Toychest

Posted on by the_dorian_poe

Childhood locked in a chest, stored in the dusk of the attic

And buried, amongst the years, forgetting the toychest

And it’s contents, that had been there, throughout his youth,

All that directly links, to moments, that kept him awake,

Deep scraping along his bedroom, ripping at the wallpaper,

Frightened in the dark, as the shadows play on the ceiling

Cast, by his perched toys, on his shelves that dropped to the floor,

The plastic rattling, as they slowly drag against the rug,

That even now, the white noise of his fan, drowns the memories

As he wrestles, with the chest, fighting the current,

As the chest, thumping closer and closer, shrieks,

Jarring out from this terror, in a panic, a cold sweat,

A sullen voice on the phone, conveying disheartening news

A trail, leading him home, after one, taking him into the distance,

A vacant house, of stale comfort and soulless posessions,

Nothing stirring within, touring his familiar, unrecognizable halls,

Then preparing to rest, in his childhood bed,

A distracted presence, occupying, his swimming head

Hearing that thumping outside of his usual nightmare,

Mimicking, his own heartbeat, echoing off the stripped walls,

He peers out into the dread, gasping, trying to regulate his breath

As he sees, the paint, melting away, up towards the attic door,

The beating getting louder as he nears, hypnotized

By those steady, groaning deep thumps, grabbing his attention,

Standing below its access, releasing the hatch

As he climbs, through the dense flowing dust,

Finding the thumping had ceased, not even a creak

Of the floorboards as he nears, the lowlit backend,

Finding his locked away fears, pounding at the silence,

The latch withers in his hand, letting loose, all he entombed,

In the darkness, the pounding that shook the shelves

Which knocked over his toys, and the scratching, at his walls,

Enters his chest, grips his speeding beating heart

And whispers to him, “Nevermore”.

Rising

Posted on by the_dorian_poe

Art by Joshua Hoffine

Simple pleasures, so often, get overlooked by the diamond glare,

But she continues her stroll, through her lavish halls

Of pricelessness, crowding the walls casting long shadows,

As a solemn hush, occupies the burgundy canvas, of this mausoleum

Articulately crafted and engineered, to show off her devine prosperity,

Yet, she wonders alone, barely gazing, at any of her collectables,

Strolling by, her worldly posessions of statues and paintings

Frivolously acquired, filling blank spaces in her oversized mansion,

Standing separately, removed, from oppressive dwellings

To flourish, in a hollow plot, so she can be the polished,

Marinating in grand halls, surrounded by the squander

Thickly dressing, the outstretched corridors, of her maze,

Silence creaks, then echoes down, throughout lifelessness

As she fans herself, perched atop her swanky peak,

Untouched by the erosion, flooding lives, beyond her gates,

Cries, barely reaches the lock, snug and tightly clamped

So that she can revel, in the abounding untouchables,

But there, in the still, erie absence of sound, the softest whisper

Huddled up next to her, and gave a deep fright

That resonated through her entire being, and caused her, to collapse,

She immediately sprang up, hysterically searched

For the voice, that put her wellness into paralysis

As she tried to shake away, the voice’s prolonged echo,

Waiting, for it to settle, along with her rapid thumping,

And just as some alleviation dawned, a furious clanking

At her gates, had once again, awoken her paranoia,

Running to the window, another quiver down her spine

As the voice, grabs, her attention from her hall of valuables,

Following the reverberating taunt, that led her to an unknown room,

One she never stepped in, yet tucked into the far corner,

Cautiously walked, into an orange haze and simple gallery,

Nothing but walls and two pieces of modest furniture,

So uninviting, she thought as she sat, almost instinctively,

The clanking and rattling at her weakening gates, intensified,

Startling her, sinking further into the chair, finding it difficult to breathe,

The voice, again spoke, shattering her sacred hush,

“We rise, as you fall” continued to be the repeating provocation,

And the voice, as abruptly as it appeared, it vanished,

To the sudden thud, coming from beneath, the surface,

Her gaze froze, upon that very thudding spot

And slowly getting to her feet, moving closer to the knock,

Growing louder, stronger, cracking the stone tile

With pieces chipping away, almost as if, it was pulsating,

And finally breaking open, with a stampede of filthy, grubby hands

Reaching for her, grasping, and pulling her into the void,

She was gone, letting the entire mansion, rapidly tarnish,

All that’s left, is the wind, wrestling within the cold, of this dwelling.

The Grim

Posted on by the_dorian_poe

I only started to die, when I met you,

Buried myself in the avalanche that I’ve conjured

From the panic, you’ve projected, out of my darkest depths

And into cognizance, which rattled around my haunted corridors,

So I knew, I had to protect myself

From you -a person I was supposed to trust, blindly,

But the realization stayed dormant,

For how long, has stayed in a heavily shrouded mystery,

But I’ve emerged, out, from my walking coma

And into a frenzy, to build walls, that you broke into rubble,

Resurrected instinctively, several times, only to be dismantled,

Leaving me, to defend myself, against a ravenous ambush

In the floating debris, of my shattered bunker,

How can I shield myself, against a friendly enemy,

So devious and cunning, for you knew my thoughts

Even before, they were desperately forged,

You must have engorged yourself in my habits

And now, I find myself battling my own tendencies,

There was no measure, for how much time had vanished,

Just the shock, of the icy cold water, swallowing me hastily,

Where was I, between the swirling consciousness

And the moment, your silken voice, echoed within my canal,

A blank space, that stretches further than any exploration,

Instead of fighting, against the toppling devour,

I tried to drown myself, with you hooked, into my deterioration,

But you helped me swim, as the waves crash against the frailty,

Dragging me against, and towards, an unforeseen end.

Nightmare VI

Posted on by the_dorian_poe

I’m spun around, and around, a phantom, toying with me,

Hiding, in the stretched out darkness

That im forced to trail, with my hand in front

Guiding, me further in, but with caution,

A sinking anchor inside the hall that seems to be collapsing

All over me, and through to lay on the ground

As I step, and crack the pieces, splintering in the echo,

Lost in the canyon of a hollow structure, I plant myself,

A doomed convection of light, seen, but ignored

As its brought me to this point, this horror

That seems to be my constant downfall,

Alone in the corridor, still feeling out blindness

With a broken cane, and an unwillingness, to surrender,

A wanderer who has to proceed along the daunting route

Only to find, that there is no wall,

Not on the side, in front or behind,

Wide rim, yet I follow the forward path

As if it calls to me, a siren aware of my torment,

Stolen threads, pulled on to unravel secrets,

A blank spot now, as they vanish,

Now I remember, what I’ve been blindly chasing,

Is it too late?

The Hypnotist

Posted on by the_dorian_poe

Art by Magda Proski

You see, what you want to see, trapped in a narrow tunnel,

You hear, what you want to hear, trying to forget

As the echo in your chamber, seems to be infinite,

So loud, with nowhere to turn for peaceful salvation,

Louder, it seems to grow and vibrate the hollow box,

The walls begin to crawl upwards, on itself, stretching

Back down, towards the familiar self-deprecating pit,

You feel better, in the loneliness that closely surrounds

And presses against you, slowly cutting you, to leech

Out your prolonged existence, to seclude you further

Away from the surface, but this goes unnoticed

Because you still see what you want, as reality

Storms the castle, laughing at the crumbling defences,

But you’ve come to me, sunken into the comforts

Of the enveloping couch, and put your trust in my skills,

You might be aware of all that has eluded your consciousness

For so long, but they’ll stay behind the heavy curtain

With my influence, so you can see and hear, what isn’t there,

And when it begins to resurface, you’ll return

With new demons amongst the ones picking at your scars.

Left for the Day

Posted on by the_dorian_poe

The world seems to be mocking me through

This double pane fog, covered by my immobility,

Festering in the inching frost, climbing up my throat,

Drying out, the secreting whisper of warmth,

The sounds emitted by dancing winds, pushing

A blurred island, hosted, by a decaying vampire,

Stretch marks of the swinging pendulum, swoops

A top my brow, cranking closer, as my attention

Bleeds into the veil, softly bouncing

Along the splinter of sanity, so captivating and graceful,

Will she return, as she slipped out through the opening,

The loud hum, of the empty room grows,

Filling my ears, as if I was drowning, gasping

For her, where did she go?

And the outside knows, yet they keep hushed,

As she swings in it’s hammock, keeping her still,

Where did she go?

I lay awake, starring at the flashing light,

Begging the silence to stop, for an echo in my bones,

Where did she go?

Thick strands of her gleam, snuffed out, by the dark,

She’s vanished beyond the stale breath,

Maybe she’ll return with the sun.

Too Many Open Tabs

Posted on by the_dorian_poe

image

Late at night, as I peruse my thoughts
And jump, from idea to Wonderland
Escaping narrowly into another tab,
Finding myself in a distant picture,
Foreign steps, into a calm river
And out into the cold, with no blanket
Except for the falling sky, as I dart
To an already traveled road, reviewing
What I have learned, it is what I have forgotten,
Too many open sources, without any retention,
As I continue to sift my way out of swallow
And into another trap, flying to the bottom,
What was I thinking about?
Where has my mind drifted to?
A year in the sun, lost on an island
With the company of my own insomnia.

©DorianPoe2016