Last Commented Dark Poetry Poems (2,492)

In the open water am I
Alone, lost am I
Abandand
In the open ocean am I

Dark grey clouds above my head
Darkness aproaches
The gloom
Day fades
Alone am I

Trying to survive
Whales approach they swim by
Afraid I am i
The sun ,the blue sky gone, darkness has come

I tread water to try to keep a float cold am I
Sharks come
Oh lord am going to die

You look at me but you don’t see
Hiding in here is the real me
I smile and nod so pleasantly
Surely a gentleman, you think

But deep down inside of me
I hide a secret ever darkly
So warily it peeks about
Then calculates the chances

I’m not like the rest you see
You will never catch me
Take my time, stalk my prey
Then take it when it’s safe to

So many times in past I’ve gone
And satisfied all my urges
I glory in the power I have
To slap you down senseless

To bend your will to my will
The rape is just the icing
I’m too smart to leave a trace
That’s why you’ll never catch me

Forty eight wills I’ve bent
Forty eight I’ve raped
Now I’m looking for the next
My glorious forty ninth

Clouds of hate drifting across my peripheral vision
and the stench of unfaithfulness fills my nostrils.
Disgust rears it’s ugly head out of the gutter to peer
about. With every breath taken I can taste the despair
in the air. The utter loneliness screaming incessantly
in my ears, over and over it assails the senses, no hope!
No hope! No hope! Constantly every fibre of my being
is being brutally attacked. Can this be a dream or am I
in some sort of twisted reality? Where do I go from here?
Here where life is full of meaningless emptiness. Every
twist and turn brings me closer to facing myself, and that
is my biggest fear, to find out what I am really like.

and i am me
but who am i really?
a child raped of innocence
refused to lay in shadows
of other ones sins.

and i am me
but who am i really?
im the one that carried you all
dispite the weight
i never let you fall.

and i am me
but who am i really?
im the one that said your not alone
i opened my doors, shelterd you a home.

i am the one
everyones tower of strenght
everyones and anyones
but myself.

but who am i really
i am no one but just i
the weight has burden my little shoulders
yet i cant and won't cry....

BECAUSE ITS ME & thats me.

Feet barely lingering on the hard wood floor
Weightlessness and freedom of thought
Wanting to take back all that was done
But knowing now she could not
So looking back at the scene that she left
The chair fallen down on its side
Rope burns circled round her neck
She couldn’t take it back, though she tried.

The tourniquet

strangling my giving life

of a hurt
does one
flee

to save
ones life

reckless movement
cowering
within
the mounds

a silence creeps
as babies sleep

thunder storms like opera

singing to
the depth

to gulp the winning notes

lick the blood
streaming from my life

but to sit
so serene
untying the ropes

knotted tightly
a volume of
bewilded strife

no secrete forest lays beyond

yet creeping roots
they lay
so hidden under the skin


to push the way

screams
of despair

rack wretched my bones

the quiet times
of crazy silent

homes

then let

a Sophia, to begin

to ner say

she never meant
to swim

Shes off!

xx

Where can I run
That you cannot find me
Tell me where I can I go
That you cannot follow
I run away but you always find me
I am yours you say and we will never part

Broken promises are my daily portion
Black eyes and broken ribs are your gifts
Pretty flowers are always your apologies
Your Tender kisses request forgiveness

Last night you promised not to hurt me
Like a fool I believed you once again
Now I lay in the morgue, lying lifeless
Our baby unborn but you never knew

If I had been brave enough to run
Just one last time
Maybe I would have avoided this fate
This man of mine who promised to love me
This man of mine became my biggest mistake

Now I have gone where no one can follow
Now I have gone where no one can find

Nobody sees, nobody feels
Nobody hears Him stomping through
My heart pounding to the moving heels
Love turn to hate, and lies made true

Reaching out, hand extended
Arm in agony, fully stretched
They see, they forget
Around my corps they marched

What is hell when life is pain?
What is the Devil when the mind is a cage?
The pages burn with righteous condemnation
I slice, dice and feed the rage

Nobody sees, nobody feels
Around my neck his grip tightens
I stare into the eyes, full of blasphemy
And into the void my soul is plunged

A homeless writing set adrift essentially in the middle of the city (the internet) looking like a grizzled old man with an insect ridden beard, dirty clothes and smells like cabbage. This is practice, a light shadow boxing in a dirty alleyway just around the corner from the shabby homeless guy, who is adrift on a spectacular cruise with Captain Rotgut Wine. I practice in this filthy alleyway to get the feel for the craft, to bob and weave my way through a series of drills everyday. Not unlike the working here in a war zone, watching the skies for the tell tale sign of a rocket getting shot on base, or the flinching feeling one gets when there is a big Boom close by. The way I still flinch when I hear a truck backfire back here in the states; hitting the floor of the restaurant to the stares of the other patrons, opposite an empty seat which used to be occupied by my spouse, only now is dead air. So I leave the restaurant, walking back to my little apartment in the city, past the bum in the alleyway, the shadow boxer and finally past the disinterested, tattooed hooker, who always seems to be here and not working, as if she is always waiting on me to walk by, "you want a date, lover?" Wiggling her rear suggestively in her shorts, her long raven hair is teased up in a fancy do on top of her head as if she was recently at an embassy dinner, surrounded by dignitaries, only now just the hair remains, as she is within the orbit of junkies, drunks and dressed in shorts, high heels and a white rabbit fur jacket that compliments her sapphire green eyes and generous mouth.
I incline my head towards my shabby little apartment; she is my muse, a whore with a heart of a lion, within a hot body, soon to be full of sweat, moans and finally as she stands there naked in my room, lit by the neon signs from the streets outside, which casts a reddish glow on her skin, giving her a slightly demonic look. I watch her from the bed within that hateful neon moonlight as she counts the money from the vodka-scented dresser. She turns to me and smiles, flashing rows of white pearly teeth and she is holding a straight razor. I nod slightly as she eases over with that lovely skin suit and her blade. she pauses deliciously above me and then cuts as the red water flows out of me and down to the floor in rivulets of letters and sentences.
She is why I practice, that scurvy, perfume scented whore; she is the surgeon now. I am just a lousy pen on a liquor stained dresser, lying beside a bloody scalpel within a smell of cheap perfume, and an empty apartment.

In the twilght they stand
These woman of disrepute
Their wares on display
For all to see

Goodies galore
Poeple knocking on their door
How much for the hour
be mine tonight

Cars roll up the windows wind down
Mmm you look gourges wanna be mine tonight in the car the women climb
Off they go for their first or second trick of the night
Will the be back these woman of the night displaying what they got

in a river a sewer or bush will their bodies be found or on their favorite corner that the like to stand