horror

Lost to Sea

light a fire just to watch it burn
Sit across the street with empty hands
Behind a tree unnoticed, so it's not my turn 
I have infinite thoughts, but empty plans

Ending up only to be pretty hollow
Ideas only stay for portion of a second
Echoing through the empty walls. and then comes nothing
Diffusing into the air, to become a forgotten particle
and nothing comes to follow


To set the ominous breeze,
Over the most vibrant sea, that suddenly lost color
and the skies are now gone and dull
They paint the picture to not excite, but simply appease


To be trapped inside this now and empty void
With nothing but everything destroyed
To say that we are fine, and simply avoid
Now we sail, swift onto the large sea of contradictions
Too lost within, that we forget our own convictions
Letting loose the anchor of anxiety, and thus become the restrictions

 

But this is not the end,
A man aboard throws over his only friend
And a storm rolls in, and then our destination is not known
As realization becomes the new sun, and hearts are turned to stone
A daughter now deserted by her parents is overwhelmed in strife
She whimpers, but can not help wonder what makes up this sickly life
A world where people phase in, and phase out
and thoughts become ideas, and ideas become a shout
and how long does a day go on to stay out and last,
Before awesome expectations become invisible, straight into the past?

 

Will the ship find it's way to land, or sink in despair?
Great ideas no match for the roaring waves of Negativity and ignorance?
Those striving so long for a real sun, to only be in vain, deprived?
And those hopelessly waiting for relief, to be cruelly concealed, unaware?

 

The masterpiece of a book now weathered to nothing but scribbles
A great idea now hidden and destroyed by life's cruel riddles
Will the hands be strong at ease to create another inspiration?

Or will it fail to swim over the simplest waves and forget it's own foundation?






Permanent death

He fed off fear in the weak;

He showed no sympathy for the meek.

There was an empty space in his soul

And only blood could make him whole.

He would suck life from the living just because he was bored

Nothing could stop him not even the Lord.

The victim would always scream in horror and despair

Every loved one at the time was unaware.

Trembling and shaking their eyes filled with tears

She had no emotion other than her fears.

Then it happened, murder can’t be undone

He did what he always did he had to pack up and run.

The scene was always brutal, cruel, and deadly

He unstained the walls of blood while humming a medley.

This was his life and never failed to cover his tracks

But it wasn’t long until he stroke again with his axe.

 
Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem I had to right for my English class that had to create a "macabre tone" 

View jessicaschwaeble's Full Portfolio

A Hole: Pain Through The Brain

Folder: 
Dreams

I waked up,

In the mirror I had my closeup.

There was a hole in my throat,

Fastly I slipped into my coat.

 

I went to the hospital,

I was worried I recall.

I gave the fault to Abra,

Who was able to the macabre.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A dream I had.

View sickyx666's Full Portfolio

The wind howls red

 

 

 

Fingers frozen, jacket tight, the merlot leaves taking flight

Foot steps long ,quick in pace, better hurry home, you are not alone

The wind howls red, the chill runs deep, you should be in bed, to Grandmas keep

The bramble cottage comes in sight, everyones sleeping, there is no light

You skip closer, just a little more, oblivious to the danger lurking beyond the door.

 
C.Grainger

Dr Clockstop's Sinister Sideshow

Off with your tweed and on with my silk,

The colourful carriage rears over the hill,

The Sinister Sideshow has come back to town,

Do you hear that unmistakable sound?

The clunking and banging of Clockstop's things,

Books and such, yes, and an army of strings. 

Strings, you say? Yes! His puppet display!

 Never been seen, always hidden away,

We know that they're locked in carriage number three,

If he sees you, I'll say it was nothing to do with me!

But enough of that now, On With The Show!

Starting off with a bow so unnaturally low, 

The leader's a dwarf, so we all know his face,

Then his ladies are adorned with silk, string and lace,

Blues, greens and reds dazzle drinkers and wives,

Diamonds glimmer lights into transfixed eyes,

There are songs of old friendships and songs of old lovers,

But the men see not stories, just girls in bright colours. 

'That's rather sinister...' Hmm? Yes, it is...

But old Clockstop knows where all these men live.

That is the trick of Doctor Clockstop's routine, 

You can leave if you manage to keep your hands clean!

Those who don't often boo at the Final Act,

As the puppet show dancers are emotionless and flat. 

But do not be fooled, for the puppets aren't wood.

I might have suggested you run, if I could...

Doctor Clockstop will follow with puppets in hand,

You can plead, but don't expect him to understand:

Men who grope women and make crude remarks,

Can expect to be treated with the same disregard.

"You were leering, and that reflects little respect..."

Now you're dead, with a puppet string tied round your neck.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

© Lizzie Ayres, 2013

I am dead

I am dead, that is that, right now my only friend, is this scary rat, I'm in a sewer, it smells real bad, a man shoved my body here, it was real sad, he killed me with a gun, a blow in my chest, then he put me in this sewer, and laid me to rest, the funny thing is, I wasn't completely dead, he put me down here, and thought in his head, " she must be dead, I shot her heart", no actually, you missed that part, so for a few hours I laid, in agony and pain, trying to keep, myself sane, now I am dead, I'm sad to be, and I haunt the man who murdered me.

Abdul Alhazred

Folder: 
Poetry

Alhazred was born in Yemen,

Traveling in the known world;

Amassing lore and legend,

And the tales of the fiends.


 

A writer and a poet,

He was educated much.

Geometry, algebra, Alchemy

And magickal incantations' need.


 

From the cup of occult knowledge

He drank deep...

Driving a normal person

To madness or beyond.


 

Alhazred was once a normal man,

With desires like we all can.

He was Arab by birth,

With a pale skin in rebirth.


Being labeled the mad,

As he was once a dad.

But had to eat his child,

By the King of the Palace's might.


 

He wrote down the Necronomicon,

In more than one song...

The obscure, the forgotten,

The suppressed, the rotten.


Never meant to be read;

It causes insanity with speed.

Not interpreted rationally,

The thoughts cause a rally.


 

Alhazred was insane,

By the lore he learned within.

But he wrote clear,

With many a tear.


 

The state of the Universe,

In reality suspense;

Plaything of mad gods at best,

Sewer of evil in the north, south, east, west.


 

Humans dare not dream of this,

For their peaceful lives they cannot miss.

A warning and guide this book is,

And by the Djinns you do wish.


 

Alhazred died, not a mystery,

It is written in history.

In the marketplace,

He was erased.


By the Demon from beyond,

Who wanted him gone.

Blood upon the sand,

There he was banned.


In broad daylight,

With many a sight.

 

He meddled with evil things,

With beings with wings.

He is now dead,

After he bled...

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem about the Mad Poet Abdul Alhazred who wrote the Necronomicon.

who am i?

 

when all confidence has left you,

and you feel bereft of love,

forsaken by those who claimed they cared,

that's when i'll fit you like a glove.

 

i'll wait behind your neediness,

and use arrogance, he's my friend,

i'll have you projecting all of me 

onto children, women, and men.

 

that's when i do my finest work,

and all of me i'll bring,

when others up and leave you,

i'll infect you, and do my thing.

 

my presence will be cunning,

my manipulation sly,

i'll have you wrapped around me,

you won't even ask yourself why.

 

the more of you i can consume,

the larger we become,

to contaminate all is what i want,

'cause YOUR pain, to me, is FUN!

 

a fiendish scowling wimp, you see,

a psychopath, my dear,

enjoying all your suffering,

your kidnapper...i'm fear.

 

 

 

 

10:07 AM 6/22/2013 ©

Author's Notes/Comments: 

the only thing to ever fear, is fear itself. ~franklin d. roosevelt~

 

and that's the truth.

 

.

Fear's House Of Mirrors

fear is the king 

 

of a coward's delight,

 

fear rules illusions

 

that cloud all fools' sight,

 

fear wants compliance

 

adoration and praise,

 

fear becomes arrogance

 

when you challenge his gaze,

 

turning the tables around 

 

can be bliss,

 

when I make friends with fear

 

his intentions I twist,

 

fear uses everyone

 

and makes them his slaves,

 

fear turns the souls 

 

of some dead in their graves,

 

fear teases weaknesses 

 

of youth and of old,

 

fear changes hearts of warmth

 

into stone cold,

 

fear is the god 

 

that brings glory to killing,

 

fear is the god 

 

that makes the spineless willing,

 

motivation of many is controlled by fear,

 

due to principles twisted,

 

and virtues unclear,

 

many will use fear,

 

unwilling to see,

 

their fears are controlling them

 

clear as can be,

 

if ever you see one who 

 

worries too much,

 

believe it is fear that is

 

gaining their trust,

 

 

fear is a mirror


when we've lost our way,

 

that tells us "forget love, honey...


I'm your hero...please stay?"

 

misguided people fall into fear's rut,

 

they slip and fall in,


losing touch with their gut,

 

banish your worries


and live in the now,

 

To strongarm your fears,


honeybun, this is how!!

 

 

6:57 PM 6/19/2013 ©

 
Author's Notes/Comments: 

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