Category: Dark

​​​Michael Myers ​​And The corps of five Disney princess, Poetry by Drew Price

You see he was better finding things on his victims to play with drawn to find there’s not much less of perfect on the face of a Disney princess. He loved Ariel’s tail you see, he was so infatuated by the slimy scales the way they ripped and tore against the cold touch of sharp metal steel that he loved oh so much to bury deep into the flesh of a struggling victim, Ariel did just that for him, struggle. He ripped her hair out bit by bit… it was seductive to him. He started far before she was dead so you could see the pain that painted across her canvas face, it was a masterpiece to Michael.

Genre: Dark, Life, Society

​​​Michael Myers
​​And
The corps of five Disney princess

by Drew Price

You see he was better finding things on his victims to play with drawn to find there’s not much less of perfect on the face of a Disney princess. He loved Ariel’s tail you see, he was so infatuated by the slimy scales the way they ripped and tore against the cold touch of sharp metal steel that he loved oh so much to bury deep into the flesh of a struggling victim, Ariel did just that for him, struggle. He ripped her hair out bit by bit… it was seductive to him. He started far before she was dead so you could see the pain that painted across her canvas face, it was a masterpiece to Michael.

He worked his way over to princess Jasmine. He’d stripped her of all her clothes and she lay naked, but not in a sexual way, no, he wanted to see the blood pour from her body as he skinned her like an animal because he just loved her complexion. He loved the thick yet subtle curve of her eyebrows they made him smile, something he hadn’t done in a while. He loved pulling on her hair until her scalp began to bleed but only while she was alive so he could hear the horror in her scream like the first drop on a roller coaster, he liked it that way. This rush of electricity, this rush of energy, this torture… for himself and his victims.

He made his way over to Snow White… pale as the moon on a pitch black night he choked her into a blood moon. All slob and tears wet fears that struck her face at a grab of a hand he loved it that way. His hands cold, his hands power his hands blood and breaking bones that enjoyed the feeling of their caving in its palm it was electrifying. The fear reflected off her eyes into his as pure amazement, how much power he had over these beautiful women.

He next turned to princess Tiana. She seemed the most unphased by all the horror she’d seen so he gouged out her eyes for not respecting his art like, “god damn I’ve turned them into masterpieces only god can reconstruct and you show no interest how dare you” she sat in the presence of a terrifying man but she sat paralyzed in strength no scream until the harsh textures of his fingers met the back of her eyelid like a tight grip on a fast ball. She called on every god that came to mind like “Oh god, sweet Buddha, baby Jesus god of the tress and the bees the land I stand on god of the earth mother earth, somebody, help me!” Somebody hear her cry. This man he watched her die in one quick sigh she had her last breath like the pain was too much so she had her last breath like she couldn’t play strong right before that last breath, like in that last breath you’d heard her curse this man and curse those hands all cold and blood bone breakers like the end all power reigned through this man and.. At this moment it did.

He made his way over to Rapunzel. He loved the length of her hair how it curved down her back the mystery in her stare not being able to tell whether she was dead or alive, but the twitch in her left eye showed she could feel it all. Every cut and rip every slap and hit he like to see how red she could get. He hung her upside down and played in her hair until the blood in her body dripped through her nostrils and eyes dying her hair a cherry tone.

So that was his story. He took pleasure in the horror of torture.

 

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Reflection, Poetry by Barbara Hunt

She disappears as the dark abyss swallows her whole As she sits alone heart breaks with her soul filled with emotions

Genre: Dark, Death and Hurt

Reflection by Barbara Hunt

Darkness shadows and fear flash there jagged teeth towards her
She disappears as the dark abyss swallows her whole As she sits alone heart breaks with her soul filled with emotions
She looks at herself in the mirror and sees not herself but the dead girl smile back she shatters the mirror and drops to the floor uttering her name in the silence

 

 

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THERE IS ME, AND THAN THERE IS YOU, Poetry by Kristen Corbisiero

There is me, and than there is you,

Two fools who happened to cross paths,

And find stability in the utter chaos around us.

I found you, in the coldest part of my heart,

While you craved the darkness you sought in me.

So I’ll use you to ease into the noise of my cluttered mind,

Genre: dark, (toxic) relationships, love, and personal.

THERE IS ME, AND THAN THERE IS YOU

by Kristen Corbisiero

 

There is me, and than there is you,

Two fools who happened to cross paths,

And find stability in the utter chaos around us.

I found you, in the coldest part of my heart,

While you craved the darkness you sought in me.

So I’ll use you to ease into the noise of my cluttered mind,

And you can use me to try and tame you demons.

I think I see the Devil lapping at our heels,

To devour the saints we deluded ourselves into becoming,

For the tainted sinners we always were.

 

There is me. And now there is you,

Two scorned lovers in an exile bestowed only by those we’ve loved

(It doesn’t matter that they are we. Or we are they.)

I feel you in the deepest part of my bones,

Where my hands have found trouble and grace.

I lost it all when you dug yourself in my heart

Its ice and frost melting the waters that would flood my soul and

And that is the moment we drown.
 

There is me. There is you.

Two people who happened to know each other

From along time ago, from a past that is better left buried.

I want to fight, for what we had become, but I had be beaten and I was bruised.

So I‘ll sit here on the edge, holding onto every ‘if’ and every ‘maybe’,

Everything that crashed and brought us to our knees.

And we chase and we fall for the same thing every damn time.

But never into each other,

Now into the arms of something better, someone new.

 

Now there is me. Only me.

You’ve left to find yourself again,

Because you found you didn’t like who you became with me

You lost you mind, let it sink in the loudest part of our love,

So it fell in between the silence of the noise.

The thawed ice frozen once again, freezing back into place.

And the stability I found is numbing.

 

There is no longer me and there is no longer you.

Just two souls intertwined than detangled.

So we pray and pray, to be cleansed of the demon and devils

To find grace and peace in the walls of a pagan god.

Because I still feel the Devil lapping at our heels

Hungry for the sins we’ve yet to commit,

Waiting to wash away its innocence, and bath in the cruelty of our love.

We come to find the things we once found stability in,

Are the things that lead us further and further into the chaos of our broken minds.

 

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Paris – The Atrocity 13th November 2015 – Poetry Reading by Jane Gill Wilson, Read by Maya Wolosyzn

I was given the opportunity to submit to Wildsound following the publication of ‘Paris – The Atrocity’ on the poetry festival website. After reviewing some poetry performances I thought it would be beneficial to promote my work to a wider audience via Wildsound.

Watch the Poetry Reading: PARIS – THE ATROCITY 13th November 2015:

Get to know poet Jane Gill-Wilson:

1) What is the theme of your poem?

The theme of ‘Paris – The Atrocity’ is Human Interest, Emotive, Rhyme.

2) How would you like people to respond when they read or watch your poetry reading?

My aim is to draw the reader/listener into the heart of the subject matter. In the case of ‘Paris – The Atrocity’ I hope the poem will allow people to explore their own thoughts surrounding the tragic events, and raise an awareness of the secondary consequences of such atrocities.

3) How long have you been writing poetry?

I began writing poetry as a cathartic process during some troubled times in 2010.

4) Do you have a favorite poet?

No, I don’t really have a favorite poet. I am very much inspired by life events and write inspirational, biographical poetry. My style is always rhyming verse. However, I have been influenced by Pam Ayres who is an English poet, comedian  and songwriter. My next book due to be published by Pegasus Eliot Mackenzie in 2016 is a humorous collection of dating stories told in rhyme.

5) What influenced you to submit to WILDsound and have your poetry performed by a professional actor?

I was given the opportunity to submit to Wildsound following the publication of ‘Paris – The Atrocity’ on the poetry festival website. After reviewing some poetry performances I thought it would be beneficial to promote my work to a wider audience via Wildsound.

6) Do you write other works? scripts? Short Stories? Etc..?

Yes, I am a songwriter and regularly co write with other artists. I am also writing my debut novel.

Some of my songs and those of my co writers can be heard at:www.reverbnation.com/janegillwilson

7) What is your passion in life?

My passion in life is my creativity through words.  I am never happier than when I’m writing, be it a poem or a song.

—–

Poetry performed by Maya Wolosyzn

Produced/Directed by Matthew Toffolo

Editor/Shot by John Johnson

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Disappeared, Poetry by Ravjit Singh

The nights were warm
And the wind howled quietly
In his head there was a storm
It crept up slowly but violently

Genre: Dark, Horror

Disappeared
by Ravjit Singh

The nights were warm
And the wind howled quietly
In his head there was a storm
It crept up slowly but violently

He went from smiles in the morning
To tears and anger in the night
One moment he felt as if he was soaring
Then his own heart he would fight

Full of light while the sun was out
Clouded with darkness when he saw the moon
Like his emotions were wandering about
Lost and ready to collapse soon

Tonight the moon was full
And the darkness was heavy
He would fight and pull
Until death asked if he was ready

He refused to cry
But the light wouldn’t appear
Made this his last goodbye
And finally he would disappear

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Infatuation, Poetry by Anna Sue Benson

I am a skilled,
dedicated,
stalker.
When I can sneak out,
I walk across town,
over the river bridge,
creep up the one way street,
imagining the subject of my desire.

Genre: Dark, Horror

Infatuation
by Anna Sue Benson

I am a skilled,
dedicated,
stalker.
When I can sneak out,
I walk across town,
over the river bridge,
creep up the one way street,
imagining the subject of my desire.
One my way home
from work,
the grocery store,
running errands,
I drive by,
slowly.
I wonder
what the neighbors think
about my constant presence
on this quiet side-street.

This object of my desire,
this house,
is mine.
Mine in an unexplainable,
not of this world,
kind of way.
It’s perched up on a hill,
surrounded by trees,
vacant for years,
slowly succumbing to decay and neglect.
I peek in the windows,
see that a remodeling project
has been left unfinished,
building materials long untouched.
The pull this house has on me
is palpable.
I feel,
wholeheartedly feel,
like I should walk up those steps
and through the front door.
It’s my house.
The house makes me believe
the padlocks on the doors,
the deed in someone’s else’s name,
are irrelevant.
I want to,
I need to,
step foot in that house
feel its energy.

I’ve found out everything
I could possibly research.
Built in 1910,
changed hands 19 times
in 40 years,
owned by a company
in Bakersfield, CA
that has no business
owning a house in these parts,
a company
who hasn’t paid the taxes
on my house
in two years.
I imagine,
writing them,
offering to pay the back taxes,
take the house off their hands.
If only I had the means,
to restore it
to the way it deserves to exist,
I would.

I have asked around,
learned all the local history.
People are afraid
of my house.
The land around it,
encircled by many known
Native American burial mounds.
People wonder
if any other burial mounds
were disrespected
in the building of that home,
wonder if there is some curse,
some bad energy
for what might have been done
to a sacred resting place.
Local urban legends
revolve around this house,
the woods around it.

I am undeterred.
I pace the woods behind my house,
pondering a way
I could get inside.
I feel uneasy
the closer I get
to my house.
Maybe it’s that I’m a rule-follower,
I know, from a legal standpoint,
I’m trespassing.
Surely the uneasy feeling
couldn’t be that something is wrong,
off about the property.
I don’t understand
how something so right
could be out of my grasp.
I can’t accept that.
The house
pulls me in.
I don’t know how,
but I can make this happen.
It will be mine.

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Spooky, Poetry by Billy JnoHope

choose your phantom

wear it well

candy for your fears

Genre: Dark

Spooky
by Billy JnoHope

choose your phantom

wear it well

candy for your fears

as daylight ends

masks taunting every door

life tricks and death treats

in the hands of the beholder

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A BROKEN WOMAN, Poetry by Eshema Momoh

Broken by the past and circumstances;

Broken by self and others;

Broken by decisions and actions;

Broken within and without;

Broken in places that should be whole;

Genre: Sad, Dark, Depression

A BROKEN WOMAN
by Eshema Momoh

Broken by the past and circumstances;

Broken by self and others;

Broken by decisions and actions;

Broken within and without;

Broken in places that should be whole;

Broken and frustrated;

Broken and hurt;

Broken pieces small and big.

Needing restoration,

Needing hope,

Needing healing,

Needing love,

Need the pieces to come back together.

No one knows how broken I am,

No one knows how much I hurt,

No one understands the pains,

No one can feel the brokenness for me.

I am all alone in this broken state in a broken world,

A broken life.

Who can help me out of this brokenness?

Who can mend me and make me whole again?

Who can heal the Brokenhearted?

Then I hear words of hope,

A song of deliverance….

Alleluia! The great Potter wants to put me back together again.

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‎PANDEMONIUM, Poetry by Vanessa Anthony

The past’s place misplaced
The future lacking in grace
The present looking faked
How much more can I take

Genre: Dark, Emotional, Pain, Despair Death

‎PANDEMONIUM
by Vanessa Anthony

The past’s place misplaced
The future lacking in grace
The present looking faked
How much more can I take

Drifting in and out of shadows
No focus in the hallows
Darkness darker than dark
Here I lay, stark

Illusive mirage
Emotional barrage
Unbreakable chains
Unspeakable pains

Broken pieces
Heart beat ceases
Once again in darkness
Droned in madness

http://www.vanessaknowspoetry.blogspot.com

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Bloodshot Eyes and Tearstained Cheeks, Poetry by Amber Lee

I find myself alone with bloodshot eyes and tearstained cheeks
finally releasing the emotions I’ve kept suppressed for week

I lay here in this dark and humid room
wishing for one thing: to be next to you

Genre: deep, soul, dark, night, overthinking

Bloodshot Eyes and Tearstained Cheeks
by Amber Lee

I find myself alone with bloodshot eyes and tearstained cheeks
finally releasing the emotions I’ve kept suppressed for week

I lay here in this dark and humid room
wishing for one thing: to be next to you

I promised I wouldn’t succumb to these dangerous thoughts
but since you’re not around, they’re all that I’ve got

the voices of nostalgia are trying to convince me that things were better in the past
I’m starting to believe them, I want to go back

I know better than to think this, it drives people mad
for nostalgia just tries to make people long for the things they had

I need to domesticate my mind, before it imprisons me
so I find myself alone with bloodshot eyes and tearstained cheeks

afl 7/9/15

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