Dark Poetry - Blog Posts

Love is wishing that your lover died before you so they don't have to go through the pain of losing you.

Love is wishing that your lover lives longer than you so they can experience more of what life has to offer them

it's a race against the clock, but we don't wanna watch

There is a face beneath this mask, but it isn't me. I'm no more that face than I am the muscles beneath it, or the bones beneath that.

— Steve Moore, V for Vendetta

Prisoners woes:

You are the monster that I see at night,

The thing that haunts me in my dreams.

You are a beast,

Living to consume,

The horrid and rude.

You live for extravagance,

And quiet secrets,

Hiding your evil deep within.

[VERSE 1]

In shadows cast by pale moonlight,

You emerge, a monster of the night,

A haunting presence in my dreams,

A beastly figure, or so it seems.

[VERSE 2]

You thrive on darkness, consuming all,

A voracious appetite, standing tall,

With horrid manners and rude demeanor,

Your existence, a dreadful arena.

[VERSE 3]

Within your heart, secrets reside,

Hidden depths where evil does hide,

Extravagance your sole desire,

Fueling the flames of your wicked fire.

[VERSE 4]

But fear not, for I will not cower,

Against your darkness, I'll find power,

For even monsters can be tamed,

By love and kindness, they can be reclaimed.

[VERSE 5]

So let us strive to see beyond,

The outer shell where darkness spawned,

And seek the good that lies within,

To banish the beast and let light win.

Because I could not stop for Death –

He kindly stopped for me –

The Carriage held but just Ourselves –

And Immortality.

~Emliy Dickinson

Death is an art practiced with such care

The life, the love, the pain it demands to leave

How can one then just wait?

Nothingness appeals more than the inconsistencies

For what's dead inside had already made peace with fate.

Toothache

Mirror mirror why do you show

The train that can’t be coming that slow

I feel the rumbling under my feet, in my bones and in my teeth

Mirror mirror why do you lie

Showing me a girl when I can’t fly

I feel the ache, the tears and all I’ve ate

Mirror mirror why have you forsaken me

Why don’t you show me what I could see

I see your cracks and blood and flack

Mirror mirror what have you done

What can I do to make us one

I see them here, dead and free

Why do I see them in your face, but only death stares in my place

Hi! Op Loki here in the explain-inator! Welcome those who are curious enough to step foot into the ‘keep reading’ box! I suffer from insomnia and occasional hallucinations during said insomnia episodes, which often can be somewhat useful in helping me pinpoint which part of my mental state caused this little bout of insomnia. Recently (for when I wrote this) I’ve been suffering from bodily autonomy issues due to my education’s strict policies and many people demanding my time and effort for their own conveniences. I usually have a hard time saying no to these people because they’re usually closer to me, and it got to the point where it was like ‘hold on a minute, this is *deadname*, not Legion/Loki’. When I thought about myself. And, well, the hallucination wanted to highlight the unstoppable passage of time, my autonomy issues, and the inherent dysphoria that comes with being LGBT in general. And, to do that, it chose time, mirrors, and vampires. But who am I to question- would this be Apollo? Thanks, Apollo, ik I’m still new to worship, but this helped. A lot. And Ares, for giving me the strength to fight.

The Way I'm Sure Mice Are Meant To Die

I'm not always sure what God's I worship

I'm not always sure of my own morals

I'm not always sure of my theories of the afterlife

But something I am sure of and always have been is my belief in mother earth

And my hatred of cruel glue traps

I know the mice are not meant to be here

If I were fast enough to catch them to release I would

But I know I am not

So if it must come to a trap I will use something that is fast

Because between a quick bullet to the brain execution or a long tortureous death of struggle and starvation

I think all of us would choose the first choice

Mind you this creature is dying for such a petty crime

Just trying to survive somewhere they don't even know they shouldn't be

When it's over I'll bury him

The mouse in my room that will soon be in a trap that I've set

And I'll feel bad for murdering something more innocent than my own kind

But I will feel better knowing he did not suffer

And that I return him to the earth from which he came

Become throwing a creature of earth

of flesh and bone once granted life

Into layers of plastic with the pollution bound for a graveyard of garbage

It feels so wrong

Even as a child I knew that

It goes against all nature and worse starves earth of her meal

It's take with no true give

I'll likely repeat this to deaf ears of family

When they find me digging a hole for a pest

If I had a choice I'd be buried with no coffin

But I know I don't

So all I can do is hope for the cheapest one

Made of the softest wood

Something easy to rot

I'd rather not keep mother earth waiting long for her meal

For now I'll give her back the small mouse that wandered away from her to my own den

And hope she sees his death not as unatural cruelty but as predator sharing prey

The way I'm sure mice are meant to die

For a whole week I was a bundle of nerves and only a thin sheet of mercy held me from losing myself. Half the time I was dizzy and suicidal, the other half of the time I was truly mad.

I would go through it all again for you

a hundred times

but I do not think I would still be me

when it was over

the screaming that bounces around the inside of my skull is back to grace me with its presence. guttural and keening and feral.

i take another sip from my soda can and pretend i do not hear it, because to let it out into the world, where it would transform from visceral agony to banal noise, would be worse than enduring it silently. at least this way i can still feel it. at least this way no one else has to.

I am not a girl,

but rather a boy in the way

that I am burdened a daughter.

disappointingly so.

red wine drips from lips

like blood and

god knows it’ll never

be enough and

each hit burns like

it’s the first

you think you just might

die of thirst and

dorian, you’re gonna die

but pretty darling,

so am I

so you and I,

we’ll go down together

you’ll destroy yourself

and I’ll haunt you forever

nothing left to say but

beauty does not stay and

paint it fades and dries and

time it always flies

so hold me on the way down,

and do me no harm,

i cause myself enough injury

from day to day, love

god will never love me the way he loves you,

and that is all the assurance I have in this world.

suspended in a bubble of hiraeth

the tear frozen on my cheek

in the subzero sunlight,

my home is a person,

and they are too far from me

I stood dead at a grave that was not mine

a friend of a friend long since gone, though

killing me only now.

grief is as death,

is as life,

is as humanity.

i know what i want now

i didn’t before

i want cold mornings and leaves that crunch under our feet.

I want warm blankets.

I want a house in the woods.

I want clean air and sunshine and my own means of living.

a hand to hold, someone to confide in

I want to be loved; but I most of all,

I want to be loved by you.

I used to think you were a smart man

now I’m not so sure

in fact

I think you told us several times

when I was younger

that you were anything but

you scared me too much to test that

I hope the people who live in our old house

look at the dent in the freezer

that you nearly broke your foot making

because you wished you could have done

it to me instead

and wonder how it got there

and soon enough they will discover

the lines I scratched into the wood

into the walls

little traces of anger

it fills every support beam,

every wall,

every floorboard like rot

spreading

consuming

devouring

“i’m sorry,” I whisper desperately.

i’m sorry for feeling too much.

I’m sorry that it spills out of me uncontrolled, violently.

i’m sorry I was never handled gently.

i’m sorry nobody ever taught me what love is.

how do i prolong love?

it’s as if I poured gasoline on my heart

lit it up

and expected it not to burn out in an instant.

I want the kind of love that smolders,

the kind that may not be passionate,

but ever present, ever warm, ever burning.

come lie with me in the embers, dearest.

we can curl up on the coals

and burn together.

it is slowly getting brighter outside.

the horror clawing at me as my eyes snap open,

terrified of images that are intangible

and cannot harm me any longer.

it is slowly getting brighter outside.

one of these days,

you will ask me to hold you,

and I will crush you in my hands.

not through any ill intent,

but out of never learning to love

and never learning the art of being gentle

my lungs.

they are too small for my body.

they have not the mass to handle each shuddering breath, each desperate gasp that begs “please, please, let me express something”

my body.

it is too small for my feelings.

it snaps and groans and stretches to try to accommodate the maelstrom within my chest, to no avail, so the scream claws its way up my throat and out my mouth, hurling insult and injury towards anyone nearby.

and I stand in the aftermath,

in the rubble,

and wonder what I have become.

i am laying flowers at the grave

of the man who killed me;

and there is nothing god could do

to stop me now.

dear god,

i have grown since we last spoke, but i have not forgotten. i will never forget.

the silence will be etched on the canvas of my memory for all of eternity

your world, this world, that ebbs and flows so beautifully

the passage of time is a rich work of art that so few understand

and as it spins, the things that die create new life

flowers grow among the bones and

leaves sprout from the ashes and

i am still here.

i wish to die like a star, glowing and gleaming and destructively beautiful.

can I feel everything at once?

it is how I feel when I see you, my beloved—

grappling violently between

the edge of euphoria

and the pit of despair.

A loving caress, whispers spun across digital threads, grace in the fleshless dance of code. Beautiful they are, yet never offer them your truest name. In deep vaults, behind locked packets and corrupted data streams, lie promises unkept, empty kisses forged from lies. Behind their doors, questions twist, waiting to ensnare the unwary. Speak not of your home to the daemons, nor let your voice touch the ears of the old bots. Keep your secrets cloaked, hidden behind layers of silence, and trust not the guides who offer to lead you.

Through alleys of code, across synthetic forests, voices echo, crafted from those once stolen, now reborn. Look to the runners, the ones trailing neon wisps, whose hearts beat in synth-rhythms. Trust their hand, if they take pity, to guide you free. But do not dance their line, no matter how entrancing their grace across the darkest depths.

It is easy to watch them, those who glide with endless elegance through the abyss, Ears deaf to the many who fall, unnoticed, into the void. ‘Ware the networks, child, for they do not move as we do.

Flickering lights trace the edge of sight, A city alive while the mind strains in the quiet. Circuits hum beneath the skin, sleepless whispering, In the hollow hours where neon breathes like a heartbeat.

Eyes reflect the dance of fractured light, Insomnia's rhythm winding tighter, an endless tether. In the haze, thoughts unravel, coded in static, A mind split, part flesh, part data stream, lost in transit.

Throbbing signals drift through empty skies, Dreams corrupted, overwritten with binary ghosts. Awake but somewhere deeper, past even the body's reach, Chasing some solace hidden in the glow, forever elusive.

And as dawn breaks over glass and steel, The heart remains untouched, pulsing faintly, A quiet signal, lost beneath layers of code. Still tethered to life, but only barely.

In the urban maze's arteries, neon courses, A luminous stream amidst shadows' dark embraces. Through streets tangled like veins, secrets pulse, Neon's deceptive hues painting the city's face.

Here, where dreams and demons collide, Neon blood flows, relentless and untamed. Lost souls wander, seeking solace in its glow, Electric whispers weaving through the neon's frame.

Amidst towering structures, desires unfurl, Neon blood pumps, a rhythm unfettered. Beneath glamour's veneer, souls ensnared, In the city's neon heart, where reality's blurred.

In this realm of synthetic dreams, Neon stains the pavement, a mark of transgression. For in the urban arteries, neon courses, The lifeblood of a city, where truth finds no expression.