Nightmare V: Scorned

Follow me down the unforeseen, as you strain

For my hand, hoping that can settle the constant wavering,

Currents push and pull your sight, as the pressure

In your unstable mind, turns it to a vast emptiness,

You start to choke, on the words you’ve tried to sink,

Hoping they’d be lost, never to crawl back up your gullet,

Didn’t realize, the girth, as your fluttering eyes swell,

A drink, placed before you, to help ease the decent,

As I move a chair for which you occupy, it becomes a casket,

Buried, in the forgotten icy depths, emerges my relief,

I chain the gates of insanity shut, turn towards the horizon

To walk away, as your voice comes through, chills

My painful exhale, seeing the fog roll out from my lips,

It grabs hold, tight grip around my entire being

And I can’t help my tremors, running all through my nerves,

Crashing me back down, to that polar ocean chasm,

You’re latched on, disallowing my persistent disconnect

So you can continue to taunt, living inside the stormcloud,

I get up, sprint ahead, as my lungs tighten and burn,

Yet I haven’t gone anywhere, I’m running inside the plot

That has grown stagnant, yet I believe the reel spins,

Alone, in a small dark theater, buried in hypnosis,

Aware, yet unable to escape, a grasp, itself unaware

Of its overbearing tenacity, huddled tightly to a broken clock,

I slowly creep, towards the silence, as she turns

In consternation, of my present approach,

“Death is vengeance, eradicating measure to which we cling to.”

A boom! Hurdling me back in, to the suffocation,

Floating in the open congestion, blind to every direction.

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Lost Out of Light

Art by Andy Kehoe

I shed myself, shaking in the hull of darkness,

I try not to make a sound, searching for the entrance

That will lead me, to the land of light, where it’s safe,

As for right now, I feel there are a million hungry eyes

Fixated on me, as I trail through the sinking land of shadows,

They know, I don’t belong, walking amongst the dwellers

That hide behind draped curtains, not from terror,

But to track my steps, waiting, for me to loosen

My grip, upon the sheathed dagger, battered and worn

It holds light, etched into it’s edges, a useful deterrent,

But how long will it protect me, as I’m surrounded

While I’m stranded, feeling out the blind emptiness,

The growling gets deeper, closing in on my wandering

Around the dark howls, seeking the distant gateway,

I’m lost, out of the light, mislead by the masquerade

That is parading in the treetops, gaining my full attention,

No matter where I find myself, I’m running parallel

To where I want to be, yet I’m spun in the dreary landscape,

Clutching tighter, onto the dagger, as my pulse narrows

And it gets difficult, to collect my breath, struggling

In the absence of clarity, settling in to the glooming clouds,

Hoping they can’t collar me, to tie me to the abstract,

Holding me just out of reach of light, with its glow

Nearly gracing my toes, a torture set by these dwellers,

They thrive, on the misery of light, and I’ve walked in too deep,

My legs, can barely carry me further, as the dagger slips,

Into the abyss, I stand upon, for anything that lands

Onto the same ground I’m lost on, also goes missing,

I’ve strayed, past the protracted, unsure, if I’ll ever locate

My way back, to the blended doorway, that I’ve traveled

Through on many accounts, but stayed close to the border,

This time though, I took a long tumble, down this hill,

Treacherous and unyielding, darkness, will always break

Those who harness light, upon their fragile chests,

So here I’m stranded, shattering, under the suppressing anchor,

Piece by piece, I’m losing myself, absorbed by isolation,

I wasn’t dragged here, I wasn’t pushed or bullied,

I slipped, crashed and lost direction, and now, I’m a dweller.

The Hypnotist

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.

Where I Came From

Art by Annie Owens

I thought, that an old drained shed, would never

Break me down, but here before me,

Protruding out from the unkempt valley,

A collection of wood and nails, held loosely together,

Where I, used to bury my head, to hide from the monster,

Part of me, still hides, too afraid to face it as it slumbers,

Drifting past me, as I stare at my reflection in the murk,

Locking sight with me, as she transpires onto the shed

To be face to face with who I’ve lost,

Drowned in the crumbling quake of devastation,

It all starts to flood me, a crushing stampede of memories,

I watch myself being hollowed out, a pumpkin on Halloween

Excavated of all it’s guts, gobbled up by the monster,

His meaty paw, swung to and fro, striking the porcelain

That he kept, in it’s place, on that high, cold shelf,

His breath drifted, and filled the dry shed,

That stench, was still there, trapped in the dead grass

And trees surrounding the forgotten place,

Forgotten, until I returned to find her waiting,

Crying for this moment, to be picked up and carried

To the distance, where she can be reunited, with herself,

Me, in my incompleteness, which I’ve grown accostmed,

Never would have happened, if the monster still took breath,

Yet, I still smell him,

Feel him, on the back of my neck,

He’s engrained, into every twig clinging on to it’s branch,

That day, that I left all this to rot in my mind

Has held up, to haunt me and entrap what I left hanging,

I left my weakness to fend for itself, which crawled

Into the deep darkness, to age into it’s own monster,

For I can never escape the punishment

Of never being able, to rescue myself.

Tumbling Down

He stood there at His side, the slinking wraith
With its sheer persuasion crippling reality,
Time lapses in the whirlwind, as the soaked
Knife crashes on to the painted tiles, Splattering the fresh pattern,
As the wraith grins, tightening
Its grasp around His mind, letting the ballast
Carry Him further out, losing sight,
Another soul consumed by Sanity,
Its own enemy, fishing for the dead drowning
In the impenetrable molasses,
The wraith never left Him, not for a single tick
Before it filled it’s belly, left the hollow shell
In the dwindling, choking on the vanishing,
The pole snapped in the fisherman’s hold
As He, tumbled down into the abyss.

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

Too Many Open Tabs

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

Sound of Fury

What is that noise,
A ticking, amplified in my mind,
Far from sight is the source
Of such torture and misery,
It won’t let me rest as it blares it’s echo
Like steel scraping iron, to tell me
It’s grievances against me, in such rage
That I run, fearful of it’s poison,
A scorpion dancing, on open nerves,
Feeding it’s pulsating rock further in,
The sound of it’s legs become rapid
And fierce, like the charge of Vikings,
More and more enter the blitzkrieg
Crushing the ground beneath
Their bloody boots, until,
This feeble mind suffocates under the wave
Of fury, unable to withstand it,
Buried under the fall of its walls,
Within the rubble, is the dormant mind
That could not bear the sound
Shattering the castle, from within.

©DorianPoe2016

The Stranded

I have fought many wars,
Fields, encapsulated my prints
On stages of more defeats, than anything,
Traps and barricades were venomous,
As I tried to elude them on my path
Along the exploding shores
Of crashed lives that were, once
By my side, fighting equal battles,
But, lost along the way as I reach tops
Of mountains above eroded river banks
Holding the frightened sanity, crawling
To the foot of their devil,
I stand alone, defeated in my escape,
How can I rescue the stranded?

©DorianPoe 2015

The Waiting One

He softly speaks, “Let me go.”
Quiet moment, except for the
Crinkle of bones, loosening grasp
As he jumps in the murky swallow,
Never to be in sight of collapsed moon,
She keeps her watch on the abyss
Hoping to shine light
From her housed place, on the sand,
She pleads with the inimical storm
That clouds her sight
With rising terror, consuming
All the wreckage it caused,
A night darkened, by the shadow
Cast over her island,
While she perches, atop her peak
Waiting, refusing to swallow hope
For his humble return,
Finding a never ending horizon
Consuming her desperation,
She waits, till the end of all existence
To avail to herself, her house in ruin
Spread by the decay, of tarnished years
Waiting for the return of a sail,
Lost.