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

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barbara.

 

i, Woman, w/a machete

d

an  g

lin

g

from the delicate of my hand

 

a hint of spent

channel #5

wafts   through my demon~esq skin,

Pradas on my feet

head     d e t a c h e d

a scandal on a carpet

blood drenches a chalk outline

of her pretty head; sirens wail ~

distant:

 

‘they’re coming for you, Barbara’

 

Kevorkian appendages heave you thru

& from and 2 Hell ~ paradise found;

i’ll be there in ten to life

 

just let me finish my cigarette.

 

 


1 – (800) 666-6666

 *

I shoved a slug

up my nose

had a vision

of a Catholic roach

selling Devil dope and

plotting a hit on me

*

talking cunts

yellow skunks

day old blunts

unwanted junk

in my religious trunk

*

stop injecting me

stop infection-ing me

you’re not the priest

you’re not the beast

Atheist Agnostic?

Pft, please!

*

1 – (800) 666-6666

is the toll free # to Hell

Satan sells, so is death buying?

*

On an iron crucifix

where Gideons flock

is where Heaven glistens

in biblical rocks

*

all this Demon-cratic recreation

is just a Republic creation

for the Independent nation

America is under a systematic scope

of propagandized hope

so don’t forget to vote Christianity

*

but sayeth the Demon to the Angel

loitering on weakened shoulders:

Angelic one get your gun

and lets blow this sacrilegious bitch

to Kingdom Come!


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


rape`possessed

vocal is raspy … carries

like a crime that breaks its back

upon the spotlight of my breasts;

 

a nipple sings the blues, thus creates a hue ~

I am that sunburst fracturing in his mouth;

 

nicotine strains my fingers – pussy & index

taste its pleasure while the rest of my flesh

fights the urge …

 

he has to submerge himself

 

drag

exhale

 

I

 

drag

and he

exhales

 

come back to bed          bitch,

he whimpers like skeletons locked in closets

only visible through the plumes they smoke;

 

hair pulls through my scalp

as I remember picking dandelions

in the cold summer

one callous blow, and their fetuses scatter to the wind …

bastard children they are

in search of their fathers in all the mistresses

that had shaped him;

 

legs spread like withered wings

pussy`iron`butterfly, I wants to fly     fly fly

but the air is oxygen`less

and crushes the lungs … he has a system

for lying on top of me, hips gyrate

pelvis rapes in rhythmic emotions ~

 

he humps

he breathes

breathes harder / faster / slower

then there`s nothin`

but a silence deadlier than death

 

and I want more;

 

I        I don`t know what to make of his company

only that I`m obsessed with gazing at him

through a sort of a looking glass mirror … his cock

it stands     high, erect, the tallest building

and I want to be a bird

and perch upon it, slip my beak

in between the crack of his slit

and purge the se`men

who have sailed my woman`ship

out of the harbor

only to have my broken body

float back in;

 

did I tell you I missed you, motherfucker?

missed the intrusion despite the illusions fabricated?

 

90 proof booze on the table

I am bent over the table

and I see the RCA spinning

a damsel in heated distress …

I smell cubano leaves burning

and hear the agony

of third world slaves

echo`ing from the cinders

smoldering in your mouth ~

your chest heaves wildly

in the land of sodomization,

your cock stretches my anal womb

each push is a masochistic thrust of trust

just don`t shit     on my cock, you whispere`d

you brush back my pubic hair / wipe the tears from my lips

she`s coming up the stairs

and the best I can do

is swallow you in,

and pull you through

the broken hymens of society

so when the door opens

she`ll never know

we did things in the dark

 


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


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

 

 


I am not Dorothy

 

I was caught up

between the floral bitches

and the witches haze

lost be`neath the thunder

of plastic bridges; I am not Dorothy

lost in her blinding oz`s maze

and these tracks I bury

in my staggered path

are all that I have left

to remind ~

 

the dirt fields trenched

have been migrated and excavated

and they split through my legs

like valleys in rows of sacks and salt

my cunt bleeds produces seeds

tulips beg for a drib of sip of yore;

in my mind, I climb the  highest tower

I have power to take flight

and when I let go to sow

snow white in her whites

lightening eclipses with my body …

and I become one with the sky;

 

and so high my immorals fly

I feel like a ma`ruin`d canary buried within

a red crow cocooning within a graying eagle,

you say that I am

but a feathered enigma to your touch

that I am one failure you cannot solve

nor resolve or absolve

for truth`s be told;

 

I am a red splintered

glass slipper

 

I will only drop my house

on you

 

I am much to penetrated

within your tornados

 

 

 


doll dis`Catholic

doll dis`catholic

I sought your wisdoms

in the flatlines of your unholiest ghosts

and in search of your vile and vain

did my maimed bodice whisper `Samhain` …

as your insanity caned the flames

in my erotic goths it was

the man of the cloth

who fucked me biblically

against a pentagrams cross

orgasms spasm`d   

                                                  `Fuck you[r], God!`

 

I screamed within a deathless dream

did I dream of slugs unloading,

of your chest exploding

at point blank range

and what dispensed

was a forty day death sentence

with your soul

suffering a penitence

but not before your Gomorrah`s

sodomized my six

in six our Fathers

and six hail Mary`s

 

     and senseless were the demonic goats bleating in my moat

 

you think you are evil, my precious one

partial to the beast, at least

you have some decency

but no woman can feast

like the dis`catholic bitch in me

I`m the left hand of the Devil Black

the unholy trinity of the holy three

my ass  my mouth  my cunt are all

but the sacrific`isms of a witch hunt

 

     have you tasted flesh, my Erotic Death?

 

laced like heroin

I`m a barbarian

self`injecting upon an open wound … your wound

uncircumcised around your tomb;

but oh my Darling, my Baby, my blood Beelzebub

let me exorcise the exorcist

from your communion breads

let me drench the seven plagues

upon your atheist head

let me be that slithering Eve

to spread my anti`seeds

and bare angelic deeds

of splendid greed

 

     will you let me fuck that apple in your throat?

 

 


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


epidural.

 

I feel nothing.

 

skintiments

are like

a jigsaw puzzle;

I cannot interlock myself

<———————-back

—->to that copious landscape

where mad cows &

blind crows came to

graze and perch upon;

& once upon

I was that

unvarying pain

reflecting

off your tongue

where you spat

tears of saliva

’cause you refused

to irrigate my bushes;

you are numb inside,

so you say, then you say,

I’m a tokophobic

’cause e-v-e-r-y-thing

you deposit in me

there seems to always be

that jewel encrusted scalpel

assembling upon my virgin flesh

resembling

slut digging maggots;

burdens

terminated,

excavated,

disposed

in a doggy

bag;

 

then you say

you’re empty

inside,

then you

have a cigarette,

change the channel

on the HD

as if your fucking misery

is all my fucking fault.

 

but

& still

 

I feel nothing.

 

just like those

“in-labor” mothers

giving birth

to fucks

 

like you.

 

 

 

 


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.

 

 


~ 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

 

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