Lost

“If you feel lost, disappointed, hesitant, or weak, return to yourself, to who you are, here and now and when you get there, you will discover yourself, like a lotus flower in full bloom, even in a muddy pond, beautiful and strong.”
― Masaru Emoto, Secret Life of Water   

 

                                Ships wreck

Walking through the question marks
Where will I go in this dark?
With the light dimming behind
How will I go being blind?
Screaming in my head, holding the candle near
Where will I go from here?
The path is crooked with cliffs along the way
Fear says never to go but only to stay

When there’s no sight from lack of light there remains no assurance in the steps. My soul’s being torn between ravenous beasts manifested by my torment. Faith, will you save me now? Will you come on the white horse of sanity and redeem my soul? These wasps follow me, stinging me where ever I go. I can hear the buzz of their wings while I sleep. There’s no healing from the swelling injections filled with the puss of their rape. What parts of me have died or are dying? Why can’t I tell? I know that bricks are missing in my wall and deleterious eyes stare at me from the holes. With all of this hell raging in and around me, I call out, as we all do in the foxholes of life, “GOD HELP ME”! He will, but how, it escapes me, but when, it eludes me, and in this moment I hang to what I know from His dealings with me in the past. I know He’ll help me, I know He’ll come, I know I’ll survive and be stronger yet for the next wave of human devils and demon thoughts.

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Hooked

 “Assure a man that he has a soul and then frighten him with old wives’ tales as to what is to become of him afterward, and you have hooked a fish, a mental slave.”
– Theodore Dreiser

The following is a poem from an exceptionally talented new friend, Arne Tornek. Enjoy.

 

fantasygoth

The hook slicks in.

How easily she snags.

How tightly she tugs.

 

She knows no surrender.

Long in exile, she returns,

To lead you to forgotten rooms.

 

In a careless moment

She sucks the tongue from your mouth.

Coils it round your demon need,

Slips it back behind your lips.

 

You swallow her hard.

Scornfully, she sniggers at you.

Knows that you can’t do without her,

In spite of your painstaking

Hopeless attempts.

 

She washes over your mind like an old friend,

With the comforting allure of a new lover.

And she’s back with her pedicure

In the ring of your desires;

Your powerless soul at prayer

Under the Gothic arch of her painted foot.

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Last Dance

 “It is one of the considerable privileges of art that the horrible can be transformed, through artful expression, into beauty.” – Baudelaire

“Nothing burns like the cold.” – George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones 

 

sinkinginsociety

The tombstone, angled slightly askew,

tumbled out of bounds

with a weedy surround

Miss Daze stood, in wind her hair flew,

in tears from all the sound

coming from cold ground

Flames they shot, forked vehemence,

voice from grave beneath

a mouth without teeth

A door revealed, viewed with vengeance,

Swaying she was sure to be

chanting a nether decree

A demon red, he stood in great haste,

and with a beastly shove

grabbed Miss Daze from above

Sinister the dance, in smoky and hellish taste,

Passion’s rigor is restored

Forcing open Deaths door

The Demon Worry

“Drag your thoughts away from your troubles… by the ears, by the heels, or any other way you can manage it.” – Mark Twain

“Some men storm imaginary Alps all their lives, and die in the foothills cursing difficulties which do not exist.” – Edgar Watson Howe

xsleeplessness

Worry is a demonic embryo, its umbilical cord attached directly to my peace of mind and contentedness. It draws creative energy from them while imparting a deadly pathogen of anger, haste, and anxiety in a sticky mire of mental paralysis. The foul sinister infant spoils achievement by robbing me of the pleasure of attainment and eating the beauty of “Now” by a bloody spell of “What If”. To what do I owe the conception of this deceitful child? The copulation occurred by a rape of my mind from circumstances beyond my control. I thought it best then that I destroy it, to rid the world of this scourge. Many coat hangers of those attempts at abortion litter my thoughts. The wounds I inflicted are worse than the thing itself. Still, I made it this far, although I see it kick in my belly, its grasping hands pressing against my skin, deforming the beauty of birth with its sickening form. There is one antidote, a thing just as evasive yet, powerful enough to counter the poison of the demon Worry – my lover Faith. I follow her close and with every wonderful kiss she imparts a temporary immunity to my anxious contractions. There are nights I lay in her arms, as the thunder approaches, and instead of frightening me, it provides a romance for our affair, our bed alive with the fiery passion of battle. Faith, how is it you can take my dreary anxious nights and give me smiles of joy in the mornings after? The battle rages on, the sickness only cured by death, wherein Faith and I will join in eternal matrimony, our children never cursed with the vile afflictions of Worry.

Snuff of Innocence

“… you don’t have to wait for someone to treat you bad repeatedly. All it takes is once, and if they get away with it that once, if they know they can treat you like that, then it sets the pattern for the future.” – Jane Green, Bookends

ardentembrace

With the subtly of snakes, he creeps through the grass

Lust on his mind, his tongue tasting the innocence

Peeling the soul away leaving his dying life behind

Pushing his severity on one left alone

Fear is the knife held to a young neck

Forcing a change, cracking the tender mind

Raising to her feet, looking through the shock

A numbness begins, heaven’s after thought to this evil

Vigilance now a trance to see the blurred face of the enemy

Shadows take shape, forever they will chase

Hiding, pulling the dark around like a quilt

This soul will do more than agonize over dead matters

Lay down now you thirsty demon

Shaking herself the young woman becomes a nightmare

Also published in Broowaha 

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Prayers – Forgive Me For My Body

The following is a post by descendingascension, a young woman with exceptional talent. Enjoy.

Oh my God!

Forgive me for my body,

For it has been dealt sins of the flesh.

This child, with bright eyes,

A child no more,

But there, a woman

Teary eyes and full bosomed

Betrayed into womanhood,

Not by child

But by deceivers with sweet tongues and quick hands

Such motions to seduce a body

Forgive me Father!

This body can bear no more.

With its fullness

The wretchedness of flesh memories

Oh my Lord, I pray

Not for forgiveness,

For within myself it is scant,

But for penance.

Out of Heaven and Hell,

Love was created

And the demons unleashed unto me.

Fallen a soul

Once an angel with honest intent,

Yet I sacrificed the keys to the gates when I spoke his name

And tore off my wings with bodily shame

Now!

I am condemned a mortal

To wander and roam;

To be left to my devices

And vices

In purgatory;

Alone.

-R.S.L.S

First published in descendingascension