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CannibalWhat a taste which has scarred the very life out of me, and I cannot seem to get such a taste out of my

Mouth, mushing such hymns only to buzz out and roll back and forth over my tongue, for I am deathly

Frightened my mind has swept into the bitter delusion of darkness, and has made my flesh have the

Urge to seek pleasure, which I so do not wish to conquer, I am hungry for the chase such ones should

Hurry and stab out the light, for I am ready to taste the blood and let it run down my chin, cease for your

Life, for I cannot seem to hold this grudge any longer, so please forgive me when I bulge and rip through

Your skin, for it is not wh
Burial if you find this

                                                               
                  please

cremate my feelings

                                   put my thoughts in a mausoleum
                bury my heart in a wooden coffin

                                                              dump my soul into the sea

     but

just leave my body here.
Death's HandsGo ahead and peel back my skin, so you can see the pain I have for so long enclosed trickle down from

My veins, here I lie with such agonizing symptoms, how maddening it is to see me this way, so go ahead

And build me a bed in the earth, while doing so cover me up with the dark earthen grain, I am merely

Paralyzed and here I remain as my blood sinks deep down into the roots, making the earth feel numb,

I am blessed with death’s hands, as it takes and devours me with no mercy intact, but how long can you

Remain with such a secret, without festering thoughts beginning to go about around your mind, making

You tower over with guilt&he
Recreate and ControlFormaldehyde bracelets twined bitterly with dusted cuffs of expected rust; a must to overprotect the masses, for their minds contain our very lust.

Twice paid the price our souls have completed, to deplete the credentials from exterior's precision; it maintains the strength we have always needed, one to eliminate the wisdom's decision.

To the highest of clouds we stray near subduction, our rays of lied blindness obscure those in the plains; factories of children lay wasted in grounds, here shall begin our wretched games.

Birthed before us the acquainted fallen, risen now are the mindless dead; our slaves have at last clearly awakened, let
House Of The DamnedHouse Of The Damned

The ghost felt forgotten in the house of the damned
Since his wife and child had died in a car crash
The madness and depression had set in
He spent night after night in his office
Listening to the voices in his head
And writing in his journal
Short stories, poems and observations
He thought he had an unique talent
A modern day Edgar Allan Poe
After his death he hoped he would be famous
He sent his poetry to publishers
But always got a negative response
The alcohol helped ease the pain
Dampened down the negative thoughts
One night everything fell apart
He played a piece of sad classical music
He took a few pills and some r
Treated like a StrangerMerciless creature you have bitten off my wings and devoured them whole, in promise that my hope

Would be gone, you left me for dead in this dreary pool of blood, why do you treat me like a stranger,

What did I do to deserve such silence? why can we not be more than this, if you want to play then I’ll

Pretend and have it my way, I will tape your mouth so I can say I have won, nothing pays to have such

Silence of yours, and see your cunning eyes go back into your skull, I am but a joker and you are the

King mocking me with your surrounding peasants, but you just wait for such mockery will lead

To your undoing……
Death WalkEyes closed you can still feel the night
Darkness embraces this loss of sight
Listen quite closely and you shall find
There is no such thing as silence of mind
Thoughts wailing in a scream and roll
Shrieking banshees twirling out of control
Overwhelmed these sounds tear within thee
Eyes sewn shut by fright and no longer see
Lost within this seemingly timeless breath
The path we walk is the path of death
DespairAcross the bellowing sky comes abroad and leads to a road, full of longing screams and cries, with voices

Telling curious souls not to go farther for they will become perished with bellowing plagues accustomed

To the lurking sonnets, hoping such ones will come to take away their sins, and free their lost locked

Away minds, a recipe for despair over scourges the land, blinding already swelled bloodied eyes, such

Burning emptiness enters into this road of vile obscenities, only to swallow those up ablaze who are

Weak and inferior, whose hearts have already bursted open being liable to suffer….
Liar, liar, Soul on fireLiar, liar,
Soul on fire,
Now you hang
By razor wire.

You come to me,
Then try to run.
But you are caught
In my web of fun.

You return, yet again
To the towers three.
Your body and soul
Belong to me.

You try to lie,
But you only deceive yourself!
I’m no longer chasing,
Your no longer in health.

You don’t know yet,
Do you?
Well, let me show,
Walk on through.

Look around?
Recognise anything?
I’m sure you do,
I know you hear the blades singing.

You started off
In the towers,
And you escaped.
Or did you?

You lie, but only to you.
Who do you think your trying to fool?
Not me, not them, not you.
And now I say, welcome, to t
L'Ankou des pluies
La Mort va, la nuit,
Par les chemins creux,
Trempés de pluie,
Nourrir de vie
Le froid appétit
De sa lame.
No One Can Hear You ScreamSilence prevails,
an endless, comfortless silence,
which is worse than death,
because you remain conscious
of how utterly alone you are.

All dreams are nightmares
that come without sleep
when you never know if you
are awake.

Time is without meaning,
and you begin to wonder
if you still have any existence,
even madness dare not tread here,
but instead something worse,
and yet unnamable, unknowable,
the utter loss of self.

Denied even the mercy
of waiting upon death,
when you cannot even be certain
of what life is any longer.

How easily the mind turns against you,
begins to consume itself,
and you can no longer trust your own thoughts,
~Death Poem"One Moon, Many Stars
One Murderer, Many Deaths
If You Wake Up With This Text,
You Will Be The Next"
Catching death of coldIt’s cold, COLD, there’s frost and icicles at me bones
Feeling cold, COLD, I stand and face the chill alone
No sun, no moon, no stars, nothing to tell me what time it is
Oh it’s cold, it’s COLD, and now my mind’s all gone to frizz

With the arctic at my backdoor, and winter at me front
The frost and chill be prowling, I can feel it on the hunt
Icy vines they creeping up my arms, tiny tendrils they unfurl
Feeling cold, COLD, winter’s dominating my world.

Jack Frost has come to take me, he’s broken into my home
Sees my heart be icy cold, yet warm blood beneath my bones
His winter’s all about me,
Ode to the SirenShe calls to me with song and my strong heart melts,
Like iron cast into the forge,
Enthralled by her beauty I come forward,
Even though I know,
That she only seeks to gorge,
Upon my flesh,
Staring up into her eyes,
I know that smarter guys would despise,
My utter weakness to her spell,
Gnawing my neck down to the bone,
I know that she will drag me into the depths Hell,
But it is as if my legs are cast in stone,
I do not flee even though I see,
Imminent doom approaching,
As the reapers come for me,
Isn’t it tragic,
How I have fallen victim to her magic?
----Engraved into the walls of a vacant ship docked
    within the harbor of Port
Waken From Eternal SlumberBubble bubble,
toil and trouble.
Wake the dead,
and burst your bubble.

Rise from the graves,
rotten little slaves.
Dragged up from Hell,
from decaying dark caves.

A horrific master,
heart rate beating faster.
Mass chaos,
an apocalyptic disaster.

Ripped limb from limb,
a pool of blood to swim.
Hungry for the living,
cups filled to the brim.

Vacant coffins cracking,
broken with violent smacking.
Hearts are set on fire,
Egotistical zombie slacking.
Browse More Like This
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More from ~EmaciatedandEpitaphs

Poetic's Mush MouthStitching shadows
    to sarcastic silhouettes.

Symmetrical smiles
    symbolic of nothing.

Merging monotony
    into manifested monopoly.

Mindless manikin,
    mouthing metaphors
         meaning
nothing.

Collapsing constant
    misconceptions.

Crucifix caught by
    incomplete conclusions.

Corrupted justice
    cannot comprehend
         the chaos
they are fed.

-

Maybe my
    meticulous muttering
         means
nothing.

But

Swallowing secrets,
    is easier than
         stitching silhouette
to skin.

And if no one see's your shadows,
    why bother to have them?
-

My mind mentions
    you mig
The Cruel October MoonSimply the lavender of moonlight.
    Walking along an emptied road
         The cool October air
kissing my skin

It was Halloween,
    where was my costume?
-
Wash-machine waters
    rinsing down riverside
          rocks.
Step lightly.
    Hope for a hand
         to break the fall.

Crossing the creek,
    without a palm
         to press to.

I made it anyway,
    and this side
         of  the river
didn't want me.
-
October was cruel
    for the harvest moon
         turned your skin
to silk champiegn

and when

I finally found your
    palms
         they cradled me
in comfortability.

I fell
To Bleed BleachStatic eating
   my self-harm.

And yes,
   there are better ways
      to feel.

Sutures not strong enough,
   to hold me together.

Look again.
Your teeth
   are stuck in my wounds.

Hilarity,
   sterilizing
      pus.
White veins bleed bleach.

Nerves scream beneath scalpels.

and I,
   am sick enough
      to torture.

Riddled with barcode scars,
   and
      secrets
best kept
    &
The Ocean Smells Of DecayI am washed up carrion,
    on plastic sand beaches.

Sea urchins eat away
    at my cardiac muscle,
and
hermit crabs find shelter
    amongst my flesh.
-
The salt brine has me tasting of
    tears and high-blood pressure,

Seagulls are regurgitating me in chunks.

Not the urchins,
    they liquefy my filth
and
the clawed-hermits live within
    homes hallowed
         from my rotted  tissue.
-
I smell like low-tide
    and
         low self-esteem.

Drift wood
    and smoothed over
         pieces of glass,
stranded with me.
-
Dawn reveals the stench
of my dissipation,
    and I find

         I am not
I Am Certain I Cannot FeelI am almost certain of it.

Time is silk, but when it unravels, the shreds are crimson and undeniably existent. I watch the tattered fabric drift to a graveyard, where it's color caught the eye of rotting corpses.  The abandoned bodies beg for a shred of life, just a little more time, but their veins are too decayed to exist anymore.

And this, this is my blood.

-
I stare at nerves vacant of impulses, far too frozen to feel anymore.  This numbness has goose bumps crawling out from under my skin, and I'm ashamed to say I can longer perceive the cold.

For I, am frozen from the inside out.

-
Granite tombstones and polished angels, my collap
A Cold ComplaintChandelier aqua frosting my lungs.  A temperature completely clear and quite cold.
I am siphoning cyanide into ice cubes.

Snow on charcoal blacktops.  Barren wastes of the artic.   Every desert needs a tumbleweed,
and I, am a stable excuse.

Subzero surface of the whirlpool, seals the torrent beneath.  These glaciers,
can only grow denser.
-
Solid remains of frostbite.  Toes bruised with black tissue.  My severed complaints,

I no longer,

need them.

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October 29, 2010
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Clarity Through Pinhole Eyes

:iconemaciatedandepitaphs:

This leather-faced beauty, once belonged to me.  

Empty-headed nostalgia stained to consciousness.  Watch the concrete-chunk agony leak through pin pricked eyelids.
Still she cannot feel it.



Thirsty fingers reaching through the wax rib-flesh.  A quiet pleading; smoke curling through the eardrum. Voices taunting
                            t  h  o  s  e     h  a  n  d  s
"deeper.  deeper."



To mutilate the most tender, fragile muscle.
                                           Oh and it burns
                 but when the scalpel is this sharp

it tears right through



                                                                     c  l  a  r  i  t  y
:iconemaciatedandepitaphs:
snowflake falling on too warm skin.
melted uniqueness.
wasted lace beauty.



yes, winter will be cold this year.
:iconemaciatedandepitaphs:
~EmaciatedandEpitaphs Oct 29, 2010
the person was sposed to die
Reply
:iconkatrinadoesntknow:
~Katrinadoesntknow Oct 29, 2010
There seems like there should be more to it, its kind of just ends.
Reply
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