Tag Archives: stormy

Trying New Things

There’s never a time when trying new things is not exciting. Recently I’ve been trying many new things, as much as possible. I’ve started writing more short stories, or perhaps excerpts of stories based on the influences I see in the world around and the work of others. Personally I think this new one is neat-o. Be warned though, it is pretty gross. Horror warning. Please enjoy.

A Man Would Scream

What am I? Trapped in a hell that feels simultaneously my own and one created by yet another monster, I scream and cry and gasp until that last little bit of air comes out. My words are cut short; my rending howls transform, slowly, into that low, uncompromising, pitiful gurgle. Perhaps if one saw my putrid, broken form, this mass of stinking flesh and hateful decay, perhaps they might believe there is a man left within. They might believe there is something left to save. There is nothing.

I am screaming. I am screaming and yet I have no mouth, no eyes, no face. I am but a featureless mass, resigned to and constrained by a fate which an unjust God has set upon me, only that when it is wolves that descend upon you in the forest do you get to die. The soft, agonizing gurgle they hear coming from this pile of meat that once was me is both my only release and my eternal torment. I do not even know that you are there.

For all eternity, it must be remembered. Those sins which I have done. Those evils which I have wrought, piercing me over and over like a Tailor who just can’t get the patch right. There is no penance for the deeds I count among mine. I deserve this. I deserve to suffer.

Leave me be, for I am not a man.

Feeling Sick But Doing Fine

Good morning, everyone! The poem today is one of my favorites from the past couple weeks. The way it comes together is like a forlorn love letter, brimming with nostalgia and pain. It twisted my heart to write it. I only hope it helps you feel too. Without further ado, I bring to you…

Munchausens – An Eleven Letter Word

Do your eyes grace the pages

that fill beneath my pen,

every inkblot a kiss,

every stroke a love letter,

just for you, my dear?

~

Does your mind wander

on over to me

where I fill your head

with lovely and sweet things,

always bringing back

my amnesiac?

~

Alas, my love,

these starry eyes,

in all their seeming candor,

bely that feeling most unkind.

~

And then you see

these tired eyes

and their bags of lies

Filled all to the brim with flies.

~

To feel rotten inside,

a feeling most sour

and nigh unfairly dour,

it eats at the psyche,

the ego its bread

and the id its cheese.

~

It makes a man unwholly holy,

and perhaps leaves him feeling wholly unholy

with but a sprinkling of that reminder

of being wholly unwhole.

Storied Stormy Nights

Hello again, all! Back from my vacation, I have a little poem for you all that I enjoyed writing very much. Imagine yourself on the deck of a ship, you and your shipmates, hardened sailors one and all. The sails start to flap and wood starts to creak as dark clouds draw overhead. Rain pours over you, washing away the the salt and sweat so forcefully from your brow as lightning can be spotted in the distance. The captain screams his orders over the roar of the wind and the seas, attempting to regain control of the rigging. Amidst the cacophony you start to hear a beautiful song. Drawn to it, you and your brethren sail towards the rocks. A song that beautiful… Surely there aren’t any rocks?

Ballad of Sirens

O’ that cape of forlorn hope,

I sail around the bend.

I hope to find on other shores

a beach on which to mend

that poison heart and all its open sores.

Sailors find their sirens

there upon the rocks,

a place where ships will come to break and crash.

Beautiful their voices,

and so too are their faces,

so beautiful in fact

that sailors won’t notice

how their heartbeat quickly hastens.

Is it fear, perhaps?

Rightful to so fear the siren, yes,

but perhaps that song they sing,

that pretty one that lingers in your ears,

perhaps there is some truth to it

and closer to the siren’s heart the sailor nears.

There I lie,

crushed and broken on the rocks,

comforted by those deep blue eyes,

color of the sea I’ve grown to love,

belonging to the face

of one graceful little dove.

I know I’ll not survive the night,

I’ve not had enough adventures,

or been enough places,

but to die with you will mean eternity,

to find again Elysium one final time.

To hold you in that orchard,

my forever love.