Poet Introduction Just a girl with a passion for writing all types of poetry My kink is dark poetry and dark erotica I write dark erotica poetry under the pseudonym Soara BloodRayne which can be found here on DU
When I told your family of your bravery and resolution, you said I was “exaggerating.” When I told your friends how you always balanced conviction with compassion, you said I was “exaggerating.”
On each visit, I told everyone how you saved my life; you said I “was exaggerating.” There was NO “exaggeration.” Your wounds were silent witness, confirming it all. If it hadn’t been for you, my life would have ended… at age 19…in that green abattoir.
White absorbent cotton, repels blood-stained truth. As conscious thought is left, to dangle off the serrated edge, of projected guilt.
Punch drunk existence calms the wearer, who stumbles over stockpiles of lies and deterrants shredded into facetiae for lockdown entertainment Anal probe stuffs silence with its $600 applicator due to expire upon dependence
Soon, you will bow to the blonde bimbo without cleavege, who rocks the world with her monotoned confidence. Spitting her fascist bukkaki laced ...
Heat wave mirage creates shapes that hang from the dreadful vine. Buds with promise, appear to melt onto the vinyl paint Words peel, into curls fallen to the floor, from the rounded windowsill, not meant to hold anything except, all the promises never kept. The ones that leap off and shout I told you so .
Vintage suitcase, in the ugliest shade of green, leaks pieces of your mind small fragments you once shared with me . They leak, into a manual sieve, where I spend too much time filtering, the good shit that floats...
Injustice, fed by piecemeal for the followers, desperate and hungry. What have we become? A collection of hypnoid mortals beyond reproach? Ejected from our pattern, thrown into preformed geometric shapes?
Laying ourselves down on sheets of mica, our books no longer used, stacked high as a nightstand beside our multidimensional mattress.
We sink into our psilocybin dreams, the sleeper, who cheapens reality by ripping dull pages, from glossy magazines, model lives leave no excuse, to pay attention. ...
Stillness, below sheltered skies that wrap me in her love. I lie down on needles of ancient pine, warmed by her heart, that will shine forever
Stained glass memories surround me, reminding me of who I am No longer searching for my purpose, my intention Mother of all, connects with me, my pride is released, I accept the blessings of this sacred earth.
Amongst the trees and boulder-strewn hills the land where Wapiti does travel I was open to receive, energy from the...