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Hope is a Thing with Feathers PluckedHope is a Thing with Feathers Plucked
Jonathon Moreau or Neutral Grey
Hope is a thing with feathers
That’s thrown into a pot to boil
After its feathers have been plucked
And stops singing songs in all;
And harshest is the boiling scream heard,
And very sore is this storm
That killed this little bird,
And keeps it cooking warm.
It’s frozen in the chillest land,
And drowned in the strangest sea,
And, now, in extremity,
I kill it to feed the realistic me.
A ConversationA Conversation
Thomas wiped the glass in his hands clean and poured alcohol into it for one of many customers. It was another long night serving drinks at the bar to both the festive young and the downtrodden old. He didn't mind, though. It was his job and it was a steady one.
The entrance door opened to admit a new customer: Aging, long grey hair, a scraggly beard, a plain leather jacket. The old man took a seat right at the bar in front of Thomas and said "whiskey." Thomas made a small glass and handed it to him. The old man stared at the glass for a long while before finally picking it up and downing the thing in one take. He raised his glass for a refill and Thomas complied.
As Thomas was about to walk away and polish more of the glasses behind the counter the old man spoke again: "this is where people go when they lose touch. When they're defeated or at the end of their rope, right?" Thomas hesitated to reply but managed back "Well… I suppose. But there's more than that. A lot com
The Dove (or 'Inverse Raven')The Dove (or Inverse Raven)
Once upon a morning clearing, there I smiled, laughing, tearing,
Over many funny volumes from the small run down comic store.
While I laughed, near collapsing, there came a sudden tapping,
As if someone rudely nagging, nagging me at my cottage door.
"Tis some prankster," I stated, "tapping at my cottage door:
This and gladly not a more."
So clearly I do remember, 'twas a nice warm September,
With each flower wanting a happy bee to help make more.
How I loved this day without sorrow, it will be when come tomorrow,
When my friends come for more to borrow, especially that Charles Bohr—
Who the slugs and leeches themselves created to be a sore—
He'd ask for even more.
And a grand certain stirring from my bright yellow curtain,
Toyed with me—annoyed me so greatly more and more,
So that now to calm the anger making me tart, I stood repeating,
"It is no prankster knocking at my lovely cottage door,
Just an early visitor disturbing me at my cottage door.
Only that s
Death's Scythe isn't an Idle PlaythingYou hear the words that scream out loud, they're begging inside your head;
Yet you continue on in this delusion, not hearing a word that anyone said;
They're ripping at your flesh and tearing at your soul, yet there's silence to be found;
And though you have no memory, you seem to be spotting seams of blood upon the ground.
You don't remember all the faces of those lives you gladly took;
You don't remember all the names of the people you forsook;
The only memory that you have, is a haunting one at best;
It's a daunting memory of the lives that you possessed.
And in your bloodied, mangled hand, is the doll of that little girl;
Whose life you stole and claimed your own, and cast out of this world;
She was innocent, she was pure, yet your nature knows no bounds;
You are cruel and cold and heartless, and your killer instinct resounds.
You resonate with death, because the voices tell you what to do;
They won't leave your head, so the killer now is you;
Your wavelength is astounding, it beck
AfterlifeThere was nothing.
"Where is the tunnel?"
She asked herself.
Whatever this was, the silence was crushing.
"Where are the people? The hustle?"
It was a void in itself.
"Why am I here? What have I done?"
Am I dead,or am I still alive?
If so, is there an after world?
As the silent questions on her mind spun,
She awaited Satan, or perhaps an unlikely Jesus to arrive
Her heavy conscious turned and whirled
She recalled why she'd arrived at such place,
Now recalling her unspoken good-bye she'd left behind
as she hung herself from the rafters
How her misery had worn down her face
Looking down, the same guilty scars would always remind
Her of the depression that finished her book's final chapters
What would her mother find when she searched the room?
Would she care? "No."
The firmness of the word echoed through whatever dimension she abode
How would they find her, would they have a clue?
Would they know?
They'd have to. Now, she felt more than ever alone.
Would tear be shed? Doubtful, in this c
His flowing wings will sting and they will be knowing
The sweetness of your skin in his embrace
As he sucks you dry of all your vital energy
And leaves your body scarred without a trace
His lips will press against your mouth as he holds you
Like a butterfly pinned against some board
If you could read his thoughts they would inflame you
Leave your body lying in ashes of discord
No wind could ever come along to cool you
In the urn fashioned from the heat of his rage
But his eyes they will encircle you with caring
Like a bird trapped inside a wire cage
And every time you move his skin will touch you
Like a fire licking paper as it burns
And yet you won’t be able to resist him
You’ll wait there eagerly till he returns
There’s nothing you can do that will dissuade him
His emotions are not of a human kind
If ever he can see you he will make you
His puppet as he snares and steals your mind
It’s useless to resist his knowing fingers
As they poke and pri
Shadows and NightmaresOn nights when I cannot fall to sleep
and you can almost hear a child weep
you wonder if on this night
your soul is yours to keep
I awoke to the deep deep sound
of creaking feet upon the ground
and I feared the worse as I imagined
my very own burial mound
As I stepped on my floor
and slowly opened up my door
I saw a startling image that to this day
still haunts me to my core
what stood before me was a creature
with such demonic gruesome feature
that this demon, this horrid thing
hadn't arms like reachers
as cold shivered up my spine
and black darkness filled up my mind
And sadly there was no way out
at least that I could find
it crooked it's head and looked at me
with a grin of evil vile glee
and it opened up it's mouth
as it said a few words to me
"Ah you feel the chilling night
that fills you to the brim with fright
and all those horrid things like me
are in the plainest sight
I do love the 3 o'clock air
that burns your ears and whips your hair
for the night in which you die, my frie
NightmareAs nightmare stalked my bedroom narrow
I felt him in my blood and marrow
Whispering to me terrors
Terrors I had felt before
And while I lay in bleak distrust
To sleep the sleep of the unjust
I thought I heard a noise of crawling
Crawling, did my thoughts outpour.
"It is nothing," I had muttered,
"Nothing do my thoughts implore."
Thought only this and nothing more.
Yet as I laid in vain volition
My thoughts had come to their fruition
And all the horrors of the night
Had gathered at my chamber door.
And so I yelled, I prayed and tattled
I ranted, I recited, prattled
On and on about how this was
None I hadn't seen before.
"You are nightmares," I proclaimed,
"Just figures of forgotten lore.
Only this and nothing more."
Yet, all my energy expended,
My sanity remained suspended
Ended all the horrors that had
Wormed into my thoughts before.
So while I waited, watched and listened
The ice and snow about me glistened
Glistened like the eyes of one who's
Seen the terrors all before.
"Just my san
An Attack on My SpiritDemons surround my bed every night
I tell them to leave but they always stay
Singing their dark songs just out of my sight
I've let this happen, I can't turn away
I've told them they aren't aloud in my room
A gift I don't like, I wish they would leave
But still they are here causing thoughts to bloom
Forcing them out I can not yet achieve
I may complain but I'm never lonely
An inherited fate I can't deny
Although my dear guests are rather homely
To push them away, I think that I'd die
For I've grown to love those dark dark creatures
I'm used to all of their dark dark features
Here I lieHere I lie, in silk ironclad
From the needle bastille, my tomorrow etched is
In I stay, an exit forbad
Shrieks and howls are hushful, afresh the rite commences
There eyes pity, the life refused
Aiding intentions are hurtful, and in twilight I am suspended
Nightmares Go Away Nightmares.Nightmares Go Away Nightmares.
Fast in a deep sleep, my brain simulates the future.
Which is dark, toxic, and always ends with human extinction.
Extracted from historical events of the past, the present.
Constructing a re-occurance, from updates of the present.
It warps and changes in minor details, but mainly constant.
When I wake up, I gasp in relief that it is not real.
Hoping that it’s the last nightmare of the future.
Nightmares Go Away Nightmares
From political monsters to religious zombies,
Human Capital and Human Farming , Slaves, Working Prisons,
People are not beings but capital livestock, the nightmarish truth.
Microchipping people, imprisoning, executions and inquisitions
Radiation, Pollution, Wars, Famine, Deaths and Austerity
Religio-political Elites scavenging off the brains of the intellect,
Sadistic rituals and schizophrenic beliefs, eating people.
Euthanizing, instead of medical help for budget cuts.
Wonder Technology that could save the world is used as w
Haunted Tetris [Creepypasta attempt]Jeez, I don't write stories.
This is most likely a terrible story, but hey, I don't care.
I thought this one up not too long ago.
The story of the Haunted Tetris
I don't know where else to turn...or what should I do.
I am scared out of my mind.
I was playing Tetris the other night on my GameBoy, chillin', having some fun. I got a tetris combo and scored a massive 3000 points. I was happy, until I failed at one part, resulting in a game over.
So I reset the GameBoy, but for some reason...the game didn't start...I took the cartridge out for a second and blew in to it, maybe there was some dust inside it (after all, the cartridge IS over 20 years old). After I put the cartridge back in, the game launched, hooray! But there was something off...There were only a few letters on the screen...D E A L E X 1987. Horrifyingly, it spelled "Dead 1987 Alex".
-The hell is this?! - I spoke to myself,
I was so confused, but then I pressed start anyway. More eerie
LatreuophobiaI wash off sick-sweet orange lipstick in front of a mirror as dusty as gothic romances. It tastes like oblivion, that is to say, like nothing my tongue can detect.
The door opens with a creak no private restroom could emulate. Some chick with blue bobbed hair and smeared eyeliner. I looked like that once. Ten years ago.
Getting the beer out of my hair is harder. Some men just can't take it when I'd rather they not kiss my feet or call me an angel or-
“Dayum girl, you look like a goddess.”
I gulp, taste of acid.
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More