The People I Used to Trust

Awaken
with a sudden jolt of life
to the horrors

the entire building
dead quiet
quiet
and dead

gore and feathers
plastered to my body
feathers...
the nightmare!

the feathers trigger memories
of the terrors I've seen
my dreams last night
the monster
eating, devouring
everyone

flashes
the blood
the intestines
the bodies

these darkly images
flickering, dancing
before my eyes

it leaves a sour taste in my mouth

I can't clearly picture the beast
which makes him all the more terrifying
I see his clawed hands
ripping gashes
pieces of humans flying
splattered around the room

the images make me sick
the sour taste becomes more familiar
my stomach heaves
and I vomit
and the taste is ever stronger
as I see my mouth
tearing out the bones
of the people I used to know
feathers falling from my wings
as I laugh at their horrified expressions
as I vomit up the blood
of the people I used to trust

I laugh as I sob
as I look around my life
at the blood soaked work of art
that we have created

-

A poem a day keeps the demon at bay

My Skin, My Sin

I've ran as far as I could
kneeling on the ground behind a tree
as I pant for the breath
that I would not regain
his gasping wheezing noises haunting me
terrorizing me so much more
than the crackling of his feet

as he stalks toward me
I try breathing slowly
lightly
wincing from the pain in my back
I reach back behind me
picking out the feathers protruding from my shoulders

he sniffs as each tear drops from my cheek
I see him now
climbing towards me
dirt and soil falling from the wooden roots that pump through him like veins

he steps, standing in front of me
the blackness bubbling up
all around his taloned feet
I look up upon him as he looks down
he, too, has feathers falling
as though he were bleeding them out
the roots through his legs tense as his left foot jolts to my neck
he lifts me up
until I am face to face with this creature

his talons grip me
just hard enough to bleed my neck
while still allowing me to barely breath
my left hand reaches to my throat
my right arm reaches through his chest
my eyes reach into his eyes
his bleeding feathers dissolve into my skin, my sin
I know him.

-

It can be terrifying, confronting your demons

Ravaged. Yet, reborn

the ink slithers through my veins
pumping, flowing
exploding out through my pores
i stain the sheets, i stain the carpets
as i stagger out of my bed
and collapse to the floor
vomiting piles of blackness
i flail about within
splashing about
creating catastrophic blots along the walls
my organs heaving
clenched fists squeezing
the volcanic explosions never letting up
my ears, my eyes
oozing the darkness from all
i see it
i hear it
i taste it
i feel it
i am it
as the sunlight shines through the windows
breaking through the cracks of unpainted glass
my creations step forward
swallowing me whole
my convulsing body drops
tooth and claw marks, across my skin
i am ravaged
yet, reborn

my dark winged angel

she sways back and forth
beyond my eyes
behind them
waist up, covered in red
the color dripping
draping over her body

an itch in my hair
scratching the back of my head
the color of your jacket
covering my palms
pulsating, living

I'm bent backwards
as she steps out
zipping up the gash
that she left in my head
locking it up tight
but pocketing, not swallowing, the key

I can see her behind me
as she lowers her arms over my chest
her red hooded jacket
oozing down my body

I feel your chest, your laser operated vest
lightly heaving against me
with every breath you take

I turn around
turn around
just in time to glimpse you
your naked red hooded figure
gliding away in the air
your darkened feathers trailing
my dark winged angel
leaving me only a memory
and this diamond shaped ring

-

This is the artistic epitome of my current Muse. I love her.

Penny

she crawls around the top
like she's stalking her prey

my little cat

i don't quite get it
why she looks so fierce

she glares at me

"I need your help!"
I call up to her

ears perk up, "meow?"

yes little Penny
just climb down here

she climbs, slips, falls, tumbles into my lap

I pat her head
kiss her nose
and tie an SOS note to her collar

my leg is broken from the fall
i lay here wounded, waiting

waiting for my Penny to bring back help

"just close your eyes"
a little voice in my head whispers

"it'll all be over soon"

i open my eyes, surprised
"Penny? you're still here?"

my cat lays a whisper

"don't worry my dear"
she says, patting her belly

"in just a few minutes he will be ripe and yummy."

-

I've never read anything by HP Lovecraft (*GASP* I know, I know, I'll get on it soon) but I was in a Gothic Lit class and during one section of the class we talked about dread. The feeling of impending doom through the dark feeling of dread. Through that discussion, the works of HP Lovecraft came up. The idea of most of his writing, so I've been told, is that there isn't really happy endings. I used to hate that, as I used to hate the film Dagon which *spoilers* does not freaking end happy in any way whatsoever */spoiler*. But that day during out discussion I came to appreceate the dark and bleak endings of art a little bit more and also came up with the idea for this poem (which I had originally meant to make a short story). It took me about a year to finally write it, and I'm pretty happy with it.

Searing Smile?

the blood pours out
draining, draining

your eyes searing
my wounds too slowly
looking into me

although i smile
as there is no pain

-

I'm not quite sure if this is really the title to my poem, but that's what I titled the TextEdit document that I saved it under, so I'm going to keep it that way question mark and all.

Blood and Feathers

she gasps
falling to her knees
gasps in pain
gasps in pleasure
she groans
and moans
and screams

the blood trickles down her back
her shoulder blades crack

rip
tear

her body twists
contorts
she smiles
laughs in agony

black feathers
writing, climbing out
her wounds peel open

black and red pools
swirl and form around her legs

with one last
breath
she falls to the sky
newly birthed wings
keep her grounded
within the clouds
as she wakes
blood and feathers
sticking to her bones
no wounds
no wings
only blood
only feathers

-

I love trippy surreal stuff and I love black angel wings. Pretty much sums up how much I absolutely love this poem of mine (and I rarely love my poems that much).

Manic Pixie Real Girl

Manic Pixie Dream Girl - that bubbly, shallow cinematic creature that exists solely in the fevered imaginations of sensitive writer-directors to teach broodingly soulful young men to embrace life and its infinite mysteries and adventures. (Term coined by film critic Nathan Rabin)

There is a thing
A Manic Pixie Dream Girl thing
That exists in our minds
Well some of our minds

She is beautiful
She is perfect
She completes us
Right?

Or is she just a figment
A creation
Dropped into our lives through art
To teach us?

Or is there another form
A Manic Pixie Dream Girl of the real world
Could she exist?
Maybe, but we should not spend lives searching

A Manic Pixie Real Girl
She exists
I've known her to exist
In my life right now

She is a Real Girl
But does my imagination
Accentuate her attributes
Or is this feeling all reality

I like her
Yes
But my feelings feel quite
Contradictory

I want her
But I don't

I need her
But I don't

I love her
But I don't

I don't know how to express it
How she makes me feel, see, live, inspired
I love her, but I don't
A continuous battle through the turmoil

Is she in my life merely to help
To break me through this slump
To get me back up on my feet?

Or am I reading too far into this
This literary device
That has left the fictional world to interfere in my life

I don't know
I don't know if I'll ever know
But I know she's here
My Manic Pixie Real Girl

Or not.

The Beauty of the Pixie

The beauty of the Pixie
drowns away the sorrows

she shows up unexpectedly
fluttering through the wind
she gusts towards me
sweeping her way across my heart

I gaze, I gawk
artistically of course
at the wondrous allure

the Pixie casts her spell
never leaving my thoughts
as I look upon her
she pushes away my sorrow

her wings peeling off
and sprouting into the air
flittering through life
spilling her fairy dust
ever so lightly across my soul

-

Straight up, I love mythology. I love mythology, folklore, folk tales, fairy tales, cryptozoology. You name it, I love it. Unless I haven't heard of it before. Then I'll be forcing you to tell me all about it with excruciating detail. Anyway, I love this kinda stuff and it often shows in my writing. Today I saw a Pixie, she was gorgeous. I'm an artist, I wrote about her. That's just how this stuff goes.