poetry of the Dark, Erotic, Violent, Religious & Macabre

Poetry

dark lover on a beautiful horse

you will not enjoy this, he alleged

as the inner child died in me

as the inner child cried in me

and the first drop of blood

dribs in the form of a delirium

stranded somewhere

between the oath of evil and

the darkness`s of pleasure

 

the second blood …

it splattered     like a sunburst

because

we want dark lovers

on beautiful horses

but we instead get men

who shower us with flowers

and stand outside our bedroom windows;

 

no doubt

he sees my soul

when he peels back

the black lash of curtains

and seizes that lone tear drop

 

on your belly, he demands my body

a one hand noose wraps around my throat

the other          guts, then splays open my wisdom

obscured by desperation; I need this `just breathe, okay?`

 

and he wants to do me

with a dildo and a vibrator

where one stimulates

and one penetrates

but my flesh is not the digital masque

these buttons that he de`presses

do not send me into a virtual ecstasy

why do you waste your time? I dare ask.

 

but there`s a fault in my system

a pheromone that calls to the unsavory

as he leaves me standing vacant

at the window

struggling to breathe

kicking my feet, pussy gushing blue

as I continue to feel the strangle

of his con`sexual violation;

he was a caller, a gentleman just before dawn

walking down that promiscuous dirt road

where the crossroads of my uncertainty

pointed the way in arrows; he never looks back

 

and I never look forward … I don`t know

if it even was a rape as it felt like winter

in bedlam

 

still … it was something even

if it had no meaning.

 

I light a cigarette          and inhale

because it`s the best I can do for the moment


if you ask me, Mother Goose was just another scapegoat

(Such a poem riffed in simplicity

but why does it bring so much contradictories?)

 

a red Rose is the least of a Child`s interest

only that it`s the main color

in a box of crayons next to black; and

the color of their favorite toy car; and

the color of a little girl`s dress

that isn`t quite a Sunday best

if it has laces and bows

and shows above the knees;

 

Violet is a flower

and has no memory of being blue

if it`s blue it`s due

to the children stepping and

stomping on their whimsical petals

as children can be so quite cruel;

no unusual punishment there …

 

children don’t know

that they are succulent sweet

they only know how to eat the Sugar

then they think you`re a perv

for using such a dirty word

to describe them;

 

to an Adult there is nothing

rosey about red that

it only brings dread on Valentine`s Day

if she doesn`t receive her dozen Roses

all vibrant, long stemmed, un`thorny

if you`re expected to be loved by her at all;

 

lovers do not think of Violets of blue

they are not botanists just civilians

trying to survive the headaches of

fashioning a garden to entertain the sane;

bring color to life in an obvious ashen world;

 

and what of the Sugar

as we are all obviously not as sweet

like the treats found in a drug store;

we are sour and sore and we want more

than what our cavities can endure …

 

 

poetic observation taken from “Roses Are Red“, a 1784 Mother Goose Nursery Rhyme; not exactly a fave of mine


porcelain, like a Doll ghosting in her shell

 

I built a prison, after the smoke escaped,

around your cannabis tongue

detaining your passion to an impassion

amidst wires barbed and fences

consumed by rhythms, electric …

I am muerto with no poems to give you

instead I`m dodging bullets in my closet

the residue of powders burnt

silence the rage trudging through my pulses

impulse`d by the treachery

that remains stained in places I`ve wept …

war of hate is being fought by a terrorism

you`ve inflicted upon me … you`ve taken

my love, my loyalist to you, hostage

 How can I ever repay you?

a glass of communal chablis has lost its savor,

my nipples know of no value only that

of a strawberry dipped in the synthetic river styx,

that my heart had been ripped systematically from me ~

too much haze to blaze upon this theological glory

but there`s a story there, you know, of us

of orchestrated lovers maneuvering in the dark

and catastrophic roaches oaring on the mayflower

and on the abril`s sea of seasons

where the sunflowers and blood adorn

like you`ve never mourned for me ~

but as these tearless tears gas upon a gussied face,

porcelain like a doll ghosting in her shell,

you opened my robe and slipped me a note :

`True, I started a joke that got your whole world crying’

I poured hot tea into your tiny cold cup

and spun it `round to the girl crouched over on knees

with floral needles bleeding her hands please

and then there`s a man who doesn`t understand

that I`m not your bonsai tree

I could say …

`Look what you`ve done to me`

but sadly it will only be a shame

`cause I no longer have love [for you] on my brain

 

 


Horrific`a

 

whispers of blood
descend upon my reign
hold fast to the slain of your pain
for your bowels are at the hands of my mercy
so much pleasure in your dismember`ant
are you ready to repent?

what is it, my Love
that drives your screams insane,
untamed within me?

is it the seamless design of mankind
to fornicate scalpels across your flesh?
or is the ability to inflict
chaotic misery and thievery
in the absence of your God`s grieve`ry ?

shh, my Love, do not speak
there`s nothing here but the foul and the reek
you are my hostage in bondage lesser than a meek.

tell me, my Love, have you had enough
of my living death
for I can assure you that this isn`t
the last of your dying breath.

I have much to carve to slice to peel to feel
stop writhing, my Love, I have yet to seal
you fate within a catacomb of hate …
for me

you`ve forgotten my Love,
all those little serpent demons
dwelling in your carded house of semen`s
how you treaded on the vulnerable of my grounds
as you spun my head dizzy while your lies got busy
hour after hour sweat flesh pounding against sweet flesh
did you lay and betray all my secret secrets
with your treacherous mis`behaves …
secrets you can now take
to the Devil sharing in your grave
all your senseless whining and cries to escape
for the ill that you caused … tisk, tisk, my Love …
did you not read the fine print
of the no escape clause
of lovers who use and abuse
will automatically lose?

so this is what you`ve become
from a mother who bore you
and a father who molded you
a victim in a mistress`s lair …
and there`s no hope in all of my darkness,
just a Queen as mean as a killing machine,
hellbent on rage to pillage and plunder
and drag your unholy`ness under
chainsaw`s, axes and knives
to saw away, to chop away, to cut away
every inch of beauty that dwells in your lies

so as I stand here gazing splendid
upon your ingenious soul
I cross`criss myself for the valor of your birth
here on the marvel of this un`Sainted earth, and
for the sacrifice I am about to receive …

`cause hell hath no fury like a woman deceived 

 

 

 


a snippet gospel of rage [dt dark in priests]

 

and he whispered:

`do not go gentle into that good night’

against this bodice that lies

feral & fetal`d

during his enchant`ed h-ours

of purgatory;

 

and he whispered:

`old age should burn and rave at close of day`

for at a quarter to meia`s-noite

skeletina bones in cath`olic girl ruins

break de`lovely from my flesh

for his breath is that of godly pigs

departing toward the gates

of epic slaughter:

 

and lastly, he whispered:

`rage,

 

R A G E   against

 

the dying of the light`

for unconsciously, I have ascended

descended consented

to the viral die~mensions

of priest`s dementia

where darkened silhouettes emulate

and emerge from the leviathans

little box of gospels

sheltering these scarlet fractures…

cummunal sobrieties often

in the mimics of human dogs

have hinged these breasts

trauma bound shackled

guffaw is the nickelodeon trinkets

it`s masterpiece hooked and hinged

my pungent floral, detached from reality…

nothing gentle into that good night

 

 


sprayed are the tits chrome . . . w i t n e s s us

Fury pic 1

FURY

is the road

through my

cunt

raging like the ferals

bubonic and castrated, and

permeated are the feral gag balls

sloughing in thy open mouth;

sodden exterminates bask in the wound

strangled in the thirstless with scorpions

zigzagging through the hymen

of my valley of shadow of death

 

immortan janes are the wizards

wasted in the wastelands where sand

is the ashes of bones

and I see the dead

in all the living

no matter how precious

those skull fuckers fuck

 

triple v8`s rape these roads

leading to the tubes fallopian

via the menstruationals throne…

there are no babies readied for

the cum~unions of putrid and foul

just marked graves where death X

fetuses mark the spot ~

I am perfect in every way

 

fucacima war girl…Girls…

destined for kamakrazee redemptions

as I am not awaited

where vikings become vessel kings

and queens are bred, conversing backwards

for I am the barbie suspended

on a cats pole, pitching vengeance

the bodice the bloodless the boundless

against the tranquil sunset like a blazing star

empty of wishes…

spray`ed are the tits chrome ~

 

w  i  t  n  e  s  s           us

 

 


macabre en concerto

macabre en concento pic 5

head slammed

against a microscopic window

of rectang

they took my laces

and my belt ~

I`m left with padded screams

and teeth clamoring for a bite;

hands, they scent of the ocean

sunflowers some

              where     some

how

have riddled with the reefs …

poetry

in a zig zag paper

have blown pre caution

to the wind … I miss your maggot bliss

on a strawberry tinted nipple

and your pores

aged in musk have settled

with the dusk ~

I`m scared

unprepared … the creepy clown

has wandered back into

my down`d

                   town …

daddy, he

don`t hurt no more

and mama is buttering the spread

in spider-ant-roach-dust-mite dust …

I miss our lunch hour trysts

under the boogeyman vines

as you once played dracula on my neck

but those hickeys          they had

grown wings and minds of their own ~

flu from my flesh;

and what is it

with the ghosts in my darkness

silhouetted on a concerto stage

oh, yes I hear it now, the human macabre,

for rest still my un`sobriety heart

it`s just a passing     the urge

to kill and be killed in return …

but who`s blood is this stained on my hands

mascara dried and caked and smeared? … tomorrow

is the day for the deers, I shall run

as you ride shotgun in my mouth

beside that pitch black soul

in that bright white suit;

it must be sunny outside

because I had a dream

and you weren`t in it


FREAKness on the loose

 

Hail to the Slayers & its Naysayers & Jeff the Killer!

unAmerican Horror stories have all been misplaced

disgraced, annihilation~raped by the Gods of youtube lubes & cum~panies  

5 Nights at Freddie`s is the satanic norm, inducted in

Slenderman`s Hotel Forestas Hell~of~Fame

in the stain of slain`ed backgrounds, goth music expels

of where the Creepy Pastas dwell, homos & cidals 

there is a tidal wave of disciple blades & munchkins who misbehave 

and who is your wicked Witch of The Bitch?

don`t follow the yellow brick road, hope doesn`t exist

`cept in a gram of red slipper coke where Dorothy slit

auntie Em`s American Gothic throat somewhere &

under a rainbow turning Toto into a slut-of-a-mutt!

`Shh` to the flickers of flames, Jane is a deadly dolls dame

a tumor, less than a child`s whimper & rumor

Oh my `lil Puss in Boots how she needs your fleshy suit

to wear as petty & coats around her acidic moat

she wants to flounce, booty bounce

stick your prick with her virgin pins & needles & sticks

‘cause Bloody Mary has nothin` over

her rotten cherries … so pass the Tampax please!

menstruation is a lyrical femmes demoralization

con~to~the~damned, spread the disease

from dead ovaries & chickens that pox

calamine~cum~lotion is the Cure,

no Love Song~s in The Hanging Gardens

of Charlotte Sometime~s

just puss filled bubbles &

band aid scabs over a wounded heart …

no one understands

just Puddin` on batgurl`s hands

 


slave

scarlet rooster crows

     death S O L D

to the highest bidder;

 

barbiturate bitches

perched in slumber rows

emulate visual inhibitions

of Kama Sutras as the “I’s”

of the un~naked

grunt Ketamine dust

masturbating to hymns

of opportune wonderlust;

 

as the scent

of sandy musk(s)

transcend into   psalms

of rustic dusk

striations in the form of V’s ~ plead, tear jerked

to be stroked,

     provoked,

  invoked; 

bad hits from a bad fix

she pants, she digs

vaginal scorpions

from her shallow womb;

harems of virgin harlots

they ~whisper~ to her:

 

‘Curanderas

 

shattered witchy women

clothed from eye-to-toes

ageless tattoo’s of turquoise’d turtles

translate biblical kismets

at the rupture of her

                                hymen

she bleeds deflowered *Amen* ~

 

I want my maggots kissed

 


Poem #36…(thank you Frankie Valli)

big girls don'c cry pic 1

.and big girls don’t cry.

 

 

whiskey

                  diamond

teardrops

plunge eternally

from my cunt ~

she weeps bittersweet

for you;

 

I’m 80% proof

                                             [20% denial]

that my clit

is capable

of moving heaven

without

the gentle fondles

of your tongue and

fingers ~

 

‘big girls don’t cry’, so you once said

when you left me

desperately

suckling your cum’s residue

off my heartbroken tits;

the twins miss the subtle

of your hands and

mouth;

 

and ‘big girls don’t cry’,

I dare to echo you ~

 

I wish you could see me           now,

 

how disappointed

you’d be

sinking me

to a level

of no shame.

 

 


.devil’s ‘lil plaything.

devils plaything pic 2

baby Bling

in a black thorned g-string

she’s the devil’s little plaything;

long raven black hair

her infamous

barbed wire nipple tassels

have their own marquee flair;

notorious in her stripper’s Hell

watch her venomous body

cast a barbarous spell   [on you]          

 

around

the devil’s blistering pitchfork

she twirls,

pre-levitating her fiendish body

up

post-levitating her nefarious body

down

while her blazing tongue

lap dances around

the famine

of her unholy mouth

yearning to delve south   [on you]

 

demonic little slut

watch this satanic little bitch

strut

her barbaric lust

as she thrusts herself       [upon you]

 

feel the degradation

of her internal heat’s

infliction

as she rapes herself

against your serpentine’s

erection

 

feel the vile

of her hellborn cunt

rapture’d in it’s daily hunt;

feel the hellish wrath

of her devil’d ass

invisibly

banging your body

into a cum of

black mass

 

she’s a diabolical

conviction

an erotic junkies chaos of

addiction

eternally bounded         [you will become]

in her infernal prison

of one

where the lust of her evil

dwells

in the devil’s dirty secret ~

 

for she’s every bit of

Heaven

just beyond the gates of

Hell

 

 

 


.pale shade of misery.

a pale shade of miser pic 2

 

and the taste of you

                                remains

 

red raptors galloping across my tongue

sprout de-feathered wings

of salted sulfur

shedding barbed wire scales

w/ tooth and nail

off my flagrant skin;

you licked my cunt

then kissed my lips

so how deep

did my love go?

 

I want to make out

w/ your mouth

and have you scream

my name

 

                 in agony ~

 

it’s midnight

and my bedside

is empty

for I have a broken face

that I cannot piece

back together

but I can paint the thrashes

where ‘X’ marks my grave

the way leopards

paint the spots on their skin ~

tell me, Sir Demon within,

when we meet again,

will you stitch up my heart

so it’s no longer jagged

in two. . .missing wires?

And please,

don’t touch my face,

this pale shade of misery

is hard to find

in a drugstore.

 

 


~ Cuervo Fire In My Blood

cuervo woman pic 1

                                     v e

semen throttle thrust o       rdose

white crotchless panty’s

hang on the [clothes]line

leaving the battered

of dildo zombies

preparing for the next flesh war

under a pink mushroom head sky;

~

I am a one woman,

        a~sexual

in my southern comfort

                                      cunt-try

no amount of Jack Daniel’s

can drink away

these bluegrass tears

while hooded gators

snap at my feet, and

cuervo fire burns in my blood;

~

he once reigned under my body

with his silver flask tongue

he said he’d take me to church

if he could put a ring

on my va~Gina

and not on my finger;

his cigarette ash lush

still lingers carnivorously

when my thighs part

and kiss the sky;

~

I swallowed

this shallow and dense grave of ours

after you castrated

the bull who sodomized my parched womb;

eventually

I grew our little piece of birdcage heaven

on my tongue

and we frenched kiss our wings

to Paris via a tourniquet

dipped in cuervo caliche

the color of rustic earp blood.

 

 

 

 

 


~ SunWater

for you

 

I snorted ajax

through my veins

injected a sewing needle

through my nose

 

as your nudist orbit

crossed to me

in waves of tidal blood

I’m left cowering ~ alone

on an anthrax laced beach

 

no shirt, no shoes, no surfboard

just a broken plated body

washed ashore,

de~reefed

 

dead

   echo’s

      of love

         echo

 

beyond

the corrugated seashells

buoying on

vacant promises

where the sharkgulls

once sunbathed

 

 


Diva of Darkness: volumes I~III Promotion

 

Diva of Darkness:  Volumes I~III eChapbooks will be available for FREE from February 14th through February 19th, 2016 on Amazon.

(click on book covers to download)

Diva_of_Darkness_Cover_for_Kindle

Diva_of_Darkness_Cover_for_Kindle (1)

Diva_of_Darkness_Cover_for_Kindle (2)


ignorantic

I cracked open a walnut

beneath the canine of my tooth

and out spilled maggots

writhing in amnesiatic verse

vile-ing in insomniactic pain

while midnight in the evil of garden and lust prevailed.

Sir Serpentine Jesus said to take down my hair

and splay open my breasts to feed its poor

he said, eve is upon adam – I said, F.U.C.K.

you, for unlawful carnal knowledge

I banged my head, fell victim to the mosh

so sad is the sinner sinning

who tries to become holy holier-

I know nothing of this life

only how to crack a walnut

and avoid being fucked to death

 

 


the Devil, too, comes

his body quaked

and shuddered

as he watched

the distant inferno

melt the flesh

off her Angelic face;

he comes instantly

on his hand, spitting

fire demon semen

into the recesses

 

of Hell

 

death, in the Devil’s eyes,

had never looked

so deathly pornographic

 

 


morgue Monday

my mind

is on a chopping block ~

my thoughts

in a systematic gutter

of porn and religion ~

I can’t think straight

I can’t deviate

I can’t create

much less. . .post-levitate ~

sittin’ on the couch

watchin’ Spanish soaps

my mind feels

like it’s on Spanish dope ~

change channel

several times

only to find

that over the weekend

people got shot ~

some shot by cops

some shot for talkin’ crazy

some shot by enraged lovers

some shot by dudes ’cause other dudes were fuckin’ their ladies;

some shot ’cause deals have gone bad

some shot for wishing they had had

what had gone bad ~

it’s a mad, mad, world

a beautiful life in a big beautiful city

and it’s barely 7 in the morning

as I stir my black coffee brown thinkin’ today would be a good day

to buy me another gun

 

 


GUTLESS

I’m drowning

in an ocean

of filtered water

 

it is obvious that

I’m in to deep

 

in to deep because I’ve allowed

you to ingest me whole

to permeate the recesses

of what made me solitary once

 

I could very easily fend

systematically loathing you

unremorsefully begging you

to regurgitate the spent

of my flesh and frame

and make me sovereign again

 

like when you used to look at me –

with love

yet,

invoking an immense sensatory

of your lust I hungered for

 

but drowning, today, is the most

logical approach – this filtered water

pungent-ing my soul,

exterminating my sins,

exorcism-ing my spinal demons

 

like casting out the Archangel of Guts

from within a paradisonal hell –

sinless, spineless, demonless

 

I’m a fucking pathetic gutless waste

to what makes a soul humanely pure.

 

I guess

this is what it means

after one says, “I do”.

 

 


Dead Head Metal Banger Bitch

 

dead head metal banger bitch

and you slam danced

far beyond the crevices of my soul

turning my bright days, black

turning my blue nights, red

fucking my equilibrium, grey

leaving my body hollow

to wallow in self-cum whiskey

and Satanic crack

 

and I don’t see the end

only you coming back

and back coming back

like a sightless uroboros

de-fractured by the cheap

of your Devil’s blow

not knowing which way to go, except

scarring my re-birth from Christianity

as we in turn took turns

fucking our noses dizzy

until I had visions of Miss Lizzy

carrying a bouquet of crucifix axes

in an array of multi-blood-hued colors as

I leaned across the fleshed fields

of your fleshed lips and spliced your mouth open;

and you kissed me deep into an erotic sleep

and there you smiled clothless beneath

the orgasmic rain

of my communal blood

showering over you, with you

wearing only my foreskin as your hat

 

 

 


Bee

your venomous virgin honey

still reeks

devastation on my soul;

 

pinions that once flailed

so luminously

have lost their essence

to the dark of your blackened thrill

still embedded within my heart,

the same heart you wielded your

false love around and oppressed

to a bloodied pulp

still remains an open wound

where your treacherous stinger

impelled and splintered and died,

raping me of any hope. . .for love

 

for you

 

 


Hell Hath

 

I invoked

the inner of my clitoriam

from its slumber

in a soiree of black magic

instilling the use

of voodooism

fury and pins

that pierced deep

into your phallus;

your blood cum excrement

seeped gallantly onto my palm

and there I read within the towering eye

the dynamic of your curse,

and there my eyes wept

as I soiled your foul

over my distended lips

and inhaled the diabolic

of your vapor lust;

 

and hell hath no fury

like a mistress scorned

from the infidelities

of your connubial bed


a Woman with a Gun

 

 

I am a woman with a gun

dead end eyes,

severed reflections

 

beautiful, I am

cunning, you are

and wise we are not

 

I roll the dice

and cast your fate

with Heaven to greet you

at Hells gate

 

as I lie down here beside you

-blood cells spilling like diamonds-

I am reminded

that without my gun

I am just an ordinary woman-

disassembling

 

and that without your gun

you are nothing more

but an ordinary man-

dying

 

 


Dracula in Love

 

 

 

London fog sunrise

bloodstains her pretty hair red;

I want her deathly