Macabre Poems - Poems about Macabre

a single heart thick as wax pressed into the earth’s embrace it does not wither does not break only waits in silence--patient, watching its vines creep slow twisting tight coiling round the throat of time whisper soft it calls their names a voice like wind through hollow bone come and see come rest your hands upon the leaves still warm with breath they lean in close they never know until the roots...

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Crack! I lay, beneath me creaking Hath it taken from me? What to give? Mayhaps yesternight another seeking For not many there is to live It approaches, shaking, floors creaking To thee I will never forgive The black, slender arms reach It thrashes! THRASHES, thrash– Follicles, it pulls, off me, I screech With many a fang, I faintly see a gnash Holding me, gripping...

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Eeevile in the realm of the Undead Chilled blood red cold Vampire vexation - sexy at best. Wrapped in comfortable uncomfortable silence Silence so sharp - you can feel the fangs at your neck. Sanctimonium or sanctimonious Vampires dripping of sophistication They make a show of letting you know That morally they ARE the BY FAR With eyes so dark, so deep, so very...

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When what I wrote is hard to read, the crowd goes, Whoa, not touching that. Perhaps someone should intercede to edit out the ghoulish splat. It’s not clear why my mind goes there; the childhood fever might be it. My mother often voiced despair, but I prefer macabre wit. Beneath calm seas, menacing kelp ensnares the otter fleeing Jaws. My wife’s convinced I should seek...

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she resigned herself to feeling morose macabre and melancholy determined to be miserable, was our cousin, Miss Harriet Holly. Focusing on wretched negativity, and all things bad. Tossing good things out of her schemata said my friend Tad. Determined to be solemn, depressed, angry, alone and sad. It was a keen observation from the self-absorbed Tad....

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Creepy crawlies and heebie-jeebies raw ripples on your skin kafkaesque; You peek at that dark monstrosity, cannot tell if it’s a trick or treat; Nerves taunt with chimerical spectres; Weepy eyes are stung by angry bees, ‘Pshaw!’ escapes a story so grotesque; Flew through your mouth unable to flee, caught swelled saliva starts to secrete; Serves well scripts of macabre directors....

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The city, a diseased harpy, her rotting carcass a testament to the decay of civilization. I cut through her festering alleys, camera in hand, a Pygmy navigating the labyrinth of my own fevered brain. The words ooze from my very being like a tempest of acid-tipped rain, scarring the air, leaving an unholy stench in...

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Hey mommy I am here to play Daddy and brother are on the way To the underworld where I sent them By gutting tummies and dissecting Innards go to outwards on the floor Faces you can’t recognize anymore Low and behold they still breathe So I drowned them in the kitchen sink Mommy come here, don’t run mommy Fine I will chase...

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In the alleys of mirrors, reflections stare back with faces I've yet to covet. The cacophony of screams and whispers, a post-coital slack-jawed pause, the aftermath of endless nights and getting lost in vorpal holes of unwritten rules. Where pornographers masquerade as poets, sacrificing Eros on the altar of analysis. I squirm on the auto-da-fé...

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the city's sick scar, fuels my descent, into this abyss, where twisted creatures writhe, in the darkness. cyclops with one eye, on the ball, three-headed puppies, sealed behind glass, strippers selling tickets to the apocalypse. a demon, a door-to-door salesman, asks for my dough, my scratch, my entire lunch budget, think i’m some golem, bred...

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In the underbelly of the behemoth, where darkness devours the light, lies the truth - a macabre cotillion of vice and virtue, forever swirling, a maddening waltz of the dualistic kiss....

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I detest cowards who cower at night's darkness, afraid of shadows and their own demons. Fear is a thief that steals courage and leaves only cowardice in its wake. Be a warrior, not a weakling. Face your fears, and let the darkness fuel your lights fire. Weakness is not an option....

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The rot of humanity's shadow is not in the ink, but in the darkness that fuels the pen, gruesome daggers, dripping honeyed poison....

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crimson mixes of love and rage, a cauldron of heartache bubbling, memories shared, now a tribute, to the venom in my pen writing. fueling our past, surviving tonight, amongst the stars and the sky, a love lost in time, a phantom limb, echoes of what could have been. colliding paths, a spark of passion, fate and chance — two stars torn, nova hurricane, supernova rain, our...

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Writing effortlessly and I faint first thought was dreamscape I can recall every single detail To the T. Twelve fenestra foggy glass, a paining of a woman, Egyptian, classy loft style apartment, with a fountain in the center, tree growing up and through the ceiling, at its base a pool for a fountain raining above, this is the only light source,...

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