Submissions by Demogorgon
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
I write because if I didn't I would commit suicide; if I died Heaven and Hell would be at a violent war about who should take my soul. If this war happens, humanity's misery increases a thousand fold. So I must write.
SELF POEM
Published
13th May 2013 3:17pm
13th May 2013 3:17pm
My First Date
Subira was her name.
She used to sit in front of the class,
And I sat at the back to view her ass.
I’d drop my ruler or pencil
Beneath her desk, and ask politely
To be allowed to fetch it,
Just so my hands could
Stray to touch her legs.
She’d look at me and smile,
And sometimes laugh,
And say I was cheeky,
Calling me an imp, and a devil.
In P.E. class I’d look for her,
And wait to take her hand
When the teacher said we form a circle;
She’d notice me and smile,
And sometimes laugh,
And say I was cheeky, ...
She used to sit in front of the class,
And I sat at the back to view her ass.
I’d drop my ruler or pencil
Beneath her desk, and ask politely
To be allowed to fetch it,
Just so my hands could
Stray to touch her legs.
She’d look at me and smile,
And sometimes laugh,
And say I was cheeky,
Calling me an imp, and a devil.
In P.E. class I’d look for her,
And wait to take her hand
When the teacher said we form a circle;
She’d notice me and smile,
And sometimes laugh,
And say I was cheeky, ...
1438 reads
23 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
6th May 2013 11:07pm
6th May 2013 11:07pm
3 Seconds In Hell
I died for 3 seconds, and went straight and unhindered to Hell. Upon my arrival, the Devil came and took my left hand; and we stood, like Father and Son, before that infamous immensity of molten fire, the limitless, unquenchable expanse of mucilaginous horror, that cracked and crackled to reveal its seething white-hot underbelly. The Devil asked me to choose whether to be cast into the squirming hostility immediately or to wait awhile as I watched my fellow humans boil and broil and scream in eternal agony. He said that he often loved people to just stay and watch on their first day of...
1126 reads
20 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
29th Apr 2013 12:40pm
29th Apr 2013 12:40pm
Like a Needle. Like a Nut.
931 reads
18 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
26th Apr 2013 9:11pm
26th Apr 2013 9:11pm
I Hear the Sound of Inevitability
I hear the sound of inevitability;
It is a cruel and cold sound,
From afar, deep and profound,
Carrying with it ineluctability—
Where down prostrate I lie,
Turning and turning on sores untold,
A sight too torturous to truly behold;
I wait retired to ascend the sky.
Shadows stupendous shift and swoop;
Shapes of vast sizes and stern intentions;
Phantoms of evil haunting my deliberations;
Harbingers hovering where I droop—
From a long life of troubles and trials:
A life of learning through mistakes and regrets,
Of eternal...
It is a cruel and cold sound,
From afar, deep and profound,
Carrying with it ineluctability—
Where down prostrate I lie,
Turning and turning on sores untold,
A sight too torturous to truly behold;
I wait retired to ascend the sky.
Shadows stupendous shift and swoop;
Shapes of vast sizes and stern intentions;
Phantoms of evil haunting my deliberations;
Harbingers hovering where I droop—
From a long life of troubles and trials:
A life of learning through mistakes and regrets,
Of eternal...
841 reads
13 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
26th Apr 2013 6:59pm
26th Apr 2013 6:59pm
Honey, There Is Something at the Corner of Your Eye!
Honey, there is something
at the corner of your eye,
your left eye; a small red blob,
but I can see it from here.
Don’t rub at it, dear,
please; it may get in and
trouble you a great deal;
maybe it’s salty, or has
vinegar, or something,
else unpleasant to your
delicate eye.
Let me come closer, and
I shall remove it for you.
Here, let me wet
my handkerchief a little.
There, done!
Ah! It’s but a sauce, my dear;
the baby may have put it there;
or you did it yourself while
serving us dinner.
Here, see it? So...
at the corner of your eye,
your left eye; a small red blob,
but I can see it from here.
Don’t rub at it, dear,
please; it may get in and
trouble you a great deal;
maybe it’s salty, or has
vinegar, or something,
else unpleasant to your
delicate eye.
Let me come closer, and
I shall remove it for you.
Here, let me wet
my handkerchief a little.
There, done!
Ah! It’s but a sauce, my dear;
the baby may have put it there;
or you did it yourself while
serving us dinner.
Here, see it? So...
933 reads
13 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
25th Apr 2013 2:55pm
25th Apr 2013 2:55pm
On the Threshold
Behold,
When you grow old,
Life takes a different fold,
As the virtuous values you’d still love to uphold,
Now seem abused, trampled, and untold.
Your body enfeebles and surrenders its bold:
For you breath is doled
Out in miserable gasps and rasps all sold.
Life once glittered and gleamed with brilliance and radiance of gold;
Now it’s mucky and murky, covered with impure immoral mold.
You’d love to put a smile upon faces gone cold,
But the cold catches cause—gluey upon the countenances that give it hold.
Life becomes slippery; you can...
When you grow old,
Life takes a different fold,
As the virtuous values you’d still love to uphold,
Now seem abused, trampled, and untold.
Your body enfeebles and surrenders its bold:
For you breath is doled
Out in miserable gasps and rasps all sold.
Life once glittered and gleamed with brilliance and radiance of gold;
Now it’s mucky and murky, covered with impure immoral mold.
You’d love to put a smile upon faces gone cold,
But the cold catches cause—gluey upon the countenances that give it hold.
Life becomes slippery; you can...
775 reads
6 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
12th Apr 2013 2:23pm
12th Apr 2013 2:23pm
These Roses
These roses grow on me
They suck my energy
They feed on my flesh
They live because I am dead
This used to be my home
Then my family
Thinking me dead
Sold it for bread
And the new tenants
Thinking me dead
Planted roses
On my head
She waters them daily
The woman
With the pale thighs
And the flaming hair
I see her daily
She straddles my body
And waters it
For the roses
I see her legs
Her thighs
Her crotch
And her panties
...
They suck my energy
They feed on my flesh
They live because I am dead
This used to be my home
Then my family
Thinking me dead
Sold it for bread
And the new tenants
Thinking me dead
Planted roses
On my head
She waters them daily
The woman
With the pale thighs
And the flaming hair
I see her daily
She straddles my body
And waters it
For the roses
I see her legs
Her thighs
Her crotch
And her panties
...
868 reads
4 Comments
FICTIONAL PROSE
Published
10th Apr 2013 10:49am
10th Apr 2013 10:49am
The Pencil
It was three in the morning, and the silence in the Architecture and Design Building was palpable, ominous. Even the Architecture and Design students, who usually played loud and rowdy music at this hour, had left. A cold breeze seeped through a broken windowpane and stung Casper’s back, but he did not wince, because it was the breeze that really kept him awake. Apart from his sheer determination to study through tonight, he also needed the sharp, biting edge of the breeze to frighten sleep off his eyes. But determination of the tepid kind borne out of exam phobia could wear down, especially...
1098 reads
2 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
10th Apr 2013 10:26am
10th Apr 2013 10:26am
Payday
Twas on 31st of May.
In the company I worked for ’twas the great payday;
My salary still hot I felt confident enough to meet a woman and have a say,
So I took my car and rolled downtown where I could find a lay.
I drove on Thighland Street, ahead of which there was a hotel,
Behind which, in an unlit alleyway, stood a motel;
And a little bit further down, a brothel.
The girl was sitting sprawled at the door;
She had no panties and her posture concealed nothing more.
Her lips were parted, sucking seductively at her index finger;
Her right hand...
In the company I worked for ’twas the great payday;
My salary still hot I felt confident enough to meet a woman and have a say,
So I took my car and rolled downtown where I could find a lay.
I drove on Thighland Street, ahead of which there was a hotel,
Behind which, in an unlit alleyway, stood a motel;
And a little bit further down, a brothel.
The girl was sitting sprawled at the door;
She had no panties and her posture concealed nothing more.
Her lips were parted, sucking seductively at her index finger;
Her right hand...
818 reads
0 Comments
DARK POEM
Published
9th Apr 2013 2:48pm
9th Apr 2013 2:48pm
My Friend, What Are You Eating?
935 reads
4 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Demogorgon
