#Dark #Gloomy #Bleak

dark side


We all have a dark side

Whether its drugs, money, or inner demons

Everyone has a different story.

The question is, 

Can you handle it?


Can you handle someone elses baggage?

Can you look them in the eye and say,

"I will be there for you"?


The darkest ones never hide in the shadows

The most demanding never ask for help

The ones that kill,

It kills ever so slowly.


Imagine hell

Not as a place, or as fiery rain

But within ones own mind and heart.

Imagine the worst

A pain undefined

A hurting that can spread to others.


Now ask yourself again,

Can you handle it?

Author's Notes/Comments: 

The song Dark Side by Kelly Clarkson inspired this one

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My world

Welcome to my world.

It's dark and it's cold.

                                   Welcome to this place.

                                   It'll change your happy face.

Everyone's cruel.

There's alway's a rule.

                                   Welcome to the dark side.

                                   Cause now you'll never smile.

Sometime's it dark.

Sometime's it's bright.

                                   Sometime's it's dim.

                                   Sometime's it's light.

My world is like fire.

You'll never get what you disire.

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This is me


Who is this girl.

The girl I wish to be,





Who is this girl,

Standing there across from me,





Who is this girl,

Standing there looking at me,





Who is this girl,






Had I looked closer

Would I have sooner seen

The girl I wish to be

Is really an untrue me


She is not the girl inside,

Only my false exterior,

The mask that grants,

Relief of no one knowing who I am.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is an old poem from back when I was told to show who I am and how I feel.

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Prose Poetry
The canvas painted in ink moves with a pulse of hustle and bustle.
I have been penciled in 
The graphite softly covers the grooves
My silhouette motionless as the ink whizzes by in constant motion. 
Ever so slowly the blurred Monet essence of me is removed
Erased from the canvas without notice. 
I stand in the swirls of color wrapped like a scarf. 
But, in-between, like a Myofacial sheathing, I am shrouded in black. 
It is hard to see sometimes
the black
smudged to gray I appear to play
and then back to onyx black. 
I've been sketched on the canvas in the crowd, on the train, 
in school, at the fair, and on the plane
But, to my despair
I don't fit in.
Erased I am.
So often sketched as a bystander
in graphite black
only to be 
erased again ever so slowly
the deletion goes unnoticed.
I don't fit in. 
One day
I won't be able to be sketched back in. 
The artist will choose a new soul. 
One of vibrant color in graceful motion. 
The life of the canvas will continue without pause, its hustle and bustle. 
I simply go
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Snow Drift

Prose Poetry

The snow drifts white like deep soft cotton. With each step trudging through the banks my footprints disappear as the whiteout wipes out my existence. Lost in a blizzard of mental anguish blinding  and sheer frostbite from the inside out crystalizes each thought frozen there forever. Each avalanche forces me to run, escape, gasping for life. Blue in the bitter frost of depression. 

At the apex of the alpine my screams are whispers. As they echo back the percussion takes my breath away at the crushing vibration on my chest. Which way is out, hypothermia? The blood red tears freeze before they trickle off my skin: bloodcicles. 


Prose Poetry

The twinkling lights on the ground look like the stars in the sky upside down. The world rotates with each twist of the kaleidoscope merging reality with insanity. 

The monsters in this world wear suits and ties fearful of themselves and bulling the rest of the world to avoid the truth. Truth and lies are bedfellows that become intertwined with each revolution. 

Chasing time is a lost cause. It evaporates with each step and grasp. Gone with no good byes. Tragically empty. There is nothing but an endless landscape of deep black. Light ceases to exist.

Chasing nothing looking for an explanation to theories and hypotheses circling back to the endless landscape of deep black; The transparencies of truth and lies taking on the cloak of deception. 

Welcome Home

Prose Poetry

Reaching up to heaven discovering a padlock — you cannot come in. Your prison has barred you forever. The key was forged before the key hole was conjured. I don't fit in.

This is the closest to heaven that I'll ever get.

The clouds of fog drowning and choking out the last gasp. Stop.

The universal antithesis of antithetic deities and fallen angels debate as you hunker in the fissure. The warmth and comfort compress and strangle like a corset stitched from a python. 

It's a wormhole — the in-between of light and dark. 

The screams are silent and the tears well deep inside as the bleeding effuses through pours.


Tic Tock — the hands frozen in time going nowhere. Where the past and the future become the present: a nuclear wasteland. Raining deep red stains that last a lifetime on the barren backdrop littered with padlocks. 

Alone and aimless navigation, my compass points to infinity.

Welcome home. 



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The clouds roll in.


Like the muffled sounds

Heard in the night

Between cement walls

Marred with the words

Of those before him, swallowed

Into the chamber's belly.


He watches from across the pod,

The last morsel of barbequed ribs...finest cut,

A cloud of smoke from a puff of a last cigarette,

And an eerie calmness fills the air,

A stoic reverence shrouds

What he used to be,

Of many days passing time in a 6x9 space,

And for the last time,

They hear a voice they will never hear again,

It will be 'erased'.


The clamorous cell door,

A reminder of their own fate,

And the few gifted pieces

Of clothing speak too loudly

Of what storms rage silently 

In the minds and hearts of men.








Author's Notes/Comments: 



Inspired by Beavis "Quench"


Dedicated to the murdered, later proven innocent who spent their last days on death row.

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Two Sides of Existence

Reflections in the water;

I always thought mine absurd-

as it copied and mocked me

claiming us kindred and same.


Are we the same really

or are we strangers alike,

sharing faces and features

but not soul.


My life back-lit with truths half-remembered

the reflection held in the unknown's shroud-

my darkness resulting from my failure and losses

my mimic using tricks of shade and distortion.


Are we really that different

or in some moments compared,

holding past and future

with no map.


My features all changing with time and with age

Her facade inconsistant as the ripples cast lies-

the hope that I grasp due to those who could reach me

she holds only the darkness which calls from the depths.


Are we really so different
or perhaps much the same -

two sides of existence

and both real.


Are we really the same

are we so really different -

different shades of the light

and both imagined.