Faint at first the drums beat, then louder. 
I have been unchained, unleashed. 
My cell has been opened. 
I feel the rhythm beating within my chamber. 
The furnace glows red and blood like steel boils. 
Burning veins from within . 
Outside vultures. 
Circling, dancing in the sky on tattered wings. 
Spitting venom. 
Their shadows block out the Sun. 
In darkness I stand alone. 
The drums beat their monotone    
The flame burns violently. 
Fed by pain, my inferno. 
It’s heat burns the darkness away. 
Pain retreats. 
 I surrender myself. 
With hatred engulfed I roam, 
Incinerating the beasts, ripping out their tongues. 
And when the fires subside, 
I look back at glowing cinders and ash. 
I flee, from myself, I return bound to Tartarus, 
Alone . 
Until the drums beat their monotone. 

View comeni's Full Portfolio



Her eyes have fury in them


They are glossed over and red


You can see the anger in her eyes


She's about to explode


She trys to breath


In and out


Nothing happens


She is boiling


Red so fierce


Can't hold it


She's in a rage


She's lost all control


Cant contain it


Fire in her eyes


Can't fight it


She is on the verge


Pushing back


She's about to burst


She's going insane


She burst's into flames


She's gone.





View jordan1986's Full Portfolio

thrown under the bus

nowadays all she does is whine about her bodily pains,

but when you were left alone, 

she stayed drunk, prowling the bars

days on end, 

oblivious to the emotional wreckage left

on your chest, like a hot iron

melted through the tender heart of a 10 year old,

the open wound to the 


cauterized shut

too soon,

without even leaving any open flesh

for the pain to be released,

seared closed with the shame, pain, and false pride of generations,

sealed in for years like a safety box of magnets,

pulling you towards anything and everything self-destructive

in a desperate search for some morsel of hope,

that the next christmas dinner might be more than 

knocking on the doors of neighbors, being lucky enough to be

asked in to share a holiday meal, 

and an attempt to be noticed for something other than the burden

you were to her deep and fervent longing for 

the escape, into smoke filled rooms,

that reeked with the heavy, putrid smell of week-old frying grease,

cigarettes, and hairspray, that became one of your main

reasons for going to live with your dad--

other than the day she up and left for california,

a 50 dollar bill to substitute her mac and cheese, dribbled with 

one and a half inches of ashes off a pall mall,

only to be less than reluctantly welcomed by him,

and a stepbrother who most always was 

notably more worthy of better dirtbikes, nicer clothes 

and a much more frequent pat on the back 

for a job well done, 

that most often wasn't.


a dollar for him and quarter for you, along with the bottom bunk,

that smelled like pee from all the years he wet the bed,

only ever good enough for sloppy seconds--

and then there was brownie,

poor broken down swayback, with skin infections,

baldspots and degenertive bone disease,

in light of your brother's black stallion stud,

as if the 6 inch scar on the back of your leg wasn't enough 

from your father's drunken rage with a 4 inch hunting knife,

and the glass from the window that left it's souvenir the night he threw you

across the room, all before the age of 14.



i may have shot that horse between the eyes too.





11:37 PM 6/26/2013





Author's Notes/Comments: 

Just a poem about a kid.





A Ripple In Time

The Prompt Pit

Glass underneath her feet doesn't hurt

She's numb
She's a diamond dripping with blood
Pictures are discarded, cracked and she treads on them all.
His babies, his wedding, his memories with friends,
They pop and splinter and she absorbs the pain,
howls with sore laughter
Round and round the cold room,
His eyes are dead, but still he watches her kill his ghost.
With each step, her own mind grins.
Each crack of glass and she's young.
Each advance and she's laughing.
A garden, a holiday, a party
A slap, a scream, and long night.
She shrieks something wild and rips her untamed hair,
She was on fire, her skin peeling black
now she's extinguished in even blacker icy depths.
This ripple in time is curious,
but lasts no more than a minute.
Pretty little girl, now a vicious little lady,
View nelgenielark's Full Portfolio