Best Sadistically Poems
"Once upon a midnight Poe"
Underneath the midnight mask, I remove the makeup at last,
The moon is an anvil to my mood, mooring along the vacant vast
I lay the Gin and Tonic by the bedside asking for more,
I hear a noise, a lost voice, the echoes of no rejoicing,
I couldn't brush the light coming from the cracks under the door
I gave it some thought,
My eyes twinkle, towards the tinsel tiles on the floor
Seemingly the light seemed to be deeming the distance of resistance
Curiosity came in crawling and caressing
To sense and taste of sinful skin
Everything then grew thinner than thin
On the spur of the moment, I hear a whisper, my love is near
"Darkness there, and nothing more."
A nerve impulse hits the wall if nothing nary, nevertheless
I sadistically, stagger a sullen movement, even so
At this moment, Edgar Whispered, "Nothing more."
Many nights, I dream of demonic demons, demanding answers for
A sad --sadder voice sits and whines, with the wind
"Merely this and nothing more!"
A notary, nauseate moment, seasick, shipwreck sensation
Secular suicide spreading like gossip, sailing through my veins
Evilly and twisted, "This it is and nothing more" - remains
Tweaking and repeating, the speeding of needing
My drugs of pain and passion, to end the delusion
Of the self-inflicted - bruising from the voices of my choices
I hear the whisper, a selfish whisper, asking for Lenore
How many nights, he comes into my room, dress like A Raven
Painted and tainted like the midnight dreary
Reciting the excitement like The Bells, of Annabel, in a rush
Never, never, nameless here forevermore, in my dreams
Under my evil-doing skin, like the sum of sin is how it seems
On the nights, my soul mate does not appear,
The anchor drowns and torments me with tears
I travel up in fear, of the fear, when my ghost is not near
Rattling and trembling, by the bedside,
On the grim side of the mental moon, when in gloom
I scrape up my room, screaming at the bleeding,
From my heart, who needs a killing,
From a feeding and the feeling of letting one, go!
Beautiful Ones
Aloft in the steam, they look like Eagles.
Perched now on the edge of the bowl,
proud courtesies peck the kind and meek
with true meanings and Premier trophies.
Unprecedented vanity creates illusion
with self appointed monarchs.
Court jesters perform a merry dance
patronizing peasants.
Draws the gaze towards the stage,
demands the ‘groundlings’ awe.
Under their script, the knees bend
as truth is removed by deleted scenes.
Kings and queens laugh sadistically
offering a standing ovation, but
festivities are interrupted abruptly,
as valiant knights rebel against oppression.
Disrobed, their crowns become
spears through the sternum’s shield,
impales hearts that only bleed
weak fallacies and pretentious devices.
As their guise becomes clear,
anemic vultures are revealed.
Perched upon a bowl of blood,
anticipating their next persecution.
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A collaboration with Silent One
Inspired by the Globe Theatre
05.16.16
In a world full of love
Why do I feel hate
Everytime I look down the field
I see a closed gate
In this peaceful world there's people
Full of good n bad
Fighting a useless war everywhere
Over something they never had
The Angels full of peace n love
Shedding continuous tears above
While the demons in hell
Laugh sadistically as if under a spell
Innocent people dying every day
Shedding blood in a wasteful way
No is willing to stop the fights
Even when they say it's not right
What can one man do in a war filled world
When everything possible aside is hurled
How does one stop the pain
When he has nothing else to gain
I hope the fighting is stopped soon
Or earth will be as barren as the moon
If tht happens will be a big disgrace
Cuz it'll be the end of the human race
I was passing by Joey at work
I was going on break
Joey was heading back to work
I said" Hi Joey "
He said " I had a nightmare last night "
I said " Ooh. A nightmare. What was it about? "
And here's his rendition of his nightmares:
You know Olaf the snowman from Frozen.
He appeared on side of my bed.
And said I like hugs.
Then he took out a flamethrower
and started me on fire
and said
I like them really warm
Then laughed sadistically
Then my alarm went off
And it was time to go to work
A deluded and deranged miscreant.
Rode in a rented Ryder truck,
Sadistically opposed to his government,
He delivered a two-ton bomb.
After parking the fateful vehicle,
With time fleeting and fuses lit,
He fled to his car,
Parked, not far away.
Hearing the explosion, he made his escape,
With a gleam in his eye.
One hundred sixty-eight victims died,
Leaving countless loved ones behind.
April 19, 1995,
A date that lives in infamy.
The guilty one was caught that very day,
And eventually paid his life for the reprehensible deed.
The Oklahoma Ctiy National Memorial
Now graces the ground
Where the Alfred P. Murrah
Building once stood.
A lone American Elm tree
Survived the blast,
A symbol of resilience,
And the will of mankind.
Hopes of closure for the victim’s families
Followed the perpetrator’s death six years later.
But closure will not fill the empty chairs
Left in the footprint of the building.
An arthritic flesh
Hesitant wipes off deteriorated lens
Every exhale,
Another tragic sulk unto morrow’s pit
Flaunting suicidal fallacies
Off-white flag motions
Signaling mercy under liar’s duress
Muted pride
Cracking dusty knuckles
Penetration’s decrepit vowel
Slipping in between faulty, stamped licenses
Just to belong
Another back-handed waltz
Bordering beggar dialects
Untrue
Towards paradoxical epiphanies
A faceless identity
Converging amongst unwelcomed hymns
Tainting hallelujahs with discolored spit
Worming their decapitated fingertips
With equilibrium massages
Back to a barricaded oasis
Deciphers from a slanderous heretic
Proclamation of syllabic want
As arthritic flesh
Scribbles out expendable nickname
Manipulating good intentions to be sadistically validated
From their rendered nether
Nameless never inscribed a verse to call their own
Struggling to swim
In the rivers they cried
©Drake J. Eszes
Sometimes when my mind's lazy I think of you
The times that happen are getting quite few
Wreaked havoc on my heart
What the storm did in its path
Sadistically rape my love
Then offered a black dove
Forged a degree to get by
A degree you have to lie
How does knowledge make gold
When there's a hole in the shoe sole
Shame on you big professor
You play my money and me a sucker
Me the poor illiterate woman
Fed clothes and shelter the educated man
An extra shot of whiskey,
To keep my hands steady,
A potent dosage of psycho,
To kill everyone in this fermented grotto,
A torrent of tears,
To drown my homicidal regrets and masochistic fears.
Sadistically driven by revenge claimed so long ago,
Sewing makeshift stitches over my gaping emotional wounds,
Accumulated from years of abuse that created our antihero,
Performing nightly spectacles of barbarity to receive my dues,
I am a woman consumed by vendettas yet hollow to the core,
Trapped within empty bottles and dirty syringes,
Desperately searching for any hope to restore,
A fragmented psyche from becoming completely unhinged.
Another round of glaring lights,
To soothe the intoxicated patrons demanding a fight,
Another bottle downed,
To loosen the limbs and lose track of the ground,
Another match between the violently stupid and the hopelessly depraved,
To find out which ones which after I've vehemently raved,
At my booze for not buzzing,
At my chems for not lifting,
At myself for not quitting,
At my life for not ending.
How many more nights can I take of this,
One more shot and I'm bound to burst,
One more chem and I taste death's kiss,
Since leaving the womb my life's been cursed,
I should end it all with one good shot,
Scream a final "screw you" to the world through my double-barrel microphone,
Not like anyone's gonna listen whether they be across the Commonwealth or within earshot,
So it's either throw the match and die with the last laugh,
Or crawl into a corner and let my splattered brain write my final epitaph.
A sudden muzzle flash,
With the sound of cracking whips and roaring thunder,
The fragrant aroma entices my nostrils with the perfume of rabid gunpowder and easy cash,
A fight to the death interrupted by a hail of gunfire? Yea, sounds like my usual drunken stupor,
Maybe it's my guardian angel coming to save me,
Well she's got red hair and a nice ass so call me a believer,
Looks like you won't be taking me out tonight Reaper you old thief,
I've got a prior engagement with my shotgun,
And a date with destiny.
i stand here my back against the wall, nearly defeated, sedated physically, mentally well and alive. Death threatening to cease the beating of my heart, my blood runs cold, i pray, lord please allow me to die. These trials and twisted tribulations you predict have hardened my soul, my body has been bruised, battered and torn. I feel as if i too have carried a wooden cross, been persecuted by my peers and now i too wear a crown of thorns. My life is held
Within your hands, my death within Lucifer’s, a war i alone will stand and fight, though sadly will not win. I am conscious of the consequences i must serve, it is surviving eternity i cannot contemplate, or fathom the sins you must forgive. Sinfully i have walked your righteous path, morally i hold contempt prisoner within my heart, my faith diseased, walls constructed and built. You alone share my darkest regrets, my unshared secrets, you
Recognize that in my mind i have raped, cheated, plundered and repeatedly killed. To serve you i must repent, completely turn from my ways, fall to my knees, pray, trust only in you, born again, and then saved. To walk hand and hand with you, sadistically i must suffer, shed blood, be horribly mocked, betrayed and ironically enter heaven’s gate through a six foot grave. My back is against the wall, a decision must be made, live for you or as you promised spend eternity in the lakes of fire burning, screaming, forever in pain. Demented though isn’t it, it seems like a reflection of my life, the only difference lord, these flames can be extinguished if only you would allow it to rain. I stand here naked, vulnerable, offering you a glimpse, a very open and deadly game of truth or dare. The simple truth, i cannot believe my head is bowed right this moment, the dare if you choose to accept, lord, please make this my last prayer.
I can feel the walls closing in. I have never seen a more blackened
darkness. A silence so deep I can hear the mice and the cockroaches
running alone the ?oor. The guards come to get me and bring me to the
long walk. I'm walking the White Mile and I can see the horri?ed faces of
the others. I was framed, I didn't do anything wrong. The door is getting
closer and closer. I try to stop in my tracks but these monsters won't let me.
They keep pushing me towards that door. No matter how many times I
shout that I'm innocent it makes no difference. I'm just feet away from the
door now. One last chance. I stop and pivot and just as I'm about to take off
running and never look back. The one person I thought was on my side
grabs my arm. I can't believe it. It's my own mother. Now she's making me
go towards the door. I don't understand, she said it wouldn't be this bad.
She told me it would all be okay. The door is just an arms length away. I'm
only ten years old so why am I being treated like a mass murderer? I hear
the sadistically evil laugh coming from the doctor behind the door. I'm
getting the three lethal injections or as others may call it, the flu shot.
'twas in a room in Blandford, on a bright spring day
When a voice within my head a whispering, whispering to my dismay
For the voice grew from a whisper , and it would not go away
The voice was dry and eerie, Like demons from the days of yore
So I was emboldened and challenged, what want est from me thou this day
And the voice replied sadistically, I'm here to take you away
Now you have read of the raven, from the pen of Edgar Allen Poe
And i'm a relative of the raven, and our lord wants you to know
That poets like you, increase the spirit of mere mortal men
So i'm here to maybe frighten, even more to stop you writing
And to even stop thee from creating hero's, like the poets from days of yore
If to stop thee I must kill thee, then I am willing for its a dead I have accomplished before
As the evil voice was cackling, my mind aghast was flapping
Wondering if today would be my last, and if I was bound for Hades shore
Then a voice so soft and tender, cried out spirit I demand your surrender
And I looked and saw a hero, straight from Thermopalies blood red shore
Stood with shining sword and shield, it was a warrior from Spartan lore
and the voice in my head quietened, and I knew I was safe for sure
Safety is but an illusion, in a world of hurt and pain
Sometimes the only victory, is for the sun to oust the rain
But 'im aware deep in my heart of hearts, that the rain will come again
So I must be like the sun, bold unshackled and free
So that when the rain returns I may be unwavering, and burn it away
And maybe ill be free for life eternal, like bold Homer in Dauntes tale of yore
Adulterous besieging capstone damnation
exploitation foists groping, heaving
insidiously jerking
knowingly lunges
machinations notoriously nymphomaniacal
officiating penile quests
rapaciously, sadistically
tenaciously, unstoppably
vasocongested wickedness
Xerses yawped zeolously.
***************************
All throughout history of man/woman kind
ascendent civilizations extensively gouged,
impailed, kindled, murderous outrages
quashing sacred urges, women yearned.
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Versatile thematic refrain punctuating nubiles
maximized looting, pillaging, raping
visited upon females via decimating fountainhead
guarding brestworks of vestal virgins,
innocent youths (little boys and girls).
***************************
Twenty first century *****Sapiens male population continue to applaud, covet, extol, gloat, invoke, kickstart, molest outrages, quest savagely thee unbridled wedded yoke appropriating coquettishly enshrined gals imposing killing mandates okaying queasy sordid ugly wretchedness yanking aborhent behavior denigrating, fulminating, harrassing, jawdropping lewdness, nabbing prized rearends, twerking, violently whiplashing, yelling zingers.
***************************
Now not a day elapses with instances women claim untoward advances, and/or forced coercion to satiate and temporarily slate the sexual thirst informing prononced picadilloes (philandering if married pompous head honcho demands appeasement of coitus, ********, indecent lowball outrageous ribald uncouth x-rated animalistic, carnal, feral, gonadal, immoral, kleptomaniacally misogynistic, narcissistic, opportunistic, pathetically reprehensible, torturously undervaluing, validating virility within Yankee Doodle, haply lambasting, proudly touting, vaunted wayfair zest.
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The above meandering stream of consciousness attempted to amplify, a recent spate of accusations figuratively slapped against a male sex mongers, who specifically rule roost, and blithely, demandingly, forcefully, hideously, impishly, killingly, malignantly, opprobriously, powerfully, repeatedly, terminally, vindictively, wantonly, yearningly acrimoniously belittle, demean flagrantly, harshly insinuate keeping mindful, not publicize rabid tawdry unwanted villainous withering zeal!
Mirror, tell me what you see
When you laugh at me,
Mirror, tell me you cry for me
When you laugh at me.
Darkness eclipses even the brightest dawns,
For these flames are dreams that once I had drawn,
Reasons fail to have me comprehend
What at this opportunistic hour do I intend.
This cancer of mine finds its cure in death,
Death merely of mind, and not of breath
For I hold the key to the realisation of dreams
But know not why so perished I still seem.
Tell me mirror, why do you have me be
Why all you do is laugh at me,
Mirror, tell me you cry for me
When you laugh at me.
Hours go by, still lost in you my hollowness,
Seeking a way out of all my profound adroitness,
For they will aid my efforts through,
But I keep lamenting what’s not even true.
Now I realise it’s you who directs the show,
But act only too ignorant, don’t you my alter ego
Tell me you pity my worthless brilliance,
When you sadistically enjoy your rule over my conscience,
Mirror, tell me you cry for me
When you laugh at me.
My Poetry on PoetrySoup
Poem written By: Ronald Watson
05-2011
Mississippi’s Four Eyed
Ms. Sissippi Is Four Eyed
She have broken into that old wood burning stove, and
She’s smoking that old southern type of pipe pride.
As though, if this was a device design and devised of little white silly lies, she foretold.
She’s, neither, afraid to beg, borrow, nor, taking a bad bribe.
Her soul cuts deeply from ear to ear; it’s only justice to feeling a good vibe;
Ms. Sissippi, she is four eyed.
Ms. Sissippi, she is four eyed, and
While her tears are over flowing as a raging river will rise.
She’ll gamble to bet and just throw it all in for, one of a kind.
Whereas, an acquisition was made subliminal like, the truth is despised.
There as, her accusation to demise as which she would solely had criminally denied.
Coincidently, is it not did simply nor, it is done accidentally, but
Isn’t she’s four eyed?
Though, she’ll get caught eventually-
So, all those old traits will die, and along with her bold hate in which she hides,
Beneath her hospitality, and for Christ sakes! Even, Stevie Wonder can see that ****’s fake!
Sadistically, it’s how she gets off on the pain of darkness that had backfired and turned back sides.
Thus; she’s four eyed and yet she’s-
As lost unto her own selfish little world, but
She always has been that four eyed special little girl.
My Poetry on PoetrySoup
In muddy waters blood suckers live
No real work they do in puddles
Day and night, they wait for
An unlucky man blindly wading
To offer his blood for leeches’ meal of the day
For they know blood is life
Human blood leeches stand those
Fearless male and female of all lands
Greed they are for supremacy
Lovers of hard power they are though
Faint not to know its soft side
But decide to eat, drink and respire lies
Human vampires have no select and side
As they sleep day to work night for
Ready they are to change attitudes
As chameleons dye to lie the killer
When they hide colors to grab preys
That we the grassroots are
Human leeches are bogus dangerous ticks
Seeking other humans whose blood to suck
They awfully kill their rights
Willingly bury their liberty and economy
For they behave sadistically
To remain toughly eternal blood suckers
.
Poem by Mugisho N Theophile