[x]

Rich Man's BoxesThe Stench is unbelievable,
He masks it with his sleeves.
He unearths his hidden treasure,
Stashes, and swiftly leaves.

By day he buries for those in black,
( I watch him from my tree)
He marks the box-holes with a cross,
And leaves the worms for me.

By night-fall he returns to dig,
The indecisive man!
He takes the still-one from it’s box,
And drags it to his clan.

Ah! What a life it is to live.
Though morbid as it seems;
These bountiful wooden boxes
Are born of rich man’s’ dreams.

I bury them for the mourners,
Read from their book of lies.
But little do these mourners know,
I feast on their demise.

Judged only by the g

The wellThe well, the well
draw no water from the well
The secrets of the depths no living can tell.

Listen, just listen
and then you will hear
the whispers of the children who were murdered here.

The girl, poor girl
she came to the well
a babe in her arms which in the water now dwell.

One more, one more
soon followed the first
crying so fiercely his tiny heart burst.

The girl, poor woman
brought a third to the grave
dead in her womb there was no life to save.

The fourth and fifth were born as one
she brought them to the well
and then there were none.

The woman was hanged from the old gallows tree
when the children grow silent
her soul shall

She Isn't Sorry...Somberly pacing darkened halls,
She harkens to the midnight calls
Of silken-shrouded, haunted Things
Which soar on ghastly cobwebbed wings...

Her honeymoon ended in a flash
Of steel; her knife left a gash
Deep in her lover's faithless heart;
Such is the price of seducing art!

Primly she sits in her padded cell,
Smiling as she harkens to the knell
Of funereal chimes in the graveyard cold;
"They're burying him in the dark dank mould!"

Reoccurring SlightlyThinking and thinking yes again,
But its reoccurring not so bad,
Although death is seen in my eyes,
My death means nothing to those who cry,
I wish a farewell to not be seen,
But i'm not killed as i used to be,
Death is common as is the scene,
I look to the left and think again,
Wondering where it will end.

I am the MurdererEleventh hour of the day,
You will learn to fade away,
In the darkness isn't it right?
To be forgot in the night?
Keep on moving what do you see?
Oh are you behind me?
Try to kill me yes i see,
Just a knife is what i need.
To leave now without further to do,
For i will murder you,
Hurt my family kill my friends,
Damage the insides of all that mends,
To be punished damned to hell,
You won't know what i tell.
Take it back now you see,
You decided to hurt me,
Death and pain comes with a toll,
Never wanting it to show,
A murderer now walks the street,
For now it is me.

Things Ill Never ShareIt’s been too long since I have seen
A familiar face inside my dreams
Covered bodies, constant blurs
Voices echo into slurs

All I see are eyes that stare
There’s bloodshed in my nightmares
And, although I never try to be
The killer ends up being me

I awake and never feel at rest
Sleepless nights weighed down by stress
That instinct lives within my thoughts
A sickness, a virus that never stops

It seems I’ve lead myself to think
I need a smoke or maybe a drink
An outlet, but I must resist
Biting my nails or cutting my wrists

I will always fight this urge to kill
I can remain calm and tranquil
Its only human to have this d

Insane otherEvery single drawing drove her upset,
Every single drawing came like the rest.
Never satisfied with all divine,
Knowing it all just began with a rhyme.
Just like her drawings she can't speak a thing,
Thinking and thinking made her insane.
Looking around so frequently,
Waiting for death to come swiftly.

Jack the RipperLooking up
From a body cold
Withered skin
Decades old

Are frosty eyes
Unseeing and still
Staring out
After a gruesome kill

Done by a man
A merciless mystery
Jack the Ripper
A piece of history

Or is he?

Rich Man's Boxes (re-drafted)The stench is hard to misperceive,
And so he masks it with his sleeve.
Unearthing his hidden treasure,
Drags it home at his own leisure.

By day he buries for those in black.
We watch from our trees, holding back.
He marks the box-holes with a cross,
Leaving our worms and upturned moss.

By nightfall he comes, with his spade,
Takes the still ones, his common raid,
Returns the box where it began,
O, Strange and indecisive man!

Ah! What a life it is to live.
Though morbid as it seems;
These bountiful wooden boxes
Are born of rich man’s dreams.

I bury them for the mourners,
Read from their book of lies.
But little do these mourners know,

*The Crypt*In vampire crypt eternal sleep
Decades pass and mould does creep
Where time no longer has a place
Dormant bodies beyond embrace.

Lured to sleep in timeless portal
Ancient ones who were not mortal
Vampire hunter with garnet eyes
Showed no mercy, they won't arise

Millenia passed they are not missed
Secret lost like morning mist
Crypt is safe, but who knows where?
Dormant fury caught in snare.

2013 Delice1941
23rd May2013

A Very Short Silent Hill PoemBlood and rust on the wall, she's planning to kill us all.

Might as well enjoy the carousel. Spinning horses with no tail.

"You can run, but you can't hide..." A voice giggles from inside.

We cry with all our might, until god is satisfied.

Don't Go In The WoodsIf you ever go walking in the woods.
Late at night.
Take my words into consideration.
And beware.

Beware the blood red moon.
For when you see that.
It is when you know..
That the Hessian is on the prowl.

He races through the night.
Hunting for his prey.
His gaze and teeth are razor sharp.
He'll chop off your head..
And steal your heart.

If you seek the bloodthirsty one.
The one known as the Hessian.
Make a turn to the Indian trail.
To the tree of the dead.

But be sure not to come alone.
As he's always looking for more victims.
Climb down carefully to the Hessian's lair.
Can you hear him roaring?

If you can.
Say your prayers.
And don't fo

Blogmonstres-et-miroirs.kazeo.com/

The Night Shift.I’m down for a diaper change because it’s about time, I put trust in you and you ask me of mine.

I lie on my back and let you undo the tape, unaware to you now but the time will soon change.

You stare down the look on my blushing red face, and wonder how it feels to be in my place.

I know what you’re thinking from my eyes that see all, eyes that stare back as your guard starts to fall.

Without a warning you’re trapped in my gaze, your eyes start to haze, you’re lost and you’re dazed.

I reach from the floor and put my hand on your heart, your soul’s in the light but afraid of the dark.

I know tha

The MasqueradeThe Masquerade
From "Mask of the Red Death" by Edgar Allen Poe
Contest entry for "a night t a masquerade ball"
'T was the night of the 23rd
The wind was blowing hard
The townsfolk curled up in their beds
Not a living soul went out
The wind swept the dust along the road
The clouds wreathed a pale moon
Far away at the court of Estafal
The nobles gave a masquerade ball
They dressed as creatures that walked the night
Dark costumes, faces painted deathly white
Then came a caller at the gate
The guard tried to warn him, or her,
That he had come too late
As he opened his mouth to speak
The guard choked on his breath
The caller strode silently through the door
Leaving the guard to his fate
He headed for the ball room
He found it within an hour
Then he stalked the dancing guests
Each one met his or her death

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Breathless IntrigueSprawling body

Eager for contact

A chilling touch

Sending nerves in frenzy

A shaken breathe

Electricity in the air

Skin glistening

Mouth salivating

Lower regions yearning

Heart rapidly pumping

Climax of the essences

No time to squander

Clash of bodies

Friction of sweat

Taste of honey upon the melody

Vocals like sirens

Heated flops

Breathless intrigue

Separate ways in a daze

TrampledAn inevitable sadness overcoming me.

Hopeless.

Words dancing in my head.

Thoughts of what might be in the next life.

My time here spent.

Undesirable.

Wretched my torment is.

I fake a laugh.

I pull the corners of my mouth up.

Crack and bruising is my anguish.

Despair.

A setting sun in my existences.

Sustainability is not compromising.

My dark hour is rioting.

Taking hold of me in a spiral.

Falling from my refinement.

Lost in the mist of gloom.

Build me a pyre.

Give no marker for the dead.

I will lie in ash.

Trampled upon as my life was.

Surrender to me.Give to me what you shall.

Will your body to me-
Strip your soul of its temple.

Straddle the alter-
Flaunt before me.

Innocent?

Guilt?

Written in your fate-
I can see.

The routes to take-
The pesky choices to come.

Bash your thoughts to nothing-
Give haste to me.

Don't force me to take-
That will be your fatal mistake.

I could slide my hand around your heart-
Ever delicately seize your existence.

Surrender to me.

ExpulsionA simple rift in my time

A question of why

A slight lose of sanity

12 weeks counted

36 weeks a must

Life failed

Extricated from womb.

Slumber now a friend.

Sadness drenching the soft touch

Comfort found at the bottle bottom

Lose of precious gift

Left with a horrible tale

A once was now gone.

It took overIt reaches deep into me.

Taking hold it plays its tune.

Veins played as if I was a cello.

I arch my back allowing it to take me.

My heart swelling in necessary desire.

It reaches deep into me.

Taking hold it plays its tune.

Crushing my weakness for it.

My nerves building a fortress.

It is trapped in me.

Harvesting my thoughts .

Raping my sight.

Eloquent sounds.

It reaches deep into me.

Taking hold it plays its tune.

A voice in me is stifled.

A tear escapes upon its beauty.

Paroxysm amongst my appendages.

It reaches deep into me.

Taking hold it plays its tune.

As my body moves I become it.

Displaying sound through movement

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Submitted: June 18, 2011
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Lafayette Cemetery

by ~MisplacedFox, Jun 18, 2011, 9:43:12 PM
Literature / Poetry / Horror / Traditional Fixed Forms

The sightful guides are during the day,
The insightful guides are at night when all want to play.

The tombs are a plenty,
All sitting above and pretty.

The gates don't contain,
All those that crawl and become mundane.

A hushed whisper amongst the trees,
A rustle in the leaves.

Sit still make no sound,
It may be the Lafayette blood hound.

The cemetery is full of them,
All masterful and of mayhem.

The tombs are a plenty,
All sitting above and pretty.

The twist and turn of each row,
Offer you no way to go slow.

The scratch and scathe,
Only your screams will be heard in this place.

Sit still make no sound,
It may be the Lafayette blood hound.

Now pray for light,
Because you may not make it through the night.

The gothic crosses bear no wisdom,
They can not protect you from any idiom.

The dead has risen,
Taking shape in this prison.

The tombs are a plenty,
All sitting above and pretty.

Sit still make no sound,
It may be the Lafayette blood hound.

Lafayette Cemeteryby ~MisplacedFox

Literature / Poetry / Horror / Traditional Fixed Forms

Inspired by the writing contest "A special place" from

*Debbysh Sep 13, 2011

you have been featured!!!! [link]

~MisplacedFox Sep 14, 2011

Thank you for the feature sweet! Very kind of you.

*Debbysh Sep 15, 2011

it was a pleasure

~MisplacedFox Sep 18, 2011

awww

*TwistedAnger Jun 20, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

This has a twisting insanity feel to it....I see a woman spinning in the middle of the cemetery dancing with ghosts and goblins!

~MisplacedFox Jun 20, 2011

umm .. where you there wih me...

*TwistedAnger Jun 20, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

hmm...was that you all naked in the tombstones?

~MisplacedFox Jun 20, 2011

bahahahaha... you know it!

*TwistedAnger Jun 20, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

Nice...that was me with the video camera...

~MisplacedFox Jun 20, 2011

sweet...good thing you captured it cause it will be a long time before I do that again.
Being sober takes away my need to be naked

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Lafayette Cemetery

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