Hiding From Yourself 

She hollows the soil of her secluded island, dredging 

Her own quarantine, for this is not paradise, 

Staring at an unfriendly pale light, that hawks 

Down at her, bringing forth her altered state, 

Running from death, that was perched upon her bust 

She now finds herself within a battle to her own demise, 

She howls as she turns, growing fangs and claws 

That have torn apart the unsuspecting, 

She fought to keep sanity off the hissing noose, 

Yet she would find herself drunk off the gore of the dead

That had been displayed by herself to discover

Her own macabre, the monster that persists within, 

Uncontrollable she has buried herself below 

The full moon that she desperately hides from, 

But her eye consimes it, she’s caught in the hypnotic glow

As shadowed hands rip off her flesh, leaving horror 

She couldn’t suppress anymore, the monster 

That terrorizes every blink of her solace, 

But the island lays barren, and the noose

Already tight around her neck. 

Dance into Death

The still of the moment quaked, within her already 

Convulsive body, starring at her ripped apart masquerade, 

Stuck in the throat of the hourglass, gasping for warmth 

As the stabbing chill, trickles down her curved spine, 

The cloud within her grasping onto purity, polluting 

Her fading heart, once beat with ferocity, is now flickering, 

A dried up husk, left out for the circling horned vultures 

Salivating as innocence is bled out, pooling beside 

Her collapsed world, the only one she’s known and loved, 

Disintegrated in the fire she possess, brewed deep 

And erupted out of her, now she stares at the aftermath, 

Tangled in the deep twisted web, watching, clutching 

To the cross, singeing the light into dust, to impale fear

While deep in possession, of her resident demons, 

The snake stalked its prey in the tall blades, from slinking 

Into her crib, wrapping itself around her feeble throat, 

To her decline onto the dance floor, where a figure dressed 

In a burnt white tux, and a vile grin eager for her arrival, 

The poison spreading, consuming brilliance and taking

Her picturesque home, she disgusts herself watching

From her secluded tower, confined to this merciless takeover, 

Able to only witness the violent seizure coming to surface 

From within her own eroded vessel, sinking to unreachable

Depths, where care, concern and hope suffocates the breathless, 

Her demon, outstretched towards the crashing tower

As she runs, with it all crumbling beneath the decay,

Stifling her cry, as she chokes on the smoke, slithering 

From her slowly dying glimmer, picking up the dagger 

To subdue her persistent demon, waiting for their dance, 

To snuff out her clip of light, only remaining from her tight

Grasp upon her own fragile childhood, but nurtured, 

As it should, only to surrender at the will of the dance, 

She finally meets the darkness, with the dagger in possession, 

She has lost, before the music even began, taking stance 

The dagger held out together, slipping away from her arrest, 

As he forcefully brings her into his keep, under his domain, 

The spilling sand burying the past, as the demon fully takes over, 

Swallowing her whole, as he dances with her, yet without, 

In the ferocity he absorbed, only to let loose in an outburst 

The grim fire talons, lacerating the girl’s entire dynasty, 

Severed, from the sanity, engulfed in the cycling agony, 

Torn to the pits where obscurity keeps her consciousness, 

Looking at her broken palace, rusted over by the eclipse, 

Leaving it all to the decay, death being her demon, 

He spreads his storm from the empty, lost at sea vessel, 

Dancing alone to death. 

Sight at the Edge

Like the hunted, I sprinted to the edge of the cliff

To be subdued by my demons with joyous relief,

While the wolves are clung to my heels, salivating

At the inkling that they will bury their fangs 

Into my hollow struggle, surrounding me in the shadow,

Growling as they solicit my forfeit to their rules, 

To their own ways, desperately trying to drag me backwards 

Into what you were molding, the gallant tourist 

Showing off the coruscant of what would be left behind, 

Brewing the guilt of Macbeth, clouding my sight, 

But there are thirteen reasons why I find the cliff

At this moment, standing below it all, a stampede 

To let go, be far from the devil living beside me, 

I’m ready for truth, past these gates, which I hold tight fisted, 

Leaving its mark upon my arrival, reminding me 

One last time, what I’ll abandon once I cross the threshold, 

Back turned towards the lightning strikes, flashing

Against the stained rocks, nestled in the destination, 

It’s been a long journey to this entrance, to my judgment, 

Even with the pack growing inside the tall gates, 

I am here, at the precipice swallowing the sight ahead, 

Sinking into it and accepting fate of my own story

That is coming to its end, after all endured, 

Peace has come unto me, while wolves lose the scent. 

How many demons follow you up the hill? 

Complications will always be apart of life; 

Sickness, depression and hurt shadows your steps, 

Find the peace in the experience of sight.

Searching for Control in the Avalanche 

I’ve fallen to the hush, as I bleed in the swaddle of distortion, 

Reaching for control, but I’m held back by panic 

Filling my lungs, having Chaos sniff for my scent,

The depths growing as I choke on the cold surrounding me,

The bitter taste engraving itself, on the back of my throat, 

A never ending climb out, prolonged by my crippled

Sight, caught in a violent haze that furthers my damnation 

That is comprised of my most vindictive demons, 

Taunting me in the avalanche, ripping out my voice

With their molten silver talons, dredging up the darkness,

 I’ve been through it all, the battered and bruised victim

Of anarchy in my own halls, shrinking atop of me,

As I fall asleep in that hush over a rat’s nest, nibbling 

At my control, down to the bone, now open to infestation,

Turning my harmony into pandemonium, I see doom

Climbing over the horizon, reaching for my grave,

Creaking is the casket as it opens, letting in mayhem, 

For even in the hush, it is Chaos who sets the stage, 

For Sanity’s gates, have been distorted. 

Deceit

Do you trust the parrot in the cage as it mocks

Your own lie, staging tall over you 

Is the quaking flap of its wing, deconstructing 

The tower from which you dove out from, 

You’re possessed by the Ivory, shimmering

In your dull eye, a fool’s blunder that repeats

Door to door, and alliance with the covert,

Unsheathing the retreat from the light,

Cowering back, into disguises you’ve adopted,

Nurturing it, as you fade out into the common 

Trickle, from a tarnished sink above the waste,

Forgotten as soon as it’s polish went insipid,

Darkness in the midst of self realization,

Overlooked, because your focus is latched

Back to that Ivory tower, and the parrot

Mocking you while singing, embracing 

The stench, exuded by your own ignorance,

Death is the only way out, you’re in too deep,

Suffocating in the snake’s gullet, enamored

By the surface glisten of  your purchased life,

Stripped down naked, do you even know 

Who you are anymore? 

The Lost Reflection

I tied myself, to the back of the trigger, 

Wavering on the tip of the needle, trying

My hardest, not to collapse into the missing 

Mirror, the image hiding behind the corner,

Frozen in silence within the red, staring

At what used to encompass a serenity of sight, 

Its brilliance, muffled by an overshadow

Cast by this now open cavern, leading down

Into the further, until what was above, 

Now births into the below, struggling in limits 

Of Sanity before it crumbles, toppling over me,

The pronounced psychosis dominating over 

A hushed breeze from the serene, of a passing

Butterfly, crushed under the weight

Of the tempered hammer, staining the soft lull,

Ravenous rage, blurring and diluting my vision

In front of the overseeing full moon I transform

Beyond the recognizable, and howl back

At the mocking night, who I trust no more,

Words that I can’t take back now, 

I can’t bare to look at my own reflection.

Spectacle 

They take their seats, waiting for the curtain 

To be pulled apart, to display their emptiness, 

Fixated, on the footsteps coming towards them

Occupying every hollow vacancy of the theater 

As the hum of anticipation follows, growing,

Congesting every row, eager for the blind to see

What they’ve packed into for, the spectacle, 

They’ve all heard from others, how marvelous 

Their experience was, a must see sensation,

They crowed over it, to again be the audience, 

In the midst of the slow decline of light, 

Fighting back their excitement, the stage

Starts to bear the standing spectacle, an error 

Of life, forced out into desolation, humiliated 

Night after night, for the brimming playhouse, 

The erect mush of torn rags and dirt smudges

Captivates, as a roar of laughter from the over 

Privileged ones that waste the high tide

Picking apart the staged impoverished fool, 

But who really sits within the puppet box,

Obedient to a hidden beggar, a crook of crooks, 

Toppling the towers from which they gawk 

At the overwhelmed spectacle, deceiving them,

Crippling their cannibalistic nature, lighting

The still spectacle, showing off it’s destitute 

To the roaring crowd, burying themselves in sin

Night after night, making the show a gratification 

That has astounded the upper streets, in turn

Making the poor spectacle, the biggest success. 

Battle Inside

Deep in the seclusion of this forest, lives a boy

And his demon wolf, defending what bonded them

In the inception of light under the lavish canopy

That shields the boy from the harmful spirited,

Until recently, when they have invaded the forest, 

Distorting the peace kept by the spread fable 

Of the haunting by this boy and his demon wolf,

As individual torches, the spirited, illuminates 

The forgotten darkness, cascading forth 

An avalanche of unwanted attention from the outside,

As these innocent looking spirits and their carnivorous

Intentions to breach light in through the eternal eclipse

That has been fought to stay intact by the branches

The boy and his demon wolf sleep under, 

But what spirit stays to itself, that dares not 

Tip the balance to the outside of insanity’s gates, 

So they clash beneath the melting fortress,

Disintegrating stem of suppressed serenity

With every strike upon the boy and his demon wolf, 

More invaders join the thundering collision 

Drying out every river slithering over every conformed 

Foundation stone of this dying hideout, running 

Away deeper into the black forest, enchanted 

By a need to forget, dream and imagine 

That the vivid reality doesn’t exist. 

©DorianPoe2016

Stolen Senses

image

Do you dare to turn away from the door,
Slowly creaking, as it opens to show
Its daunting depths, your enemy reaching
To tear your life out and bring it back
Into hollow emptiness, feeding starving vultures,
But you pin yourself, tightly into the corner’s edge
Locking, your tiring gaze upon the oozing dark
Slithering under the bed, and over your head,
Pinching your lips shut, to suffocate any whimper
To not give away your voice,
Squeezing your eyelids until they wrinkle
To not give away your sight,
They hunger for it, feeling for vulnerability
Of the glass, holding in the quicksand,
The rattle of its drag along the room hisses
In your ear, as you realize
You’re left open as it takes your hearing,
Your heart plummets as you open your eyes, blind,
Gasping, but no sound emerges,
You’re left, vacuous,
Stolen senses by those who feed on them.

©DorianPoe2016

The Resident

In the midst of my journey, I’ve contracted
A villainous disease, tearing away at me
While I stare out into a world, I can no longer
Grasp, for it baits me further into emptiness,
Starved from exploration, in seclusion, Withering inside the shell of death
Carving days gone, into my surroundings,
Shut in, as deterioration shows its face to me,
This curse, has bound me to the heavy clock
That struck twelve before I wound the heart,
Memories stolen right from my clutch
By the trickling absolute, crawling
Along the spine of the bruised plane,
Making its web thick over corrosion,
Lifting life, out from every nerve left pulsing,
The window gets tighter, in the span
There are fewer things felt and seen,
A stationary ladscape, one I can not climb
In an exploration of its sights, it’s majesty,
The shadows hush over me, desecrating
My hollow dome, slowing pace while
Spreading this contagion to the surface,
My host, crippled by the shackles
Around him, purging all he has accomplished
To drown into depths never seen,
Atop that mountain, before we broke
Is where we left ourselves, to now mourn
Memories never to be remembered
In the fading, down at the bottom by the dirt,
Ready to be lowered into eternity,
We explored, but can’t recall the Arctic chill,
We felt the crumble of stones beneath our feet
But can’t find the scars it left, with these Wrinkles, crowding the painted canvas,
Laid to rest, the journey ends without effect.

©DorianPoe2016