This primitive carnality for necrophilia so
crept into my soul, such visions of hell
Satanic ejaculations in disreputable turmoil,
fucked up wretchedness far from rationality,
morbid calamity a little too delicate for some
This sickness inside grips my spine, twist
and curls my body into evil deformities
I cry for mother nature to penetrate my soul,
free all my minds gutter worth, and take me
from this vicious earth, this forsaken place
War of words entrapped inside, fighting to
get out less I suicide, poetry to thus bleed
Age old insults punch the air I breathe,
threaten to beat me down as I reach for
blue skies, and the worst of it is that nobody
can grasp this fire that burns inside
Cigarette smoke drains me, as much I do know
Stuck in this deserted hotel on the outskirts
of Moscow, a Russian winter chills my darkest
night, rages on in jaded mind. Writers block
so gets me singing this dumb lullaby to an old
song, sweet sounds of old, torture to heed
Amniotic creatures of darkness I surely hear
scavenging outside, blood lust their desire
Paralyzed by fear I crack open a bottle of gin
and tonic, and skoal for my hearts enjoyment
this fucking damage, this lust for death
Marooned and numb with paranoia, I scuttle a
tape into the worn and battered cassette player,
there my intercostal tendons relax at long last
Drifting sands shift my minds focus to radiant
landscapes, thus to water-colour becomes evident
as such, tho' tormenting my soul further into decay
Silver and heaps of gold litter the floor before me,
leftover funds from my last dire epic in print, still
not enough to get me out off the crying shits
For this is where I've arrived of my own accord, a
drunken stupor taken too far into decadent hankerings,
down hells path thus I ramble, slip away in minds
self made disaster, and there a nine string guitar I
wreak in total harmony to "The Fucking Champs"
This fucked up unison I try my hardest to revamp,
but only diabolical madness stems from here
Lying flat on my back, I ponder and wonder there
about this craziness bared, this primitive carnality
for necrophilia ensnared within my soul, and so
dyslexia brought on here is never fucking spared
Star studded garments unsavoury just, dystrophy
to weaken fiery lust, slaughter my minds sanity
Fucking carnality for necrophilia doing my head no
justice, such madness distorting my writing abilities,
killing all that my brain could conjure up in this crazy
place, thus there into hell I slowly and surely slide
Author notes
Ones path to hell is to another an inspiration, such madness as this poem portrays, can lie deep within those trapped in their own self made hell, for there isolated and alone for far too long, one can quite easily go mad.
In a list
A contest entry
- the way we fall. by aanika.
990 points, ended November 24, 2008, 22 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - For the punks and misfits (SHOCKVALUE POEMS) by Fibe Kill-DFW Punk-.
596 points, ended February 16, 14 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - AP's Dark Poetry Cesspool (A dark poetry contest) by Miss Macabre.
800 points, ended September 12, 17 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Any thoughts I'll much appreciate
Comments
1 - 13 of 13
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Beautiful diction and imagery, and the title is pure genius. I really enjoyed this, thanks for entering and best of luck.
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Sweet man, this had good shockvalue to it, it was vulgure, welcome to the fuckion finalists
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wow.
thanks for the entry.
this wasn't really what I was looking for, but I can definitely appreciate that you are a true artist. -
I found this to be rambling and disjointed. It didn't necessarily portray madness to me, just a lack of editing and proper grammar. Yes, it had good points to be sure, and a provocative title, but I couldn't help but feel that if some of the fat were trimmed away, the meat would stand out much better. Like a painting, too many brush-strokes often diminish the essence of the picture.
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You used the word bank with ease. The prose was lengthy but portrayed the chaotic mindset and inner turmoil well. A taboo topic and seriously worrying pattern of thoughts jigsawing within. I respectfully disagree with the author notes, such madness as this does not lie deep within us all, yes isolation may lead to a bonfire of insanities but not necessarily the need /thought/wish to participate in necrophilia surely? Perhaps add adult to the category?
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Could be shorter.
I thought the first stanza was a great poem in itself and you could have stopped right there while you were ahead;, but no, you went on and on and on and on. During the second and third stanza I was bored. By the forth stanza I began to think that maybe you were being ironic or satirical and I started to enjoy it again. The fifth stanza made me laugh so hard I almost soiled my pants; and I broke out into an insane giggle at the part where you slowly slid into hell. You certainly have talent and a way with a well turned phrase; you can do better than this. -
Dark, depraved certainly but but this glimpse into a personal insanity had lasting impact. It's gripping as dark writes should be, it makes the reader think. Love it!
Jem
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screenname in AN
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Interesting.
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EYE GRABBING TITLE
relentless, never letting go of the reader till the very last bitter word, wow, quite a dark masterpiece
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Superb plus
A very unique write, indeed. You've expressed your self quite well. Thanks for sharing this one with us.
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Man this smacks of the worst kind of BSDM habit I have heard of and sickening too...If you can do that by writing this I sure hope its a fictional piece!!!!
MM
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Darkly but wonderfully descriptive of the writer's particular insanity which drives one to write, the harrying and horrifying mental images that implode our neurons; it's not always a safe world, but it is our world, and yes, care must be taken to maintain some semblance of control... a surprisingly good read!
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