A Monster’s Sanity

Posted on by the_dorian_poe
~The Low Rising~

Blistering cold it was, the day it all began,

The clumped society wrapped in mounds

Of fleece, gloves, scarves -and themselves,

Some, more than others, who stomp through

Avoiding the excrement that they, in fact created,

Full circle motivation kind of thing,

But who are those, who ponder in the outer limits,

Not those who roam, with desolation

Consuming their minds, no not them,

For they stick up thier illiterate noses

At the stepping stones that crowd

Their supposed, high privileged feet,

No time to waste, steamrolling through to their perch,

Just to look down upon all those they crushed,

The degraded ones who still struggle,

Rubbing pennies together in their pocket,

Salivating over the idea of a hot, freshly cooked meal,

No bother to the Ivory tower, comfortable

In their bubble, but what if it burst,

What if someone was to slither through,

And remove a vital piece, from that skyscraper,

Would everything crumble, the whole structure

Of the privileged and all they hold so dear,

Who would even be brave enough

For such a task, as to take down the privileged

And show them the underbelly,

Oh but how and who, would lead such a movement

A revolutionary devious one, only to be jailed,

Oh, but how beautiful it would be to see it all, tumble down.

~The High Side~

Her phone has been stunted, and she reveled

In the solace of not having a surge of calls

And messages from missed calls, on top

Of text messages about those messages

After she had missed those calls -it was calm,

For once, she was alone with her own thoughts,

Quickly got bored, along with the song she was humming,

Started to leaf through a stack of paper loan applications

Until, she found one worthy of her weighed out time,

She noticed something in it, an error clothed and shaded,

But there it sat, pasted onto the page, and as she glared

At the ridiculous infraction, there was a rush of fury

Cursing, at her subordinates in her enraged mind,

Those beneath her, should have caught the oversight

As she grabbed her office phone, dialed feverishly

And awaited for the silence, just before sudden connect,

But it took too long, an automated voice recording,

She cut it short and hung up, spun around to her wide window

Overlooking the crown of the city

With the sun, just setting behind the mountainous buildings,

She checked her watch, crawling towards the end of the day

Praying the phone stays silent, as she stared

Repeating, “don’t ring!” over like it was her mantra,

And then, it rang, alarmingly jolting her from her solace,

“Now you call me back.” She said without answering,

“Its too late now, the application is submitted as denied,

And you can’t fix the mistake you made, not me,

Its almost five, I have a life outside of these walls,

If only you picked up when I called you…”

It stopped ringing, silence slithered back,

She smiled and collected herself,

Her jacket, scarf, gloves, and the stack of papers,

Dropped them all off, and headed out to catch her train.

~A Monster’s Fascination~

“There’s nothing better than feeling a heart flicker out.”

I said outloud and to myself,

Audible, so that I can hear the words

And as I sat there, I ingested those words,

Thought about each syllable and pronunciation,

Analyzed every pitch in that phrase,

All the while, it was provoking me,

The phrase -there was something about it

That drove me insane the more I thought about it,

I’ve experienced those words, ear to their chest

As the drum, after a loud rapid percussion

Stats to slowly weaken, bit by bit,

Yet, saying these words at a time of lull

Does something else, a feeling

That stirs in my gut, and echoes throughout,

Absent, from the world outside my infatuation,

Even the ringing phone, blaring,

Is muffled, inside my crowded clouded shell,

The urge grows and grows, bursting

Cracking the fragile shelled cave,

Sending me out from my solitude

And into materialality,

Walking, amongst the sea of ignorance,

Until I find her, the one that has no consideration,

Hiding behind her own pedestal, charging past

The mass, those she treats as the dense,

I use my charm, she falls victim to it, surrendering,

Without realizing, she’s in my grasp,

With my ear to her chest, listening

As the drum, grows faint

And I find, a satisfying end, to the quench,

For now, the urge has been hushed,

But it will bloom again, and then, the rest will fall.

White Owl

Posted on by the_dorian_poe

I appear to be, of relevance, as you rain tears upon your pillow

Held tight, as if it comforts your reverberating agony,

That’s crippling you, in your extreme emotional distress,

Begging, for mercy, but who do you suppose will listen

To an empty plead, being made only at a time of suffering,

Backs you into a dark, cold and wet corner, forgotten

Until you reemerge, and all is but an early summer cascade,

Then you toss aside your promises, and rediscover your torment,

Which brings you, to where I’ve surfaced, out from the umbrage,

Although I remain hidden from you, high in the rafters,

Listening to your saddening sound, as its dying,

From choking and gasping at the absence of relief,

As it overtakes the melancholy, hovering over like a disturbance

Bringing forth, the unsuspecting demon, ready to sink its bite,

As you lay in the still ocean, with a ripple from a single drip

Awakens your cognition, only to find your gaze locked

On me, staring piercingly, through the grey surface

Right at the demise, creeping out of your prolonged agony,

I am your moment of clarity, your epiphaneal light

Which you find blinding you, from a crack in the darkness,

Trying to shield the fragile demon, I swoop down and perch

On the edge of lost and salvation, and putting talon to wrist,

Pressure from my touch, exudes the overbearing venom,

No words, for I do not speak in a tongue, you can discern,

Just my wide stare, that pervades the heavy oblique,

Bringing you forth, and distracts the lurking monster

Long enough, to carry you out from the impending storm,

I am difficult to conjure, but when a mind is at its weakest, I appear,

How long you’ve been falling, is what determines my success.

Out From the Drift

Posted on by the_dorian_poe

The events, that have led you into the drift, remain vague,

Stunned at the absence that crowds you, as a flutter

From the stinging bitterness of the swarming tundra

Causes a twinge, down the seam, of the fragile fabric,

You struggle, with the blurred recollection, violently dragged

Into the listless stray, and abandoned, as you proceed

In solitude, leaving you open to the blueak, still silence

Of a constant stream, afloat, here in this winter desert,

Straining to clarify what’s embedded within the pouring mist,

You slowly crouch, below the constant stream

And notice a crow, perched above, stretching its beak apart,

Expecting it to echo a screech, but this hush stays intact,

Hidden, in the thick darkness hovering atop the contrast

Is the hunter, and you, their paranoid, panicking prey,

Softly, does this stealthy pursuer glide through the desolation

Never losing sight of you, while you wonder inside your rattle,

Trying to discover the path, beneath the iron curtain,

You seek blindly, unaware of the sinking ground

Below the weary traipse, of a lost, rusted anchor,

Amused by your fatigue, the stalker readies the attack,

Tightening the spread, quietly, with precise patience,

Oblivious and still, you follow your own exhalation

To prove to yourself, of your own, beating existence,

It’s time, to challenge the draught, but where is the well,

And now, here I stand, above my fading martyr,

You’ve always lived in the drift, escaping my persistence

For far too long, until this night, when you gazed upon silent death,

Only I can hear its shrill voice, calling to me, my hound,

It’s a pity how memory can fade, and vanish from the freeze,

Finally now, the drift is completely vacant and abandoned,

Laid to Rest

Posted on by the_dorian_poe

A tiresome warrior, has finally returned home, unsure

Of how to live outside, of constant deafening chaos,

He softly ventures, through the shrouded solace

With his trusted chaos companion, sheathed at his side,

Gripped, with an unabandoned fury, and haunting paranoia,

There are enemies, all around, in the whistling trees

And the rustling fallen debris, slowly sinking into the dirt,

The horrified soldier, in sight, is the besieging eagle,

Ever watchful, of the cascading embers, dancing

Between the branches, carrying, the snug noose,

Tightly gripping the necks, of all those, lost to battle,

Drumming louder, in the abounding rippling wind

That carries, the ghostly whispers of stranded soldiers,

Blood, burned into his senses, seeing it blanket

The calm solitude of his surroundings, stained,

He slinks down, closer to inferno, trying to distinguish

The subtle shrieks, that are so uncomfortably familiar,

Resounding throughout the petrichor, a place of ease,

Is torturous, all he can envision, is the death soaked battleground

That he crawled through, for he’s still there, crawling,

Or at least, his mind is, entrapped by the chaos,

Pounding steel agaisnt steel, dauntingly reverberating,

Bringing him down to his knees, a moment running parallel,

Explosions of birds chirping, and red sunlight sprays,

He lays, in the fragments, of loose branches, and shrapnel leaves,

He has never vacated the field, on which so many perished

By the mighty swing, of his notched battleaxe,

After all he has done, he slowly slips into darkness alone

In the calming caress of nature, while every ounce of misery

He dealt, is plunged into him, unable to withstand the agony,

Nature notices his torment, bestows pity upon the suffering,

Grows its roots, into a concentration, of sweet embrace,

His pulse steadies a bit, his sight clears from the shadows,

And can finally see, the pleasant tranquil brushstrokes,

Everything is composed, as he feels it all dissolve,

He shuts his eyes, and becomes nature, forever dormant.

A Lost Tale’s End

Posted on by the_dorian_poe

A rushing bitter wind, that does not cease, pushes

All throughout the barren forest, with no twig

Wavering in its path, as it surrounds an eerie collective,

Bunched by a haunted settlement, deep within the barrier’s keep,

Seen there, is time forgotten and slipped, into languish,

The moment is sheathed, of when it all was corrupted,

A nightmare, living out its terror, without any appease

To those, who bear the events, who’ve had their vibrance stripped

While they roam the gray, replaying what occurred,

A cemented finale, taunts the living, as the sorcerer revels,

Everlasting glee, surveying the misery and agonizing gloom

Of the forest folk, for this tale wrenches the hearts

Of all those who hear it, for that reason, no one dares, recite,

Even now, it aches to divulge its truth, to these open pages,

Of how the forest, became an eternal, winter graveyard,

It all emerged, from an unrequited desire, the villainy

That had crept up, invading sanity, pulling at its soundness,

Belonging, to a creature of longing, for their infatuation

With vivid eyes, that had pierced his stone temple,

Had become, his sole existence, all by which he was consumed,

Her smile, gave him lift, up out of his own misfortunes,

Her sweet perfume, eradicated his somber disposition,

Until, she shattered his euphoria, as he plummeted

Deep into a hollow dimension, within his own psyche,

Where a whirlwind, has trespassed, and brought affliction,

His Hyde side, was rapidly expanding, and replaced

His once calm demeanor, to become a turbulent venom,

Set to corrupt her happiness, bring it all down to a speck,

He found a curse, one so baneful, that it frightened demons

That lurked inside of him, to which sanity almost escaped,

Only those same depraved beasts, flinched and encouraged

The curse to breathe, giving spark, to the creation,

The next day, he skulked from the only alley untouched by light,

Followed her gleeful stride, past the town’s border

Into the equally spirited forest, awaiting her prince paramour,

Unaware, of a sneaking presence, surveying her beauty

That used to appease him, now stirs a volatile rage

That he used, to target, her daydreaming wonderment,

All while she roosted, upon the agreed meeting stone,

The cold pendulum, swung furiously, as she lingered

Under the complacent sun, hovering in the eternal echo,

The curse, had entangled her, oblivious to it’s clutch,

Locked, within her own time capsule, within an eclipse,

And the only way, to escape the curse, was for her heart to warm

In the embrace of her inamorato, for it was outside his reach,

As the ice barrage, gusted over the entire lush forest,

Unleashing the scourge, to devour light, without any prejudice,

Leaving the orchestrator of the curse, in the inmost of darkness.

A Tale of Designed Fate

Posted on by the_dorian_poe

He stands, at the muted green door at the end of a long

Flickering hallway, as the pulsation grows louder,

Stretching the corridor out from the diseased shadow

That awaits, for it’s fragile knock to be answered,

A twinging pitch floods his ears, crashing him to the cold tile,

His cheek fused to the bleak slab of ice, squeezing

Tighter, the more he struggles, as heavy thuds approach

Opening the aperture cover, but he’s below it’s view,

As the slice from the swinging cover bounces

In the crowded echo, slowly dissipating, abandoning

This crippled being, as he pleads with the inner infestation

To stop, while it eats away at him, slowly tearing

Up his insides, a violent intruder gorging themselves

On his meat, as he hunches into himself, agonizingly,

His cries, shatters stone within, yet it’s hardly audible

To the rat with one eye, peeking out from the crack,

Studying this tiny feeble twig of a man, even to the rat

He was of equal size, still a savory meal for the starving

Salivating rat, surveying the man as it moves in,

Out from the latent space, into the open twitching hall,

The man on his side, his translucent back to the vermin

Slithering closer, unhinging its jaw, to sink its diseased fangs

As the man, with his fleeting energy, gets on his wobbling

Brittle knees, at that moment, finds the charging fester

Gnawing at his arm, and immediately swipes

But the rat, does not detach, finding nirvana

In the flavor of decay, until the poison reaches

The rat’s tongue, recognizes the sensation and aroma,

Lets go, and slowly climbs down while wiping the blood

From its sinister grin, as the man, out of breath rhetorically asks,

“How does a disgusting creature seem even more crude?”

“You should really be viewing your own reflection

Before referring to anything else as you so politely said.”

Surprised that the rat responded, the man scurried

Back against the spinney wall, staring intensely

At the one eyed speaking rat, moving closer whilst saying,

“Now, you must be thinking you’re feverish and delusional,

An outburst from your paroxysm, festering in your brain,

Still unsure if you truly hear me, am I truly coherent?”

Shutting out all his surroundings, he tried to regain control,

“No, it can’t talk, this disease has invaded my sanity.”

“Sanity! Such a lucid concept, where you don’t question

What is laid out right before you, like a talking rat.”

“I just need to speak with the designer of my doomed fate.”

“The demon, behind that door, barters for your life,

But what are you willing, to throw down at it’s feet?”

Silenced by the rat’s inquiry, the man searches his haze

As he bares emptiness, for all he possesses is villainy

Anchored, to his eroding ravaged wasteland of a corpse

Dragging itself through the internal seething, trembling

In the bleak, falling without making any sound,

Grinding bones upon the stone irony, of his own existence,

A painfully blank expression, stretched across his face,

As the rat stares at the stunted crippled husk

Before it, who could be taken and stripped of value,

And the rat, could not let the opportunity slip past

Without getting it’s share, and there was one item it desired,

“Don’t worry, I’ll prime you for your interaction

With the beastly puppeteer, for a specific trade of course,

I want your left eye, so that I will be whole again.”

The man pondered, contemplating his daily routine

With one eye, then contemplated killing the rat

After he got what he needed from the it, and agreed,

Still hesitantly, how can trust be granted to this vermin,

Yet, he leapt and acknowledged their temporary bond,

Then the one eyed rat, sprang into action, vanished in through

The crack, between the bottom of the fortified door

And concrete floor, then the man heard scratching

Along the portal from the other side, scurrying to each lock,

All along the entire length, clicks and clanks echoing in the hall,

Creaking slowly was the door, as man quickly hid,

“Rat! Those locks disturbed silence, has the designer awoken?”

“You worry too much, we mustn’t delay your sacrifice.”

And as soon as the last syllable was uttered, the rat was gone,

Down the gullet, of the designer, towering over the man,

Panning up to his wide, glowing, red eyes starring back,

A hideous collection of acquired eyes, frozen in decay,

Trapped, in the thick web, of the designers face,

“What for do you occupy the space in front of my door?”

“Sir, Designer, a bargain for you, I’ve come to ask for my life,

In exchange, I present to you something of mine you desire.”

Saliva dripping from the designer’s mouth, a runny faucet,

“How do you know, what I desire, are my lustings generic?”

“Not in the slightest, the rat you ate possessed

This information, from being a dweller, inside your walls.”

“Now inside my stomach lining, an appetizer,

I’m hungry for my entree, entrance has been granted.”

The designer moves aside, and waves in the weak link,

A still hush, inside of this bland cavern, on the 17th floor

As the designer, leads his new guest into the drawing room,

Filled with occupied parchment, lives all sketched out

To every plausible end, as well ones as far fetched,

The designer dove back into his sinkable couch

And looked up at the scared, shaking, bag of frail bones,

“Lets see if this rat was true, present your offering.”

“The wretch you devoured, explained your cravings,

So I offer you, my heightened sense of touch.”

The designer sat up, never removing sight, not a single eye,

From the shrinking man, as the designer got up close

With a dastardly grin, sniffing for truth in his words,

“No one, has ever offered their own fragile touch,

Do you know what would be escaping, from your senses?”

“Yes, I lived with endless scratching on the sensory walls

As crimson, pours out and builds up, over my gulping breath,

I’m ready, to lose the razor shards streaking my insides.”

“Pain, is a touch that gets louder, the more you ignore,

What of the sun beaming warmth, while a cool breeze

Rushes by, pushing you closer to the sweet scent

Coming from her flowing hair, and you sink in deep,

You might dissolve pain, but you’ll regret the hollow void.”

The man looked down at his hands, arms and feet

Thinking how he won’t have any feeling, he couldn’t,

Just as he was about to rescind, the man awoke in his bed,

Looking for the designer, but he was alone,

No tall gruesome foreseer stalking in the corner

Sucking on his blood soaked fingers from eating a rat,

But then he noticed, he couldn’t feel his warm covers

Tucked under his chin, or the bed he laid upon,

He tried to brush his hand along his arm, felt nothing,

No pain, or even the water beads from his morning shower,

It was done, deal made, regret had crashed down,

“I wish, there was a way to know, you’re in the good ol’ days

Before you’ve actually left them, because somehow

In the darkness, you know exactly when you’re there,

Those moments stay with you, attach themselves

To every unstable vessel, crushed in the avalanche.”

Ode Before Dying

Posted on by the_dorian_poe

Death before you, and you’ve lost

The concept of how to act,

A slab of marble, chiseled into absence,

Stif, barely able to move those frail lungs,

Gasping, for something stranded

An inch away,

Losing color, in the uninspired slop

Upon your bored plate,

A tick, forgetting to tock and so forth,

Or can you not hear it’s song,

Falsely clapping, as the curtain drapes

Over you, over a hollow echo,

Death, therefore I swallow, and choke.

Conversation With Death

Posted on by the_dorian_poe

There, untouched by the setting fire,

Gliding, above the trembling lake was this, overbearing

Shadow, approaching me, sitting under

This sickly tree, in the midst of a rolling fog,

As the shadow came closer, it formed a shape

And then, before me, darkness appeared,

But I was not afraid, I welcomed its bleak emptiness,

Yet an enigmatic stillness grasped hold,

Chained me down to the soil, I followed it’s approach,

Until death, rose over, pleased to be in it’s presence,

Huddling softly to its cloak, eager for the finale,

“Waste away, you’re not yet joining the forever tortured.”

It spoke, but it wasn’t audible, I heard death in my head,

Which felt like a blast of jagged chill,

Eating away my insides, as I stared into the hollowness

Peering through me, why has death emerged,

“Why count the falling leaves, and dismiss

The sunset, which begs for your attention,

Instead you loiter at my door, sinking into a stale image,

You’ve allowed an infestation, in through your picket fence,

Followed by attacks upon your house, fallen

Into this swamp, slowly succumbing to it’s drag.”

“It was the only way to move on, to bury her memory,

I rather not have, loved and lost,

Only to walk lost, pretending it was the better

Side of this world’s spectrum,

I believe that it would have been easier, never exhaling

From taking in her sweet scent,

And shattering every broken piece of bone,

My senses taste her sweet vanilla, that drifts

Into my haunted consciousness. ”

“Those shackles, tightly clasped, are of your own design,

Destroy them, and move in through the brume

Out into the perched orchard, as you crane your eyes

To the sullen shores, as the water kisses the warmth

And sizzles, yet you distance yourself.”

“You judge me, thinking I haven’t lived,

Well I did, with her laugh, echoing in my evacuated mind,

And I rather transpire, than search for her unique likeness.”

“One person isn’t a life, when the world is comprised

Of a slew of differences, which is left behind the blinds

That you seem to be lost behind, scratching

At the grave, you’ve unearthed.”

“You stole her away from my heart, and dragged her down,

So yes, I sat here marinating in this melancholic setting,

Waiting, for you,

To display your weakness.”

Within the moment, my hidden blade,

Tucked into my sleeve, reflected death’s fright,

I slashed at death’s open light, killing the darkness

So that I, can assume the mantle,

If you don’t evolve, then you die.

Blinded

Posted on by the_dorian_poe

Within her own mind, the world

Is exactly, how she left it, an eroded vessel,

As she became her own empty room, hollowed

By the revolting scenes, highlighted in the flashes

Of immeasurable detestation, and there she floats

Amongst the rubble, her hands stretched out, reaching

Beyond the veil of black, infiltrating the ghost,

Shackles upon her eyes, hides an unclean Era,

A design defect in humanity, a false prophet

For whom, they eradicate for, but who is this savior

That channels themselves into the facade,

Not just a glimmer of their virus, but an apocalyptic

Strain running through Pomplona, ravaging,

The earth, crumbling beneath her,

Tremors, surging through her from the mass panic,

Cries for light from those lost in the shroud

For her, to come and filter out the pain,

But she has absorbed too much, drowning

In violent waters, barely staying above her suffocation,

Until it all consumed her, trampled she still bears

All the affliction of the world,

For everybody knows, that a broken heart, gets blind.

Come Back

Posted on by the_dorian_poe

The reality of death, is the stalking feeling

You get, the little hairs stand at attention,

And you freeze inside, vanish into the distance,

But somehow, you’ve come back, you haunt,

A ghost story, perched upon its past, what it misses,

Eager to feel it against its bust, to sync with the heart

That gave you a louder drum, which has failed,

Torn and rusted over, but you persist,

Getting louder, squawking until it all shatters,

Yet no one notices, and you refuse to abandon

Your post, ignoring the flaws that tarnished

Your feathers, streamed down, from your black eyes,

You’ve come back, but your ghost is a withered memory.