Morbid Visions


Visions of a band member

Come to visit me during nights,

Singing the turn I know very well

And whispering my name over and over-

Is this for real?

I s this one of those morbid visions

I've been having since you left me?

I've been seeing her since I

Could ever thinking straight.

I know it sounds daft but

I think it is happening for real-

She's here, in my room,

Singing to me and calling my name-

I don't want her to go away;

She's like a best friend to me.

Showing me this fragile soul,

Stuck to morbid visions to live with,

She's like family to me-

She's a comforting sight I see;

My morbid visions.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I wrote this poem tonight, because I had to let out some confusion about the visions I've been seeing during the past several months. I've been seeing visions of a lead singer of my favourite band, and it's really making me wonder why this could be happening. It is very morbid, and I really think it's a great addition to my poetry collection.

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i'm sitting here,

looking up at the stars.

i'm sitting here,

with these bloody red scars.

none of this would of happened,

if you haven’t of stabbed my heart.

none of this would of happened,

if you haven’t torn it apart.

this is what u want,

yes am sure.

this is want u want,

for this pain never to cure.

u cant hide the fact,

that u hate me because it shows..

u cant hide the fact,

that u want me to die pain n all, slow

Author's Notes/Comments: 

ryan (my nephew) wrote it.. but we're just copyrighting it.. so he says to put it under my name...

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Mental Stuff

It's an instinct

To rip at your skin

With my nails.

It's an instinct

To peck out your eyes

With knives.

It's an instinct

To try to kill you off

Even though you are my love.

It's an instinct

To drink your blood

From the wounds that I cause.

It's an instinct

To tear your skin apart

And ram a needle

Into your heart

And watch it bleed.

It's an instinct

To love to hate you

It's an instinct

To do what I do.

Author's Notes/Comments: 


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Gothic Girl


There's a girl I know

Who wears nothing but black-

To hide her pain and fears;

She's a Goth,

Everyone knows-

Nobody sees the pain she's hiding within the mask-

She hides it well.

She listens to Gothic music-

Does all the normal things Goths do;

Everyone knows her too well,

They know everything about her Goth style-

But still don't see the pain within her mask.

She cries secret tears only her Gothic friends know-

She carries her pain and fears with her wherever she goes;

Spends hours with her favourite music and best friends,

Does all the normal things Goths do.

The thing that stands out in this Gothic girl I know-

Is that I am her-the Gothic Girl.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I wrote this poem after at least an hour of inpiration. I couldn't write anything more on this delicate, but true Gothic poem. All I have to say, it explains my personality.

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Batteries Not Included

Batteries not included.
Walking amongst crossroads secluded.
I'm Lacking the holy-duracel.
Halo's gone out, eyes grown cold.
Victim of religions bout.
My death has been sold.
Batteries not included.
Church I've always eluded.
When one lacks the faith,(the duracel).
They've bought a one way ticket,
Straight to the fiery bowels of hell.
I've, too many times sinned.
Can't fit into Christ's mold, his skin.
They forgot to include.
A dammed destiny of a prelude.
Batteries, the faith didn't come mandatory.
St. Peter would never believe this story.
He is not one to be played.
Take alliance with the demonically decayed.
Eternal bliss and happiness not for me.
I've early on concluded.
Since with me, batteries are not included.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Oddly enough I blame the Duracel Bunny for this one.

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A Bedtime Story

In a land not far away at all,

A teenaged girl is hanging,

In the middle of her bedroom.

Blood is oozing from her neck,

As the rope is taunt around it.

Her soulless spirit is staring at the body,

Admiring her last work.

Small angels come through her bedroom window,

On this bright, sunny day,

And lead the young girl's ghost to the above land.

They fly high above,

Through the clouds they go,

The wind flowing through her hair.

St.Peter staring down at her,

From a cloud high above,

A smile isn't on his face,

As he shakes his head from left to right.

Something that resembles a black shadow,

The demon that has had the girl possessed,

Flows from the spirit's eyes.

Then it laughs and evil laugh,

It smiles a wicked grin,

It swallows the small angels whole,

And flies down to the land below.

The spirit of the girl begins to fall,

It falls deep within the earth.

It falls into the fiery flames of Hell,

Never to be heard of again.

And everyone lived happily ever after...

Author's Notes/Comments: 

i wrote thiz 1 nite in the middle of the kinda popped in2 my mind when i wuz tryin 2 sleep

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The night was screaming

Pale moon in a darkend sky

No one to laugh with

Nowhere to cry

Walked down an alley-way

With rivers gone red

That is what she thirst

As she fills their souls with dread

Lifeless bodies all around

No one knows she's there

She speaks in ancient tongues

Crimson leaks with one significant tear

Licking her lustful blood stained lips

Seeing what she never saw

Wind brushes slowly by

Making her skin feel numb and raw

Sprinting back to the manor

Wanting to be so much more

Not wanting to be dying inside

Just wanting to have a core

Passing through the rusted gates of Hell

And up Heavens solid marble stones

Through the splinterd iron doors

Mirrored faces laughed in meloncoly tones

Living in this lonely mirage

Full of sorrow with nowhere to hide

Eternally tormented by death

Feeling only bloody tears fall as she cries

Layed upon the rooftop

Looking down upon the sky

The stars began to fall upward

As the Earth started to cry

Motionless she decided

Now was the time to go

She slit her wrists

And watched the nothing flow

Chained herself to the end

After writing the last thought she bled

Darkness slept and the flames grew bright

nothing left but what her scroll read

"The blindness of them all

Their venom makes me crawl

Like serpents they strangle my head

Devouring the thoughts I never said"

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This was an assignment I was given in English, we had to write a gothic story, but I decided to write a poem, cause I am more of a poetry person.

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2004 Poetry

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In the bowels of hell she toils to serve her master,

waiting for his every sadistic and masochistic urge.

There once was a time she thought she had it all,

living the high life without a care in the world.

She manipulated everyone to gain what she desired.

Working well she thought, in the chasm of her mind.

Trails of pain and heartache left in her chosen path,

with deadly enemies growing to create her destiny.

Destiny one day met with the power of a deadly storm,

sending her to meet the creator of evil and master of pain.

He took her as his own private plaything to use and abuse.

So she waits there clinging to a filthy symbolic pole.

Her flesh heated and crawling until he calls her once again.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

My 200th post.

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Bad Dream Machine

I'm mimicking what I once dreamed of

And I've lost sight of what I used to be

I can see these vengeful creatures crawling

As they blindly pass me by, I follow

And in spite of possibility

And ignorning the consequence

I trail these black entitys of blood

Curious to know why they have come

And there I find a hive of horror

Giving birth to every child's nightmares

A mechanical demon has risen

And he has been composed of our dread

I'm running now, I can feel him

So close to me though he hasn't moved

An expressionless face without thought

This behemoth of scrap has changed me

For the worse.

And now I am his sacrifice

Because he can smell my fear

Emenating from me as I flee

And his minions aren't far behind me...

If you follow a nightmare,

You may just find your neverland.


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