darkestpoetrylover

Now the door     is open,          waiting- Cheap ink preserved on      worthless foreign          paper- The stairs are     listening intently,          expectant- His colours have been     once again pressed and          aired- Logs in the hearth     almost ready to burst          into flaming tears- The outfit he wears     buried beneath          our loving memories- Three years and though     maggots may say otherwise-                                                  he’s still alive.

S          L          B C         (a          L O         gen       I R          tl          S N          e          S D           t          C E           r          O P         ickle      M R          of          P E          blo        A S           oo        S S           dr         S I            un         I O         ning       O N          dow      N H           nh        R A           erf        E T            ace)     G R             O        R E              V        E D              E        T

I bleed words from my veins The knife beside me stained With lines of hopeless hope. Inky blemishes spread across my skin Transforming me into a demon of written Words. Words. Words. Always words, always lines, Line after line marching away Into the bleak horizon of A page that is soiled By my hand, by my touch. Love, hate, sorrow, contempt, Every emotion mankind has ever known All bleeding in a black torrent Of stinging fire that sets the page alight Reducing it to charred ashes, That are soon scattered on the wind Of my tainted breath.

Two months later Vadim was a totally different person. In that short span of time, Marina had died, Oleg had taught Vadim all he could, and Vadim had become an moderately successful thief. He was still lean and hungry, but he was also hardened by grief. With Igor, he roamed the streets all day, thieving and bringing their catches home. Igor had submitted to Vadim and followed his orders without question. Today, when Vadim awoke, a full scale blizzard was raging outside. He yawned, stretched, and climbed out of his secondhand fur blanket. Putting on his relatively new coat for warmth, he shook Igor awake. The younger boy, dazed by sleep, slo

My whip is one of loving fire The source of the destructive desire I’ll drive you to Hell and back again Ripping you apart, scattering your bones. I am your favorite slave master I make your body arch in pain and pleasure You are my horse to be driven to disaster You will know fear with no measure. I caress you like a demon lover Sending your mind fleeing for cover Leave your body behind, I’ll take it But for your soul I could care no less. I am your favorite slave master The sin that you cannot atone I am your only voice; I am your pastor, Because of me you’ll be alone. I know your every physical aspect I am n

A blazing wheel in the sky Giving life, hope, and warmth, Like it always has done, Like it always will. The open prairie now shrunk But still as illustrious as before, For rows and rows of wheat Stretching off until it meets the sky. The cities are bigger, sprawling behemoths But they do not encroach upon The beautiful Goddess of the earth. The newsmen scream apocalypse As they did two hundred years before, As they have been for all eternity. They obliterate major details so they Can sell a crackpot story to a nation. My great grandfather was a man Who knew the way of the world; It was he who decided to Go out upon a limb

 The merchants were calling out their wares and prices even before the sun rose on another grey November day. Novgorod was alive then, even before the first rays of light punctured the black abyss of the night. The year was 1557 and in a little shack off of a small street, Vadim rose too. Vadim was the oldest of three children. His brother Igor, three years younger, was stretching and yawning. Marina, his younger sister, was still curled up next to their mother. Mother was beside the fire, which Vadim always kept dutifully burning. Mother shivered and gave a weak cough, gathering Marina in closer. Igor sat up, grimacing. His stomach had

The next day, after stopping off at the market to pick up some grain and losing a tenth ruble in the process, Vadim immediately went to the shopkeeper’s place. There, he learned how to read his opponent and how to counter his moves. Vadim struggled to do well, partly because he needed to know defense, and partly because he finally had someone to please. His lessons continued in this fashion for another four days. By that time, Vadim had used the entire ruble. He was officially broke. However, one of the brief things that Vadim’s father had told him before he left was to never except charity. “A man is nothing if he cannot mak

The next day, it was snowing. Frigid air gusted through the cracks in the pathetic hut that Vadim and his family lived in. The fire went out and Vadim had to desperately restart it with shivering hands. Their gruel was more a frozen block of inedible mush than food. Worst yet, Mother was barely breathing. Mother had been slowly deteriorating. But this morning, when Vadim went to feed her, she barely responded. Her mouth was only slightly ajar and Vadim had to force feed her. Her shivers were feeble and her pulse was nearly non-existent. When Igor asked what was wrong with Mother, Vadim choked back tears as he lied. “Mother is just napp