Forums → Art, Music, and Writing → Morbid Literature

Meh...new poem.

Thanks, bronze. Do you have anything new??? Pweease?
I did see Deloric a while ago. Pretty good.

Thanks, bronze. Do you have anything new??? Pweease?
I did see Deloric a while ago. Pretty good.

That he's going right to hell

Crossroads

You hide your head
As the tears fall
Because you're dead
Can't ever stand tall
Blood drips to the floor
And you're always wanting more

And though you're weeping
Blood is seeping
I want you to scream
To make a choice
And make certain
They hear your voice

Time and time again
As the clock ticks
Toward the end
That's what everybody picks
The road of evil, to the night
They walk away from the light

We're at a crossroads, friend
It's looking like the end
And I never thought I'd say this
But I never thought I'd be remiss
So I'll say it anyway
Because the world's ending today

Make a choice
So they hear your voice
As the crossroads approach
And stamp out the evil darkness
Just as you would a roach
And the frozen ice
Reach through the lies
And come straight to your soul
And that reminds you
As the bell rings its final toll

Janus laughs, watching you
Past him, the doorways true
One dark, one light
One will lead you through the light
One will take you to the night
And you'll die either way
So why do you care
But what will you say?

Crossroads

You hide your head
As the tears fall
Because you're dead
Can't ever stand tall
Blood drips to the floor
And you're always wanting more

And though you're weeping
Blood is seeping
I want you to scream
To make a choice
And make certain
They hear your voice

Time and time again
As the clock ticks
Toward the end
That's what everybody picks
The road of evil, to the night
They walk away from the light

We're at a crossroads, friend
It's looking like the end
And I never thought I'd say this
But I never thought I'd be remiss
So I'll say it anyway
Because the world's ending today

Make a choice
So they hear your voice
As the crossroads approach
And stamp out the evil darkness
Just as you would a roach
And the frozen ice
Reach through the lies
And come straight to your soul
And that reminds you
As the bell rings its final toll

Janus laughs, watching you
Past him, the doorways true
One dark, one light
One will lead you through the light
One will take you to the night
And you'll die either way
So why do you care
But what will you say?

Dangit stupid double post. So sorry.

How many times have we dreamed
Just to fall down
How many lies have we screamed
The world's upside-down
How many feet will we climb
Just to collapse
It's not worth a dime
We can never relax

Why do you walk
The world's headed for hell
How can you mock
Us, we'll need to sell
In time, our souls
What has become of this?
Another lie,
Truth to die, truth to die

Justify our meaning
To run, or to shout
But there's nothing remaining
Are we inside or out
So turn around
Touch the ground
And never be sent down

A tanka I wrote for the poetry contest.

As the earth takes hold
As we all feel dark and cold
Crying inside, dead
With the lies stuck in my head
Drowning in my blood and tears

One Bitter Winter's End

This bitter winter's end
I welcome you, hello my friend
While I write, this frigid night
The winds moan and no help shall be received
But we shall not lose hope, somehow we'll cope
Over the screams of the bereaved
And as we tie the gallows rope

And the chill, us it will kill
Just like an icy sickness
And I pray to God, that somehow I can fix this
And our souls we've sold
To the shatt'ring cold
In the fire is our lust
And the biting winds, through the night they'll call us
We are trapped, our greatest fear
Is not to see our loved ones dear
And the winds will blow
With us all in tow
Right through the chilling fall of snow

It's just our time, there's no reason nor a rhyme
And the slicing winter's gale
Shakes the trees and souls, so frail
And at the end of the darkest tunnel
There is no light, just the agony of cold
And we'll still be doing this when we're eighty years old
Why did we sign up for this, digging six feet under

And the icy snow came
Snuffing us out like a candle's flame
And the ice will crack!
Like a pistol shot
Through the cold embrace
And the deadliest attack, the most accursed is this place
And leave us there to rot

Of our lives there's not a trace
And the bells a'ringing
The souls a'singing
They're calling us to hell
And I just hope that we'll all be treated well

Our final wheezing, icy gasps
Coughing out the final task
To deliver this missive, do it fast
So we can rest in peace, at long last

And so, this bitter winter's end
I bid farewell to you, my friend

Very nice, Moat. I sorta felt a connection to that one, seeing as how my Username is "Polar"X. Is there a length limit on these entries, though? Cuz I have a short story Im rather proud of, and I was wondering if I could post it here. A bit lengthy though, but not freakishly long.

I'm glad you liked it. =). That one was hard to write.
No, there's no limit. Go ahead and post it here. As long as it's morbid.

Oh, it is.

"Priscilla," a Gothic, Poe-Inspired Short Story.

She was mine. She was mine and we both knew it. Priscilla. Just the sound of her name, nay, the mere mention thereof was and is enough to send my heart aflutter in unyielding love and desire. Priscilla, that pristine goddess of my very soul, with her raven's-wing black hair cascading down upon her ever-worthy shoulders. Priscilla, with those two glistening orbs upon her divine face, which of whom were the of the deepest and most beautiful azure. Which of whome will penetrate one's very soul; which of whom will awaken one's mind and body, allowing them to embrace their heavenly grace bestowed pon the most brief of glances. Those eyes. Her eyes, which, like those of the basilisk, will petrify me, freeze me, drive me to the very brink of insanity. They were an addiction, a thriving desire which both tainted and blessed my heart. Oh yes, I wanted her. Needed her. And on the evening of our year of 1885, I was betrothed to the most gorgeous woman in all of Britain. Priscilla. Oh, my Priscilla, of the soul-thieving eyes.
I curse myself for not remembering the date. With the power of God and all of His Divine Might, I cannot, for the life of me, remember the time of the most horrific time in my life. But I do remember the occurences of aforementioned date. I damn myself for forgetting the date, even though I wish upon my early grave that the date replace itself in the vault of my memory wit hthe events that occured. Alas, this wish is for nought.
I was gazing happily at the portrait Priscilla and I had taken to mark our tenth year of matrimonial glee. Her, so beautiful it was evil, in her best black gown and her hair falling like a sinful waterfall down the sides of her head, landing gently upon the base of hr tender neck. Then, one would spot myself, if it ever be physically possible to tear one's eyes away from her. Me, with my unworthy hand, grotesque by comparison, laid upon her left shoulder. My hawk-like nose, nested above a very thin and hairless lip, was pointed at the artist. Oh, how I wish it were pointed at her, taking with it my muddy eyes, so that they might gaze upon her in rapture.
I was hypnotized by that portrait, transfixed, unable to wrench my eyes away, dreaming that this portrait would be the last thing I ever see. The only reason I choose not for Priscilla to be my last vision in person beingthe fact that her eyes would be sorrowful, mourning over me, and I simply cannot bring myself to look into such a radiant face, tainted and poisoned by sorrow. I was thinking just this thought when I heard my one true love call from the floor above me, calling me to join her for another dream-saturated night of sleep. Obeying her request, I reluctantly placed the portrait back onto its place on the mantle and hurriedly rushed upstairs to join my Priscilla.
I bursted into the bedroom, needing to see my wife, because, as I mentioned before, I was addicted to her presence. I caught her just in time to spy her slipping into her evening gown, a soft and flowing black gown that was gifted to her by one of her seamstress friends as a wedding present. I could feel myself salivating, though I tried to keep this unknown to her. She went to our canopy bed, and laid down rather sensually. Now, I find everything that she does to be sensual, but this rather fond gesture just seemed to tittilate my senses even further than they have previously been pushed. I could feel my brain sizzling, and the room was spinning around me. Her beauty. Her beauty was inhuman, surely no Earth bound creature could radiate in such a manner that was this angelic. I clutched my forehead, the room spinning around me. I could feel myself falling, not meaning to, but I seemed to be taken over by a Demon of my own design, taking over my body, attacking my brain and using it as a puppet. I was becoming insane, and I knew it, and I feared that She also knew.
Then, suddenly, I could feel a horrible cackling escape my lips. Not the sound of a man who went to be entertained at the theatre by a comedic troupe, but the cackling of a madman. Of a madman about to strike. In the midst of this laughter, I was able to let out a horrible yell, trying to warn her to escape from this place, to escape from me. I tried standing up, failed, then tried again. This time I was successful in righting myself to my feet, where I then stumbled for the door, but I could feel myself being pulled back into the bedroom, my wife letting out a scream, then another and another. Oh, the agony, the complete and utter misery I was feeling. The pain induced from knowing that I was causing my beloved to be in such fear and fright. I could feel myself walking, nay, stumbling toward the vanity mirror which had been also a gift from one of her friends. I tried to pull myself away, to maybe leap out of the second-story window, hopefully killing myself and protecting my betrothed. But nay, I still fumbled toward the mirror, and, upon reaching it, I balled my hand up into a fist involuntariy and I smashed the glass. This action caused a great ear-splitting shatter, and I could see that my fist was bleeding and cut in many places. I bent down, again, involuntarily and picked up a glass shard. I realized what my subconscious mind was trying to do, and it caused me to burst out into tears. I tried to scream, I tried to warn her, to tell her to run, but the only sound that came out was that despicable cackling. The laughing that would haunt me for the rest of my life.
Alas, she was on the bed, trying to back away into a backstabbing wall, a wall that prevented her from living. She was screaming still as I advanced upon her, with the broken glass fragment in my bloody hand, now completely scarlet. The cackling wouldn't stop, and it simply got louder when my body, now not controlled at all by me, reached her quivering frame with the gglass shard held over my head. My hand, my betraying hand controlled by my betraying mind, brought the glass fragment down upon her frame. It struck her stomach, causing her to scream louder in both physical and emotional anguish. Blood poured out of the fresh wound. She clutched at it, screaming and sobbing as the Demon brought down its hand again and sliced just above her breasts. She fell off of the bed, gasping and sobbing onto our bedroom's floor. The Demon went around the bed, still laughing maniacally. It stood above her, eyes soaking wet and wide with insane pleasure. It brought down the glass piece one more time down upon her throat, and the screaming stopped, taking with it the cackling. My wife, my betrothed, my Priscilla, was dead. And I had caused it. I then began to weep. I wept and wept and wept, knowing that I could never stop. I had not been strong enough to fend off the Demon brought on by my wife's beauty. I broke down, curled up into a ball, and wept some more. I knew that I couldn't live with myself. This damned memory would haunt me forevermore. Knewing what I had to do, I picked up the glass piece which did slay my wife's life, and forced it to take my own. I raised the glass piece above my head, and looked down at my love's bleeding corpse. "My love, my wife, my betrothed, my life," I said in between choking sobs. "I shall join you in the great beyond. To Death do us part, so that we may be eternally joined in Heaven." And I brought the wicked glassy blade down upon my own throat where it shall stay. Forevermore.

Into the Void

Blood is sloshing all around,
Curdling screams, only sound.
Infinite death, unto me,
Like a screaming symphony.

Unto fire death grips you,
As the spear cuts you through.
Into the pit, sees you die,
As you scream a lifeless cry.

All through nightmare I see death,
As I blast you until you're deaf.
I see nothing but my rage,
Trapped in a burning cage.

My arm shivers,
My body quivers.
Seeming through insanity,
I see something quite uncannily.

The void rips right through us,
As hot lead tears a fuss.
I drop down to sleep,
In Hells' bleeding keep.

Into the void I say goodnight,
I surrender without a fight.
I come to see the end,
"Death my life I give to lend".

It's a need
A selfish greed
But I oblige
It's wishes.

It pulls me in
It always wins
I surrender to
It's wishes

It flows though my veins
My weak heart strains
With the power of
It's wishes

It has my love
But it's not enough
It must force upon me
It's wishes

And so I hate
What is my fate
My death is one of
It's wishes

But I can't restrain
For fear of pain
And so I let it have
It's wishes

And here I am
I'm on the lamb
I'm hiding from
It's wishes

And once again
This is the end
I can't escape
It's wishes.

Heroin addiction.

I'm not even sure where this story is going to go, but it seems pretty good so far.
Dunno what I'm gonna name it, either.


My breath rasped out in heaving gulps, causing a faint mist to occur in the freezing cold. I wrapped my coat tighter around my body, cursing the day I had accepted this hopless venture. I had been young and naive, and had believed the promises of glory and riches told me by the government. Of course they were all lies. I shivered in the awful, unbearable cold. And soon, my mind was in the past.
It had been a meltingly hot August day, the sun glaring down upon my burnt back. I knelt in the field, critically examining the deep, circular hole I had managed to dig. I was searching for the precious new cryogenic metal that had been discovered. I stood back up, my aching legs protesting, wiping the sweat from my brow, and ironically wishing that I could be in a freezing cold for just a second. The slosh of the sea could be heard in the distance, along with the excited cries of children playing on the sandy beaches, and teens my age surfing and swimming in the refreshingly cool sea water. I bitterly wished I could go with them, but tried to content myself by daydreaming, at which I was very good. But imagining the beach only brought imagining the water, and imagining the water made me thirsty, so I pushed the image from my mind. Focus, I told myself rather sharply. Focus on digging. Only on digging. And of course, at that very moment, what image popped into my mind? About the furthest thing from digging you could get; her.