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

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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 

 

 

 

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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.