Best Dark Pain Poems
Angels are unable to handle
these 'Sylvia Plath' sorrows,
hiding their halos -
mute to my concerns.
Love has abandoned me,
left me to decay in an open grave,
where flesh eating insects
devour my motionless corpse.
Yet, I'm a victim of my own demise,
stranded upon sand dunes,
as a martyr for sacrificial offerings
cursing my selfless 'lighthouse' conduct,
guiding lost ships through tormenting storms.
In fading light,
I'm shivering, lips quivering,
resembling a solitary ancient oak tree,
with black, bitter bark, freezing,
despite June's sunshine blazing.
My once golden roots, now sour, weaken,
crumbling under hardened, heated clay.
My 'Frida Kahlo' soul
resembles a weary traveller,
craving for manifestations of rain.
Dehydrated in darkness,
an orchestra of demons,
lurk behind misty shadows.
Epitomized incarnate images
of Satanic messengers,
stalking in echoes of self - slaughter.
Impersonating chivalrous comrades,
seducing the sanity of
my 'Oscar Wilde' mind.
These 'Van Gogh' eyes
exhausted from existence
are a shroud of obsidian mystery.
An embodiment of emotions,
feeling pain scorch in deep crimson stains,
eternally engraved like an unwanted tattoo -
yet they remind me.... I'm still alive
but I know there is beauty in death.
The demons are out tonight.
I can feel them running up and down my spine.
It’s nothing but rag water and blue ruin.
They won’t rest until I hurt something or somebody.
I must vent or die.
Better to do it now than wait.
Waiting only causes more pain to those I love.
The dogs are restless they know I am not right tonight.
I have this razor sadness
That only gets worse when the Southern Pacific pulls out of the world.
There is no place to go and no place to be
Except with this clanging and sorrow that knows no home.
I count the tears on the counter and they don’t mean anything.
Salt and water a sorry excuse for loneliness.
And the demons they keep peeking their ugly heads out
Feels like the whole damn town is ready to blow.
I reach out and tug on someone’s coat and spill over the side.
Then like metal raining down on your shores it stops.
I have transferred the pain.
I am one again.
And you now suffer my sorrow.
The demons are happy and I am sad.
It is life-eating life.
I don't mind being weak.
I don't mind the pain.
I don't need help.
Waiting for death to take me.
What's the point?
I'm tired.
I'm sick.
I want to rest.
I can't fight anymore.
Just take the pain.
Reject me and hate me.
I don't mind the hurt.
I don't mind the tears.
I'm holding onto this pain,
For the rest of my life.
This is my fate.
This is my pain.
I will live or die.
I don't look for options.
Whatever the choice,
I don't mind...
Calm in the center of the carnage,
inaction seen by detached retinas
Silently viewing
societal norm walls falling
Violently by lewd winds toppling ...
house of marked cards folding
Rendezvous bluff blowing in the bedroom again,
lust treasure memories buried under closet debris sin
Like a thief in the night,
you always wanna take out more than you put in
Step lightly
into the storm building inside of you
Blow the farm silo doors down,
set the milch cow on the barn roof
Step darkly
into the center of the storm,
Rest your troubled mind
inside the heart of the dead calm
Wait until the storm is abated and gone
Then, go outside of yourself ...
see the wreckage everywhere
The twisted limbs of your lovers
strewn in shocked poses of incredulity
Look of lonely etched on their faces,
saying: How could you, baby, do this to me ...
Why did you leave me outside to die horribly?
Blowing them a kiss,
you shovel them into piles of compost
Fertilizer love turning them into ground feed,
and as soon as you finish the dirty deed
Another tornado is forming,
another hurricane is coming
Step inside the fury swirling,
sit inside of the storm, where it’ll be safe
Every new lover wanna shelter there,
but they came to the wrong-hearted place
This poem was inspired by a poem titled
"The Evolution of a Broken Heart" by
the talented poetess, Leanne Lovejoy-Burton
"Goodness is like hate
Both grow from seeds"
- Arthur Vaso
I kneel on you
Red earth
like the blood
flowing
in your veins
Blue cold as
your eyes
Beautiful
and skipping
Like dragonflies
on water
and lilies
I am frozen
In your disdain
Diminished
In your contempt
Beneath my
withered hand
Thump thump
of your heart
Whistles soft
as a breeze
to thaw
my starved lungs
I dig a small hole
in your red earth
To plant my seed
of love
And smother your hate
***
March 5, 2017
A broken mirror
A gustily reflection of misfortunes
I don’t recognise myself anymore
An honest look at my dishonesty
Yes, I’m a liar
The image distorted with each retreating step of shame
I take, and I move ten steps backwards in life
The falling pieces like sharp knifes
Pierce the ground with screaming cries
No!!!
Did I just dig my own grave?
The earth bleeds (from me)
Soaking the ground with broken promises
I try to flee the scene
Hoping never to be seen
To hide from my guilty conscience
Hoping not to be convicted for seven years
By poetic justice
And the crush of his firm finger
He had pointed straight at me
The lie exposed
Blood on my hands,
My fist broke the mirror
My lack of character,
A life of no restraint
Of anger and hate
My over indulgences and cutting corners
All brought to bare
The broken mirror echoes my scattered, dying soul
It intrigues me like a thousand pieces of a puzzle,
Challenging me to put my life back together
You’re such a liar, I dare you!
If I’m honest, I know only I can,
But my inner voice is unrelenting
No you won’t you liar!
I put my neck on the block
A voluntary fratricide
To be rid of this inner, rotten core
A mind like Pandora’s box
They say garbage in garbage grows!
The contents need to be forgotten
The combination unknown
Self-destruction mode on do-not-unlock
I accept I can never run away from my own thoughts
This outer shell content with my decision
For seven years it exhausted me
It haunted me,
Assimilated anew in the fields of second chances
Reassembled from pieces of glass and blood
I return to me a complete reflection
I see smoke and mirrors
Deceptions of the mind
Are they just glimmers
Of what I might find
Where have they led me
Have I been left alone
Is my will still free
Or am I now a drone
I looked up and saw shadows
I felt their groping hands
Sinister as black scarecrows
And I'm sinking in quicksand
Fear grabs ahold of me
Puts it's fingers on my heart
Drags me down to the sea
Begins to tear me apart
I hear bloody screams
Makes my hair stand up
Facing my bad dreams
And I wish I could wakeup
I see smoke and mirrors
Deceptions of the mind
Are they just glimmers
Of what I might find
Where have they led me
Have I been left alone
Is that my brain I see
Or just methadone
Written 11/16/16
Silence is something you can step on
like dead weeds on a sunken grave....
like ancient worn paths to nowhere in particular,
except to forgotten places you've already been to.
I'm a battered button freak
in a world without goose steps.
Let us sacrifice our clothes
to appease the screaming ghosts of the Final Solution.
When you're naked everything tastes better,
the clocks tick louder,
a multitude of whispering voices sound gentler
and the raging rivers of the land flow farther.
Night time is the right time to be naked.
When the dogs of war are snoring
When the day's checker games have ceased
When the throbbing vestal virgins beg for it.
Being beaten is best when naked.
One can show off the welts and feel exhilarated.
One can feel close to God
and the cool moist dirt around you.
One can know what it is like to be digested by a spider.
One can bleed and cry
and plead for mercy to deaf ears.
Coraggio! Coraggio!
Basta! Basta!
In this garden,
the roses have all withered,
the sparrows no longer twitter,
the day is dark and bitter.
In this garden,
a rusty gate swings in the wind,
a faded pinwheel gently spins,
a sad little girl swings within.
In this garden,
the trees are brown and rotten,
the youthful dreams forgotten,
and little tears fall often.
In this garden,
the land lies in dark repose,
the stream no longer flows,
and little eyes bear pain untold.
In this garden--
once, there was beauty here,
once, laughter flowed sweet and clear,
once, there was vigilance near.
© 05/22/2015 – Alesia Leach
Written for The Poet’s Shadow – Hosted by Greg Barden
Sun's a mean blue
two clouds turn black
The wind blows sand
the skies rain flack
Early Spring, war-torn Ukraine
reflects a nation's searing pain
Demon Dance
I position myself in alarm
As I heard something say
“You’re in my space now
I’ll take you on today
I’ll dance with you all night
In your sleep with hate
I’ll put you into pure fright
When I bring upon a spate”
The ways of old are here
And they aren’t going away
They have brought me great fear
When the demons come home to play
Time seems to freeze
When they come out with force
At night they do as they please
No laws do they enforce
“Growling abides by no man
I’ll put you to your death
But first I’ll play - if you can
I’ll show you my pure wrath”
The ways of old are here
And they aren’t going away
They have brought me great fear
When the demons come home to play
The night air grows quite thin
And it gets very cold inside
The anti-beings splay at my skin
Making it hollow beside
At my lost distant heart
Something make me think
“I’ve come for every part
You are the missing link”
The ways of old are here
And they aren’t going away
They have brought me great fear
When the demons come home to play
Fear rides up my back
As darkness soon approaches
They ready for their attack
On me and the cockroaches
The evil-dwellers cast their spell
I start to feel the pain
I begin to feel like I’m in hell
My heart is surely slain
The ways of old are here
And they aren’t going away
They have brought me great fear
When the demons come home to play
Russell Sivey
Frozen....
Deep in thought,
cringing at the idea of fighting....
laying motionless....
on the ground,
placing the blanket of impropriety over you.
With no words to say,
and no feelings to be felt....
you lay there, with a lost look in your eyes....
Your every word makes no sense to anyone,
but in your mind,
you, yourself, make no sense to anyone.
Your bones scrape against each other,
blood running warm one second,
and cold the next....
your thoughts remain frozen.
You cry tears....
drown yourself in them,
only to turn around and ask....
"what am I crying for?"
You freeze when spoken to,
you shut down....
you tune out the world,
you ignore the positive,
and consume the negative,
like some strong alcoholic drink at a bar....
you think you'll go far,
but you know this life is hard....
this walk....
is hard....
so you remain frozen.
Shut the door on those around you,
writing people off....
expecting them to still be there,
when you wise up and realize,
I am not what I think I am....
I am not a hero,
I am not a warrior,
I am nothing more....
than a waste of space....
a waste of time....
a waste of energy.
You could turn it all around,
get your feet back on the ground,
but you refuse to make a sound....
you're frozen....
stiff in silence....
looking around you,
wondering why death itself hasn't found you.
Wondering why promises are so hard....
for you to keep....
laying there late at night....
wondering why you can't sleep....
Laying there motionless....
asking yourself....
"Will it ever get better for me...."
"Or am I doomed to spend the rest of my life this way?"
Frozen.
It hurts to
But I have to,
I feel it rising,
Like vomit or bile
The feeling of tiny knives,
Forcing it out slowly.
I sit across from you,
trying,
To hold it back.
Born beneath an old Elm tree, nourished from the teats of a Jackal, sired by the Devil himself.
He knew who he was.
He was pain.
Where he walked, he inflicted the same.
Bringing forth residual shame, was his favorite game.
This man named Pain, with worldwide fame.
Invisible to most, but felt by us all.
As when your skin does crawl.
His only intent, was to make love fall.
From behind his invisible wall.
The Demons do call.
For one and all.
So when you hear that man's name.
It's no accidental, bad luck game.
He turns health into lame.
The Devil and son are the same.
This man called Pain.
SHM
Verbal gymnastics
twist the real meaning of this barbarous truth
To kill is called to sanction,
deliver the package is black ops captured proof
Approval of torture
moves a scared society 911 degrees
to the medieval reprobate melting phase
Blood flowers of a Nazi security horticulture
gets pruned and propaganda presented as being vitally necessary
By lovers of the philosophy of Marquis de Sade
Enhanced techniques of interrogation
is such a sterile term
Clinical desensitized dark suit pain inquisitors
favor methods of food and sleep deprivation
Give the screamers an amplified sip of electrical sperm,
treat the enemy combatants like ovulated planarian visitors
Torture is not for the squeamish heart ...
Cruel breakers of the body
like wearing the cloaked title of Roman toga civility
Closely check the polygraph chart,
see the shattered souls lay beaten with eyes empty
Classified secrets justify enhanced techniques;
flayed flesh of revenge satiate their bloodlust need,
give the vampire drinkers a full chalice of grapes of wrath plead
Lovers of life hate crucified words that morally bleed