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

Posts tagged “Devlin De La Chapa

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.

 

 


~ 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.

 

 

 

 

 


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)


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.

 

 


Black Dandelions

 

 

Dandelion 2Dandelions,

                                                                           though you thought me beautifully evasive,

 

Dandelions

smother and choke

their counterparts;

 

Dandelions

know no boundaries

they only know they exist as I exist;

 

You hand her Dandelions

tied in your mother’s favorite silk ribbon;

 

I wilt

at the sight of your black blasphemy

because you loved me once

 

Who would’ve thought your blackheart charm

would soil seeds after you bled them

then buried them, dry?

 

 


——REVOLVER—–

 

the Revolver spins

6x’s before

i’m elected,

gunpowder coke

chokes my grasp,

as the chamber

clicks, my brain spits

matter to dust

and thus

creates the sunburst

on the wall

behind the man

in the crisp white suit;

beyond his soul

is my soul smeared

in colors of bluebloods

surrounding petals

on a white Gardenia

pinned in her bedroom hair;

and there she sits naked

on her boudoir chair,

her snatch the color

of the sunburst on the wall

behind the man

in the crisp white suit;

he smiles and hands me

a gold plated vile,

it’s been awhile

since the last i gripped her hair

and sunk her slugs to oblivion;

the red of her pained lips

seep blood into my mouth,

and her skin is soft white

like a light bulb,

her body delicate

like the vase once housing

the Gardenia;

her eyes having read Hitler

she speaks in tongues confessing

our sins upon holy Mary and Joseph

as they close and shrivel

in silence

around the Revolver

in his hand

 

 


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.

 

 


Deflower

 

 

 

I am a flower

I am beautiful in your eyes

I smell of everything you lust

above me, 

beneath me, 

behind me, 

you break me

like the stem

once holding the flower

 

 


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


Fist Fuck

 

 

he shoved his fist

up her pre-oiled pussonian

and rearranged

her organs

to accommodate

his needs;

she stirred

when her tubes

sucked vacuumed

her eggs, broken shells

fleshy yolks, evoke

then vacate

when he pulls his fist;

her womb settles

like patina fragments

in a Monet landscape

portrait; occasionally

they liked to

paint their

macabre

just before the break

of sunrise when

the rooster crowed

its best

 

 


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

 

 


Desperaturbia

 

 

Clipping toenails scatter
in the
sink

My anxiety
needs to
rethink

desperately of us

Your cigarette butt ashes
embed on my
tongue

And your black market
perfume reeks
of maggot
beauty

 

 


Constant

 

no one knows this pain,

constant

breaking this broken heart,

indiscriminately

in a fetal position I lie,

a perfect picture of heartbreak

weeping

drowning

waning

dying

in infinite misery,

torn apart

ripped apart

stepped on

trampled on

I am the lingering aromatic

of loves once true love

before he died inside of me

still brings about an absolute suffering;

and no matter how many times

someone says it’s going to be alright

they don’t understand the vacant hole

residing in the center of my soul

and how it refuses to mend

broken

vagrant

violent

empty

I am


Under the Influence of Sonnets

 

  1.

 

I’m a defective typewriter,

skipping a lot of periods,

hitting H’s and O’s equaling HO’s

black dots peer into my soul

 

  2.

 

My mouth feels extra dirty tonight

my tongue feels extra horny tonight

tonight I will regret tomorrow of

what today brought on yesterday

 

  3.

 

I fear an overwhelming sensation

when my name escapes your breath

it is sadomasochist deep like deep-throating,

insulting like an intense golden shower upon you

 

  4.

 

My eyes are gauged, I read your cum in brail

my fingers prick raw, blood seeps under,

in the unholiest darkness our toxins unite then

erode then fade like wounds on groping hands

 


Domestupidy

 

I can’t take it anymore,

your fightin’ words

riddle like bullets

in my head

 

You stroll across the room,

your bare ass thighs sit

parted on the sofa,

your lips purse

 

I tell you all we’re good for is

orgies and social dinners, but

I’m ignored as usual, you’re

unusual, as usual

 

I tell you, if you love him,

then set me free!  Oh

for fucks sake, stop

fucking with me!

 

I need another drink, another

excuse for you to wallow in

self-pity; and this house of

domesticity has become a

house of domestupidy

 

I’d like to think we’re better

than this so I hand you my

cigarette and tell you to

do that thing with

your gifted clit

 

I hold my scotch breath; I envy

the way your pussy smokes

my cigarette, an obvious

connotation that my

dick is no match.


None

 

one

finger

two

fingers

three

fingers

four

and his hand slowly glides in

in soft rhythming strokes

opening her soul, a universe

his thumb

strokes

her bypass

thus accelerating her heart

from zero to sixty

her lips pucker and disperse

when he shifts his wrist

deep inside of her

she is a beautiful place

a magical place

a princess flushing blush

she is the core of her thrown

she writhes and convulses

her orgasm pulses

and pulses

and pulses

an impromptu dance

her orifice a ballroom

of roses and musk

flirting with his fist

kissing his fist

fucking his fist

and together she bonds them

as one not two

drenching those sheets

in spools of lustfilled tears raging through

four

fingers

three

fingers

two

fingers

one

 

none