Torn out hearts
And broken spines,
Decaying bodies buried
In crumbling mines,
Are what horror is made of.
Echoing screams
And bloody beams
Of light
In the late night darkness,
Are what horror is made of.
Scrawling writing
On a peeling wall
Bodiless footfalls
In a deserted hall,
Are what horror is made of.
An icy deathly draft,
The bells in a child’s laugh
Drifting into the abyss,
Are what horror is made of.
I live to see the day
Where one way,
Or another,
I stay
With the terrors
That last forever,
Only to be,
What horror is made of.
Dark
Sitting alone,
I feel the dark call.
Can you hear it coming?
Or am I the only one
hearing it's lonely footfalls.
But there's nothing there
The dark
Was never here.
Sitting alone
I know the dark is near,
Can you feel it?
Or am I by myself
drifting in this endless fog of fear.
But there's nothing there
The dark
Was never here.
Sitting alone
The dark is upon me,
Are you too disappearing?
Or will only I cease to be?
But there's nothing there
The dark
Was never here.
Forever alone
I am emptiness
Can you feel the cold?
Or is it only me,
Fading into nothingness.
But there's nothing there
The dark and I
Were never here.
NoName
She fell to the ground,
Her heart not beating,
Her lungs not breathing,
She lay there without a sound.
Hair so pale
rests as a pillow
Telling of an end to a tale
Too long without one
Visions of lovliness
have faded away
a body without soul
has only time to repay
Reflecting off the water,
A single candle's light
Showing what time can do
over the course of many a lonely night.
She was a beauty that might have been.
If only she could wake up,
Would she do it differently
if she could do it all again?
But time has come to collect,
so i guess we'll never know.
If she could do it all again,
would she look at the meaning
then a second time below?
For you see,
There's more to life than meets the eye,
That's one thing that she missed.
One thing
then one thousand,
were lost into the mist.
Though she herself is gone
through her life a lesson can be taught
That the things that really matter
are easily forgot.
Other Misc. Artists
Poem from 'The Perks of Being a Wallflower' by Stephen Chbosky
Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it “Chops”
because that was the name of his dog
And that’s what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy
took all the kids to the zoo
And he let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born
with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed a lot
And the girl around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X’s
and he had to ask his father what the X’s meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it
Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it “Autumn”
because that was the name of the season
And that’s what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of its new paint
And the kids told him
that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And lefts butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed
when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why
his mother and father kissed a lot
And his father never tucked him in bed at night
And his father got mad
when he cried for him to do it.
Once on a paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
And he called it “Innocence: A Question”
because that was the question about his girl
And that’s what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A
and a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because he never showed her
That was the year that Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end
of the Apostle’s Creed went
And he caught his sister
making out on the back porch
And his mother and father never kissed
or even talked
And the girl around the corner
wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her
but he kissed her anyway
because that was the thing to do
And at three A.M. he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring soundly
That’s why on the back of a brown paper bag
he tried another poem
And he called it “Absolutely Nothing”
Because that’s what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
and a slash on each damned wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
because this time he didn’t think
he could reach the kitchen.
