander Case

Basrah

I’m numb,
I can’t readily recall,
A moment under any clarity.
When I close my eyes ,
Into utter blackness
I see only sand.

Paranoia has stricken me to madness.
I sleep fully loaded for bear,
Spying constantly out my window,
Never really feeling prepared.

I still account on my blazoned time.
The windows were drenched in blood,
On this mechanized machinery.
I can still remember my first memory,
Covered in sweat.
“Fucking Christ,”
I thought.
The devils of slaved men create such chaos,
But I trembled at the thought of succumbing,
To splash of red.

Looking back unto that paradox,
Of a time kept close.
The guns were still spinning and the blood was pouring.
Till this day I can’t trust anything.
My perspective remains twisted.
For I believe the world to be,
Truly hideous…

Horror corridors filled with blood and gore dead bodies laid out, strewn across the floor, boards soaked in delightful decadence.
Nude bodies dripping lust unto quivering lips waiting like eager cum sluts fucked then dismembered, decomposed for necrophilia, the sustenance of ambrosia.
Why is it raining blood while the sun is out? Flesh being mortified by self-flagellation, the Opus Dei of self-righteous planning, the Fuhrer of insidious demands; make it hurt good so I can cum all over his ass.
The instrumental insemination birthed through hatred and anticipation, the anti-Christ, anti-God, anti-establishment of a dying star, an anti-Earth the destruction of love.
Sacrificial virgins, spilling blood on hollow ground, faceless from a Hannibal diet of digesting the incisions over deformed eyelids and skull fucked for good measure.
Left of disposal from worm-like appendages sucking out Satan's seed through perforated pee holes, burning retinas, and dilated pupils. For they derive excited pleasure from pain.

We get to die all over again.

clown

Down deep under the street
beneath the cockroach
bellow your feet
it sits and weeps
it lies and sleeps

bathing in the dusty ooze
it crawls around in search of booze
light shines through pin pricked holes
the creature lives beneath the moles

in the sludge and shit
it finds a phone
the glow of the screen
lights up the bones

(inspired by Stephen kings 'It' 1986)

HITCH HIKE

She walks by the edge of a road that winds
through low hills on either side, carpeted

with yellow wild flowers, thinning as they
begin to spoil, die from their spring riot.

The heat of day is tempered aloft by
cotton ball clouds, a still life vista of

Impressionism, giving respite to
the hiker, turning, to face the sound
that approaches now in the breathless air,

of an old junkyard pickup skidding the
gravel, and creaks as it idles, waiting.

In a rocking motion, the door hinge pops,
swinging wide; a rusting invitation.

A black Labrador drops low to the floor,
its wide yellow glare, its tail wagging slow.

The shadowy figure of the driver
who sharply barks a command, "Cutter, GIT!".

Alert, without hesitation, the dog
jumps behind the seat without a sound.

The young woman squints behind her Raybans,
wary to chance it on the road on foot.

She thinks, "I'm a white girl, and he owns a dog.
He will protect me when it becomes dark."

Assured  by her thoughts, she pulls herself in.
The engine roars, the tires spin, sending

her and the truck hurtling down the road
toward the horizon, as the driver howls.

She leans out the window, hanging on tight,
the dog under her arm, her hair stretched back,

off her ears and neck, flowing into the
face of the Labrador's hitch hiker's head.

His ears and tongue warp in the dry, fierce gale
of speed cutting rapidly through a

blurred vision's flight, to the intangible,
comes the night, of an unwise decision.

Renga: POET’s MIND

ancestor’s shōtō
displays on dark wood
dragon tsuba sleeps

one thousand washi sheets
reisho katakana stained, litter
cranes on a lake

right-hand fudé clutches
rests on table palm to heavens
fool’s broom

thick brown ink drips
from blade, hand, brush and table
fog in dawn cypress

haijin sleepless
days and nights relentless
tiger in deepest wood

the poet ends
last lines gleam in candle light
warm in dawn’s sun

left-hand pries
brush from cold severed right
demons in fire light

kanji in drying blood
brush stroking life from death
cranes flying once more

ceaseless
raving
night…

Author’s Note:
shōtō = short sword
tsuba = carved blade guard
washi = rice paper
reisho katakana – Japanese clerical calligraphy
fudē = calligraphy brush
haijin = highly skilled poet in the Japanese short form
kanji = the pictographic characters of Chinese
and Japanese calligraphy

Fighting For Memories

chaining me to this solitary confinement
whispering relentlessly, I pray for silence
brick by brick, I build a wall of seclusion
Eyes stitched shut by evil delusions
Tricked and tempted by his shiny illusions

Empty promises floating on big white clouds
my dreams lay around me, disemboweled
Short lived euphoria, flash backs to happiness
what i took for granted haunting me, I'm trapped in this
A reoccurring roundabout of what it felt like to breathe
High on the friction of skin against steel strings
My jagged edges fitting it's smooth wooden curves
soul mates made from the same ghostly Birch

He knows the way in, my biggest weakness
Depression, anxiety, pain, I feel hopeless
My continual search for complete and utter numbness
I just can't take feeling so fucking worthless

I hold up the glass ball, the room is silent
A chuckle erupts, menacing, violent
You're so pathetic, try and defy me!
Fated to eternal disassociated despondency
Shattering the glass, I hear him, "OBEY ME!"
You broke me, abused me, you're the one who made me
You created inside me a strength, an idiosyncrasy
Now it's my turn to chuckle at what I now see
a pathetic, decrepit demon cowering at MY feet