My passion for the antagonistIt's an eerie feeling lost out on a ledge when everything begins to crumble away.My passion for the antagonist by ericinprogress
A gentle breeze sets in motion an honest need to let go of my sad little balloon.
Most of the time I figure I could hold onto it a little longer if it means I
can still have you.
Let's pretend leaving it all behind isn't easier said than done.
One day I don't see myself coming back from this tricky little place in my head.
Sometimes my passion for the antagonist twists my stomach with every thought of you,
Thinking this time will be a slippery slope if I let you circle the drain with
all the regret that brings me here again.
ScreamThe vibrating leaves on beaten brick trees,Scream by SadisticYellowBird
They are our thoughts, they scream on repeat,
To the golden brown light in the forsaken distance,
They scream for release to a place that is vacant;
Fearless echoes never to be heard.
Water is violently hitting the brick,
From a neighboring pond reeking of familiar regret,
Seeking to awaken the eye of cement,
Trusting it to reach out one crumbling limb from unilateral descent,
To overdose the accumulation of bright lightning lament,
With poison from a weathered vile and supposedly foul intent.
Yet the discarded marauder will not awaken;
A sleep everlasting riddles this patient.
And with no one left to rob with defensive hand,
The water eternally spreads.
With the cascading, tumultuous, ocean there is a new beginning,
In which the murky sea is filled with broken bones and rotting bodies,
Of those who once composed the screams.
obscene gamethe place is filthyobscene game by katsumoto82
her naked body is cold
her hands are bound with barbed wire
each movement pushes
the barbed wire in her skin
her blood flows on her breasts
the pain is unbearable
this game is very hard
his phantasm is indecent
This love is an torture
however, she loves this weird man
who sometimes drinks her blood
when this obscene game is finished
What is a void?What is a void?What is a void? by coolmark82
A hole, a missing place
Felt deep within ourselves
There's no escape
From something within us
This void, this gruesome reality
For as pitch dark and unseen
As it's unforgiving claws are
Sneaking up, ripping apart
Our flesh, especially our hearts
Nothing but meager waste in it's eyes
This void, this valley
The place I'll always dread
Always sabotaging what's left of me
Like wildfire, like the burning trees
It only spreads, and leaves charred remains
Killing the animals in this blaze
They couldn't escape
Just as this void took them, innocently
As the innocence of this void is dreaded
So is this world blinded
That love isn't what it seems to be
It is a suicide waiting to happen
Mine ownOur rushing blood,Mine own by SearingLlama
These broken bones,
Our holy land,
A wasted plain,
This beating heart,
All in vain,
Ending in our pain,
I was never enough,
I'm never the same,
It's been so long,
You wouldn't even,
Know who I am,
I caused the rain,
The storms that,
Followed you endless,
Every drop of blood,
I spent each day,
Was another year,
In a disillusioned,
Hope I'd be free,
Still I'll find damnation,
To be that which I am,
A life form,
Purposed only to create
SchizophiliaA wintry bloomSchizophilia by poisoned-poet
The black rose's embrace
Tragedy taints the air
Crimson stains the grey
Fangs sink into supple flesh
With poison so very sweet
The world shatters like glass
Before eyes blackened by deceit
A bitter caress
Ripping, amorous claws
The soul's too frigid and raw
The dream unraveled
Threads of corruption
Within the mirror
Choked by mist
An ever-growing cyst
Cinnamon Souls"You're mixing water in your coke again."Cinnamon Souls by UntamedUnwanted
"You do that when you worry."
"I'm always worried."
"No, you're usually cinnamon-in-your-tea worried. This is water-in-coke worried and that is seriously beginning to freak me out."
"What are you worried about?"
"You're going to think it's stupid."
"Well...do you ever wonder about the kind of guy you're waiting for?"
"I think we all wonder about that guy, love."
"I've been thinking about him more often than not lately. What he would be like, I mean."
"Oh. Well...if it helps any, I know what mine would be like."
"Sure. He will be tall, so I have to stand on my toes to kiss him. He will be kind so I can tell him anything without fearing him judging me. He will be strong so he can carry me when I fall."
"Wow. Sounds like you have this figured out. I guess we all have some idea about what our soulmate should be like."
"You know what yours will be like then?"
"No, I'm talking to the li
The Witch's Admirers Simple etiquetteThe Witch's Admirers by autumnlit
and simple needs
for another space to be.
but fruit is costly
and bones are far from rot.
Why do you burn me,
for perils I have with fraught?
(~ frightened by the powers, that we have not ~)
The Pit"Can you not hear those fearless whispers? Do they not fill you with awe, with woe, with fear?"The Pit by SadisticYellowBird
"Indeed, I can hear them, and scarcely nothing more. But still I stand my ground, not amazed, unamused, and I shed not a single tear."
The end will come soon.
Explore the murky abyss.
There are no stars, there is no moon.
No light will be seen at the end of this tunnel,
With walls that pulsate.
Sides that are slick.
The screams...the whispers.
Clouds of smoke caressing each syllable,
Words of exclamation careening over the hill.
The hill that houses the dead, our visitors.
Existing within each molecule.
Reaching towards each mirrored reflection.
We live in the waste of what they've consumed.
We crawl through their sewage,
Wearing their rotten flesh as clothes.
Daily they multiply in groups of tens.
We make their bones into our personalized tooth-picks,
To rip away the remains of their souls.
"Can you not feel their discarded bones as they punctu
BlankThe black of night envelopes the mind,Blank by SadisticYellowBird
and the toxic pleasure reminds,
That everything around is not some glorious product of life;
Rather, all is the nectar produced by the reaper, slaying all it finds.
The numbing indifference like a cloud come to life,
But it too feels nothing, it was never read its last rights.
For them it will flea,
Trying to leave you be,
But you'll miss the comfort of knowing nothing...
More so than anything.
It stands correct to wonder,
Why not just let it go?
The loss could be for the better,
Or maybe it would be for the worse.
If the sack of bones,
Writing with these meaningless sounds,
Could tell you their thoughts?
They would be at a loss for words.
Their paper would rest blank.