And I’m alone in darkest hour, Between the icy branches searching moon. Somebody painted skies in grim black color, I can’t promise that I’ll back soon. Doc Plague laughed in winter silence, And opened fastly his white beak,
Genre: Dark, Life
The Darkest Hour by Aline Gardine
And I’m alone in darkest hour, Between the icy branches searching moon. Somebody painted skies in grim black color, I can’t promise that I’ll back soon. Doc Plague laughed in winter silence, And opened fastly his white beak, He’s gathering again his magic powers So, stellar lights became too pale and weak. He flew and touched the roof of old gray shelters, He wanted find a helper in the night. And soon he met sinister jesters, Invited one of them to go and steal the light. And villains after erecting a ladder, Reached easily the kingdom of the sky. They stole the moon, decided that it’s better Then just to listen to her endless wailful cry. All stars they covered with black paint And laughed again, descended to the earth. Light disappeared and there was no a saint Just darkness from the south to north. And I’m alone in darkest hour, Between the icy branches searching moon. Somebody painted skies in grim black color, Nobody can’t promise the light’ll back soon.
Left alone in the darkness of solitude trapped in her mind cold and desperate scratching around for escape things becoming tragic as all hope was lost in the depths of the void
A mask covered her face as she was being betrayed and manipulated by someone she loved so dearly
Genre: Dark, Depression, and Hurt
A Soul less Existence by Barbara Hunt
Left alone in the darkness of solitude trapped in her mind cold and desperate scratching around for escape things becoming tragic as all hope was lost in the depths of the void
A mask covered her face as she was being betrayed and manipulated by someone she loved so dearly
A witch with a disguise of compassion and love looked back an evil grin plaguing her face
The evil seeped down turning into tentacles as an evil laugh erupted from her lungs as she smelled pure terror
Capturing her the darkness licked at her heels casting away all hope and love slowly leaving behind a shell of who she once was
As she took her last breath her pure soul stolen she warned the people she loved of its true colors and closed her eyes embraced by the warmth of peace
Shadows fooling all trying to help the situation hid as a facade of stability and love was all that could be seen as no one suspected the plot that was forming
Whispers in the night became louder as her lies and deception grew
Genre: Dark, Family, Evil, and Hurt
Evils Deception by Barbara Hunt
Shadows fooling all trying to help the situation hid as a facade of stability and love as no one suspected the plot that was forming
Whispers in the night became louder as her lies and deception grew
Darkness soon surrounded all involved as they became engulfed slowly losing pieces of there soul in the warm silence
Her tendrils erupted as the air thinned and a deafening cry was heard as anger and realization reared there heads ready to end all plots
Betrayal stung as bile grew in there throats as there hatred almost as black as the tendrils consumed them freezing the warmth of there blood
No one knew what would happen so as they took a shallow breathe they looked into the face of evil and smiled ready for the fight to the death
She stared at it a carbon copy of herself stared back smiling exposing it’s horrible jagged teeth and a dead expression
Genre: Dark, Depression, Scary, and Family
Family Destruction
by Barbara Hunt
Dark and sinister it was as it stared down at her a devilish smile played on its lips as amusement raised in its eyes
She stared at it a carbon copy of herself stared back smiling exposing it’s horrible jagged teeth and a dead expression
This monster was of the worst in nature and as she stared at it she became cornered as it pulled her down into the depths of the underworld
Sealing her fate as no cries would ever be heard she closed her eyes delving further into the abyss she uttered it’s name in the eternal silence mourning the loss of peace
Your masters,
sick;
masochists.
Savages wrapped
in lavish masks,
Genre: Dark, Rhythmic, Deep
Masochists
by Kyle Jones
Your masters,
sick;
masochists.
Savages wrapped
in lavish masks,
the past unraveled it.
We’ve traveled
backwards,
cataract contact,
laughs with
con-act actors.
Intact cause our dad’s
dads were bastards.
We backtracked paths
and sat on past answers.
Planned for the damned
and we laughed at disaster.
Despair and longing shredded his soul as he silently gazed upon the family he once had
Pain smoldered and cut through his heart like a knife causing an ache as rememberance flung him into a dark hole cold to the touch shuddering as if very sad
Genre: family, dark, sad, and lost
Missing Pieces
by Barbara Hunt
Despair and longing shredded his soul as he silently gazed upon the family he once had
Pain smoldered and cut through his heart like a knife causing an ache as rememberance flung him into a dark hole cold to the touch shuddering as if very sad
Nothing could be done he had to save his brothers soul even if it was black and deep as rocks of coal
The small window of family closed never to be forgotten as he said a silent goodbye he turned wishing things were different but alas this was his choice and these sacred pieces would have to continue to be lost
emotions have always meant the most to me
I mean, really
do you think there’s anything in life
not worth feeling?
words slither through our skin
and enter our bodies
like my brain emits T.H.C. ;
Genre: depression, addiction, sad, suicidal, dark, drugs, confused, empty, bitter
Misery’s Dispensary
by Nick Meridionale
emotions have always meant the most to me
I mean, really
do you think there’s anything in life
not worth feeling?
words slither through our skin
and enter our bodies
like my brain emits T.H.C. ;
T.
H.
C.
this
head
can’t
take
hell’s
campaign;
the
hanging
chord,
the
hop
from the chair
this. head. can’t. take! hell’s campaign!
the hanging chord, the hop from the chair…
the hanging corpse!
common symptoms include:
blotched eyes and dry sweat
depending on what high you’re aiming for;
joy or sadness
I cough and I choke,
trying to fill my lungs
up the most,
but my throat becomes a waterfall
layered out in smoke
and I ponder if my mother will witness
my ghost
after she lowers my body into an eternal and
earthy comatose.
I think the most miserable types of people
are one’s whose bodies have become
empty and dried up rivers
where even dead fish can’t deliver
satisfaction to the bellies of vultures
our hearts can’t get
accepted by society’s norms or cultures
we are different types of people
who feel much deeper than others
we hear words heavily,
and we listen with keen ears
so I had my first high
and suddenly
my empathy was at an all time high,
I was able to see my
own desires and dreams
physically by my side
and I could smell the future’s meadow
but after a few hours
I returned to my past’s shadow
now that I’ve had my last hit
it’s hard for me to feel it;
the emotion.
the passion.
I’ve fallen in love with the fashion
that withdrawal dresses me in
instead of clothes I wear my skeletons!
“save that hit for
a rainy day.
and if your head
feels like a hurricane
then take as many as you may.
if your vice keeps you dreaming
at least it mutes the sounds
of your demons screaming.”
lately I’ve been stuck in my creative ocean
I used to row a boat and feel the motion
of the waves;
typing words down on a cracked phone screen
just to feel solace
under the hot summer sun
but I’ve lost a paddle,
I’ve broken a few wings
so when these sharks circle me
and they start to sing
I fear that I may die.
I feel death in my tiny stone soul
consuming my heart
and continuing to grow;
so when the sun screams at me
and my skin starts to crow
I long for the colder climates
of the coffins down below
I love feelings
I love feeling sad, even miserable
I love feeling happy and joyous
jubilance is a fruitfulness that I rarely emit
and morbidity has scrutiny when it fishes
for the bigger catches inside of me
once the sun dries me up, and
depression devours all that I have to give,
my river will become the trench
that murderers bury the victims
they deemed unworthy to live
my soil can’t decay, it actually
grows wealthy at the taste of lifeless skin
I kiss the corpses of young women and children
to feel a sustenance
that beautiful women
and children’s eyes
once poured into my soul,
I once held an abundance of substance
now I’m a bag of blood,
abusing myself by using substances.
I’m a bag of bones
amusing others, swearing I know what substance is…
but as the days go on,
and the sun’s volumes become more and more immense
I will decay and feast on whatever
the devil can dispense
this sobriety is painfully subsiding,
it’s fastening the blade to my wrists
how many cadavers does a dying man have to kiss,
to confirm he has a pulse,
and swear he’s not one of them?
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