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

Posts tagged “Dark Fiction

~ 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”.

 

 


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

 

 

 


A.M. Coffee

 

 

Satan in my coffee

on a Tuesday morning

riding shotgun

to work with Bob

and his cat-Black,

in a white Chevy truck

black coffee

I need cream

to make it brown

and sugar,

lot’s of sugar

to kill the strength

to calm the storm

brewing earlier in my

roach infested coffee pot

‘they lay eggs, you know’

Bob says to me

the cat hisses

it despises roaches like dogs

particularly the one

crawling out from my thermos

 

 


~^.^~Black Cat~^.^~

 

 

Cat.

Black Cat.

Crossing the street, Cat.

 

Cat.

Black Cat hisses!

Tires screech.

Rubber burns.

Smoke clears.

I didn’t miss him by an inch.

 

Cat.

Black Cat.

Not just another

Dead in the street, Cat.

 

Cat.

Black Cat.

You should have never broken my heart, Cat.

 

 


Psycho Sluts Live In Heaven

 

 

Psycho sluts live in Heaven

branded in apple tattoos

that kiss the mouth of those unSatan

like those wogs slithering like their counterpart semen

trudging upstream to mate with my berries;

Angelina Jolie ordered herself

a Double-Scotch-On-The-Rocks Mastectomy

and I think ‘what’s the point’

you’re getting old anyways!

So embrace shriveling up

and eventually dying.

 

 


Death Dealer #66

 

 

I woke up aggravatingly hornier than the night before

mislaid without the sense of prepaid gratification

from that stupid whore now stumbling out the apt. door

Beneath a vehement deluge I thought about that magnificent

Theatre of Incest, the fucking dog barking incessantly down the street

that barmaid with Jell-O for fake tits, that old man who acted like a bitch

all gone, all gone, all gone right where they belong

in that unholiest sanctuary they assume Dante’s Paradiso

I took a hit of the Devil’s blow, read my list, then took a hard piss

in that open cesspool of mouths coupled with the shameless and the breathing

feeding off Catholics who are misleading, Christians who live their lives by Jesus

“Jesus!” what a fucking mess, much less, it is for the best, I guess, if I blessed those

living in some post-idealistic place, not chased by the  demon lovers of regret,

ensnared by the demon haters of no mercy; his name is Percy, and he sits

one stool opposite from me, 66 years of pouring tears into his warm beer, then sighing and crying wishing he were dying, dead, gone from this disenchanted place

once called Eden, now called South of Eden, my place, the Death Dealers place,

I show Percy no mercy and he dies swift and just, back to that Eden of lust

where his ancestors thrived before the serpent apocalypse eclipsed with the light like tonight


Vomica

 

 

I dream

of gold lighted Christmas trees,

and non-flesh eating

Zombies

beating down my naked windows,

my hands fumble clumsily

with the blinds

trying to blind those

from blinding me

 

There’s a single light bulb

hanging

from its intestine

it sways back and forth

creating shadows

of demons on walls

as I sit poker-faced

in front

of God,

De Vinci, Beelzebub

and Methuselah

 

all dressed

in post-iconic Gangster get-up,

the scene alone

fascinates me, exorcises me,

that I start having

an out of body experience

when my Full House

collapses

retaining them to beckon me

on all fours, first

across the floor

reeking of misconception

until I find myself

viewing the misinterpretation

of the world

from upside down

 

Though I realize

I need glasses

I see everything fine

and when

I got lost

inside of her

I found

my way out

and

when I awake,

the room is eerily empty and

full of life-

I vomit


Trainwreck

 

Black tie-dye canaries stall the
hands of time cradling infants
still umbilicalled in the
hanging garden’s euphemism
Cataclysms and Catholism
may be the answer to a self-imposed
self-apocalyptic junk-alcoholic veering
down the tracks @ a 125 miles per hour
but I can’t see the moon trying to eclipse
the sky for it is fucked as I am fucked
LA must be a logical place harboring
my body as an epileptic earthquake
the Richter scale reads: 10+10+10, and
I wished my superficial girlfriend would stop
reading me bedtime stories gauged with
animalstic fairy tales of skid row; I feel
barbaric and I want to conquer Germania
just to fuck with the demon dogs in her head
but she constricts and I have flash backs of
birth of contractions of gestation of copulation,
and I can see my mother poetically broken by what took
an eternity to create merely took seconds to destroy-
and the roses smell pretty, still

 


Pirating Underground

 

 

Cowboy Junkies

from Hell

ride your faceless

demons

 

whiskey vodka

sex

&

 

black hearts

surmount

& you’re pretty still

behind

your naked breasts