#Horrorpoem

15 posts
  • kashyapraj3010 15w

    "Our Intentions, Our Reality"
    Final Chapter -

    Botchling: The Conclusion…
    - By Raj Kashyap

    A bad soul is always get,
    Trapped in its own bad apple,
    Each morning a shock to return,
    To the cut soul.

    Well Roses are dead,
    Woefully, the Violets are dead too,
    A day will come for sure when,
    Even the dead will tell stories too.

    We make our own monsters,
    Then fear them for what they,
    Show us about ourselves.

    Epinephrine circulating my bloodstream,
    Like my heart will burst up pumping,
    Increased breathing, throat parched,
    Abruptly, wetting up my lingerie.

    I pinched myself thinking of a nightmare,
    The entire heaven covered with gore,
    That cold ain’t a weather, but the
    Death nudging me; my father added.

    “iiffffff you loveeee themmm….
    They’ll loveee you toooo…
    The wayyyyyy you seeee themmm,
    The wayyyyy they seeeee youuuu!!!!!

    I perceived one’s humming around,
    It’s a high pitched soprano voice,
    Possibly, a female voice singing,
    Melodies of the twilight.

    I glanced back, felt a gust of breeze,
    The 3 enduring graves were sealed too.
    Vilely, the graves singing the melody,
    Gore oozing from those 2 untold graves.

    Clouds roaring, drizzling then started,
    I opt to unveil the secret for then,
    My breasts completely drenched in rain,
    I decided to shovel up the sepulchers.

    I find eye balls after shoveling the first,
    Green melanin in its iris, tinged with gore,
    Spheroid in shape, all loosing hope,
    Red veins making a lattice around it.

    I wondered a piece of fabric in second,
    Same as my father scrubbing his face with,
    Tinged with blood, Mitera teal blue in color,
    Very likely of a lady, young in age.

    I then found a scrap of ephemera in third,
    Titled as “Botchling to Luberkin”.
    Undersign as Chloe. Those scrap stifles,
    Figures about turning botchling to luberkin.

    Petrified, shoveled a skeleton in fourth,
    Of a lady, Dressed like a newly-wed,
    Tiring shiny anklets, long earrings,
    Bloody red bangles tinged with blood.

    Discovered a scrap of meat in fifth,
    Misfortune in the sixth, may be the
    Botchling rose at the ephemera,
    I perceived at the third sepulcher.

    “Dear lord!!!! The lord of air & water,
    The lord of birth & death!!!!! I request you
    To give this botchling, a chance of survival”…
    I prayed; acc. to the words in ephemera…

    Stunningly, ray of hope materialize,
    A bright light shines into my vision,
    A soul of a newborn luberkin transpire from,
    The grave & enjoins me to go after her.

    Our voyage, then keeps sliding like a curve,
    I then arrived at an old premise, old tacky,
    Covered with lattice, woods turned black,
    I then saw an outline in the outskirts there.

    I felt gust of warm breeze desperate to whisper,
    I’m Chloe; this luberkin could be my child,
    If she’s alive; the outline added gently.
    I was one, killing people eyes with vengeance.

    I petrify; though asked why? She replied,
    I use to dance for sake of some money,
    An orphan, but definitely not a whore!!!
    Men went crazy about my body & dance.

    People, always stare at me lustfully,
    Your dad use to visit me daily,
    We both fell for each other in love,
    I was going to be a mother soon.

    Once twilight; few started teasing me,
    Fully drunk, it was the janitor & the guru,
    Started showing their colors, violating me,
    I cried; wept for aid, I screamed!!!!!
    A lady saw me; instead of helping, ran away.

    Your dad then dropped in; love of my life,
    But fate had turned the tables upside down,
    Instead of helping; they all raped & ended my life.

    They burnt my premise;
    Killed my innocent child;
    From this, I decided to rip off
    The eyes of everyone whose
    Responsible for my this state.

    “The way you seek this world,
    The same way this world seek you”…
    - By Raj Kashyap

    Our Intentions, Our Reality

    The End!!!!

    #WritersNetwork #Poetry #Horrorpoem #Society
    #Life

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    Botchling : The Conclusion

    ©kashyapraj3010

  • jpbaldwin 38w

    The Erie Night

    It was Erie quiet, just the screech of the cicada
    She feared the silence, as she neared the Bodega
    Her peers were violent, & smeared her makeup
    The impaired nightmare, she dared to wake up
    One step closer to death she thought
    As she felt the restless breath she caught
    More than a lot was on her mind
    Did she hear or not the voices behind
    Shadows appeared In four then five
    Then disappeared before her eyes
    A pioneer to door she pried
    The horror inside was the four that just died
    The aura of five was corps that's alive
    It tore through side & swung open door
    The story ends here, unless you more.


    ©jpbaldwin

  • faceless90 43w

    PenPlatelets

    The pages I pen are outrageously reddened by platelets of dead unsavory flesh
    ©faceless90

  • ghostlyarson12 66w

    All the children are gone

    The fields of flowers are empty
    Beaches, and pools abandoned
    No more trees are being climbed
    All the children are gone.

    The parks are empty
    Swings are swinging slowly to a stop
    No one is on the slides
    The sandbox has no friends
    All the children are gone.

    No more smiles
    The happy laughs faded away
    There are no kids running and playing
    All the children are gone.
    ©lavender_lizzy

  • chezeriel 88w

    I have a dream and it is all about Halloween.
    And in my dream I was crowned as a queen.

    Feeling all euphoric I started dancing,
    but a rotting smell from bloody Mary came to intervene.

    Who are you to take my throne humdrum?
    With her dripping nasty blood she ask in between.

    Rage slowly crept on my skin.
    Oh, you bloody urban legend pay respect for I am your queen.

    And then came to the rescue a cute slash creepy myling
    I say, "object and I'll make you a meal for my canteen!"

    Off the myling go, but a growling came in.
    Another antagonist, an angry wolverine.

    He growled and growled, but truth be told I don't understand a thing.
    Oh wolverine, can't you stay serene?

    And here comes another one, a late ghost.
    And so I asked "where have you been?"

    "That's none of your business dreamy mammoth.
    Wake up and disappear, I don't see you as a queen."

    I feel like hyperventilating, oh god, what is wrong with them?
    I am a great ruler but no one can possibly foreseen.

    Savage are the spooky people Michelle, eh.
    would you still want to be their Queen?

    ____________________________________________

    #spookyghazal
    #horrorpoem
    #writersnetwork
    #mirakee

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    Savage are the Spooky People

    I thought humans
    are the only biotic components
    hard to deal with.
    I didn't knew spooky people
    also got an attitude.

    ©chezeriel

  • chezeriel 88w

    Today I'm obliged to write a poem
    with all the wayward thoughts
    inside my head. I couldn't weave
    a group of words that can make
    up a sentence.

    It's Sunday, three thirty three a.m.
    The ticking of the ancient
    wall clock sounds disturbing.
    Fifty nine. Sixty.
    A minute passed, another mountain
    of crumpled paper laying proudly
    unto the dirty cobbled floor.

    I have a knack for reckoning
    a concept of what to write,
    but none of them seems
    to work this time.
    Desperate to find an idea,
    I rummage through torn pages
    of manuscripts long way forgotten.
    A sparkling silver nib caught
    my attention, a pen with
    an eye catching beauty.
    An old form of writing
    decorating its body,
    the intricate detail of hue
    concoction adding wonders
    to its appearance.

    "Magnificent." I mumbled,
    for years of living in this
    old mansion never have I
    thought I can find another treasure
    hidden together with my rubbish.

    And then suddenly an idea came in,
    like a basin full of water and
    is now overflowing. I run back
    to my desk and prepare to write.
    "Scribbling till death"
    what a title, intriguing.

    An hour passed,
    my hand too tired to write further,
    but the pen wouldn't let me stop.
    Suddenly I notice the change of
    colour spreading beautifully
    unto the yellow paper,
    from black to burgundy red ink,
    I find it so astonishing before
    I realized the red ink was my blood.
    Horror crept inside me.

    My left hand turning pale with the
    slowly disappearance of my blood
    in my body. Managing in collecting
    my senses, I tried to read what
    I'm currently writing.
    "a poet with no thoughts to
    write is now scribbling
    the poem of his death.
    Each word lustfully drinking his blood,
    one by one until the last drop, gone."

    ©chezeriel

  • chezeriel 88w

    A crimson ichor painted on the
    cracked walls of the cursed abode
    screaming the grotesque
    incident that happened a month ago.

    He is innocent,
    that's what everyone believes,
    the lady with all her unusual
    blabbering was the one insane,
    people think, she killed herself.

    Washing his hands with money,
    the court elated with his generosity,
    case closed, damn, he's free.

    But the lady wasn't pleased,
    no dime is enough to pay a life.
    Avenging her death: A master plan.

    Every night,
    when all eyes are closed
    and only the chirping of crickets
    can be heard, a lady with a
    hollow sockets reflecting darkness
    and her abominable scream that
    can make an ear bleed would
    appear from the blood painted
    cracked walls seeking for revenge,
    seeking for him, the so-called innocent.

    Until one day,
    a horrible wailing from a housemaid
    woke up the neighborhood.
    He, the innocent with distressed
    wide eyes and bleeding ears
    was found lifeless.

    And the lady had said,
    "It was fear gruesomely creeping
    into his sanity that kills him.
    I. am. Innocent."

    ______________________________________________
    #horrorpoem
    #mirakee
    #writersnetwork

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    It was fear gruesomely creeping
    into his sanity that kills him.

    ©chezeriel

  • faithfullydead 90w

    Midnight snack

    I sit down at the table to eat,
    My kill,
    my human meat.
    Fresh food from the park,
    A jogger who ran,
    after dark.

    ©faithfullydead

  • ruineddevil 93w

    Nobody believes me

    I always had a sense of something,
    The thing that haunted me all spring,
    A voice of someone whispering,
    Like a scary music and ready to sing,
    A hole in the home and something coming,
    Resetting my mind and just diverting,
    The heart kept on steadily steering,
    The fear biting me like a sting,
    Running to an open area and breath grasping...
    ©ruineddevil

  • crazy_cuckoo 95w

    Sssssssshhhhhhhh kooiiiiiiiii haaaiiiiiiiiiii

    ����sach sach batana mera horror poem apko daraya ke nahi��meri mehnat rang laayi ke nahi����bcz kasam se I don't like horror movies/ stories������I will get scared ���� (*sssshhhhh wo aa rahi hai... dekho wo aa rahi haii*����)
    Ya Allah sab ye parhne ke baad Ayatul kursi padhlena 3 baar��agar dar gaye to

    And let me know in comment section about my horror poem which I have posted first time in mirakee����

    #crazy_cuckoo
    #horror
    #horrortale
    #spooky
    #horrorpoem
    #mirakee
    #writersnetwork

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    Ruling over my kingdom
    You think you can take breath
    Haha Darling!
    I'm the queen of my kingdom
    Don't occupy my space
    Or I will snatch your breath
    Just look around
    Everything is shaking
    And those scary winds
    Is the voice of my soul
    Don't let me come infront of you
    Or you won't open your eyes
    Your soul will be locked
    In the bottle of color green
    And I will play with that
    Darling! If you wanna escape
    You can escape immediately now
    Haha! I'm the queen of his scary land

    ©aaish

  • dipanjan_b 103w

    Devil's Abode

    There was a garden down the hill,
    Filled with folliage green.
    Natural pillars of biotic skill,
    Painted through the scene.

    Fruits of differing forms and paints,
    Lured all noble beings.
    With a spell they called for saints,
    And hanged them in those rings.

    This act of sin over the years,
    Made up smokey lines.
    The souls of bliss, held in fear,
    Restrained from those vines.

    There can be some devils dome,
    That craves for hermit's blood.
    That sings a melody luring home
    And smells of fruity flood.

    Innocent souls they speak of faith,
    They speak of love and bliss.
    Oh you sinner, now hold thy breath,
    And hear the sovereign hiss.

    Once a while, the tidings of scathe,
    Knocked the regal doors.
    They felt aghast, on hearing death,
    The trace of demonic force.

    The king was brave and stout a soul,
    He came flaunting his sword.
    So argute man, he locked his goal,
    And hurled out dreadful words.

    He stood before the golden gate,
    The garden's colossal walls.
    He thought of ways to mould the fate,
    Of a thousand noble souls.

    Just in then a dulcet voice,
    Took his mind awhile.
    An elegant sage stood in poise,
    With an etarnal smile.

    O my dear King of Kings,
    Hear me Oh my Lord.
    The demon inside with mighty wings,
    Will burn thy royal sword.

    Oh my beloved noble saint,
    Fill me with thy power.
    Guide me through the way that's meant,
    To end this cattice hour.

    Take this roots of agrimony,
    Plant it in that yard.
    Be not decieved by calls of agony,
    Till it grows up hard.

    It will take a blink or two,
    To grow up strong and stout.
    The demon can never paas it through,
    Till it hears you shout.

    You will climb and get a branch,
    To make a stable pose.
    Wait their till you hear a munch,
    And see a glowing rose.

    Tis the time when demon whims,
    Will rise a mountain peak.
    It will march in search of screams,
    Here and there a sneak.

    As you yell the shrillest cry,
    You will lure it straight.
    As it comes in nearby,
    You can end its fate.

    Once it comes and stands beneath,
    Drop thy sword straight down.
    It will split up in that heat,
    And peace will come to town.

    Hearing this spoke the knight,
    Hey you noble soul.
    If you know the ways and plight,
    What be my polar role?

    Oh noble king Thou hear me now,
    You have a regal blood.
    The demon will not get to know,
    And die in noble flood.

    I have lost my life before,
    In hands of demon soul.
    Now since I have shown the door,
    I will reach my goal...


    ©dipanjan_b

  • agypsysoul 133w

    PC : pinterest

    Will Never Let You Sleep

    I am still awake
    Even after my final sleep
    The pain you inflicted on me is still there
    The wound is still fresh and deep
    You hurt me twice
    You killed me twice
    First with your betrayal and vice
    Then with a knife
    You my best friend and
    You my newly wedded life
    You cheated on me
    Stabbed me on my back
    Profusely I bled
    Leaving me to die, you fled
    The wound was fatal, yes I died
    You were successful
    Your sin transpired
    Now with a vengeance I am back
    I will ensure like me you will never sleep
    You will be alive wanting to die
    Noone will be there, even if you scream
    I will be the nightmares in your dream
    The ghastly tale will repeat
    You will dwell in terror, I will feast
    You will bleed, You will weep
    But no, will not let you have eternal sleep
    Rest in peace no more
    Here I come, beware
    Knock Knock, Open the door
    ©agypsysoul


    #pod #horror #halloween #horrorstory #horrorpoem #thoughtsofagypsysoul #kuchkahikuchankahi #mirakee #writersnetwork #writerstolli #ceesreposts

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    ©agypsysoul

  • thepoetryhotel 133w

    Trampled

    Horrors are invitation
    to test the ability of your
    courage,
    Fear is a leakage from your
    spine,
    To prove your wits and backbone.
    ©thepoetryhotel

  • lordsythes_dreams 168w

    Valentines poem

    You Are
    The Twinkle to my Star
    The Beat to my Heart
    The Imagination to my Thoughts
    The Soul to my Body
    The Sight to my Vision
    The Slop to my Joe
    The Rain to my Sunshine
    The Eternal Night to my Life
    The Sadness to my Depression
    The Accident to my Hunting Trip


    ©lordsythes_dreams

  • jazz_loren 252w

    I work in a hotel and was working the night shift last night. I felt inspired!
    #poetry #poem #writersnetwork @writersnetwork #horror #horrorpoem

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    The Hotel

    They say (in hushed tones, of course!)
    that this unassuming hotel plays host
    to six hundred and sixty six ghosts

    They speak (in whispers lest she hear!)
    of a woman crawling through the attic space
    with a curtain of dark hair obscuring her face

    They murmur (he's very self concious, you see)
    of a man in the lobby who causes alarm
    as he wanders about, head under one arm

    They ask guests (it borders on begging really)
    to refrain from showering in the bathroom in room 613
    just in case they open that dammed portal and set its ancient captive free

    The rumours claim (but rumours are just that, right?)
    that half the trapped souls in this wretched place
    are here after meeting that particular resident face-to-face

    (so no showering in room 613, okay?
    It's their strictest rule so be good and obey!)

    They tell stories (but is it a story if it's real?)
    of the spectre of a sobbing Victorian lady, her dress doused in blood,
    a sight which has guests falling to the floor with an almighty thud

    They whisper (for fear of attracting its attention!)
    of the ghoul who crawls across the ceiling of room 404
    its jaw detached, mouth open in a silent, eternal roar

    They think of (they can't vocalise such horror!)
    the contorted figure that drags itself across the floor
    its body a mess of historic wounds, open, bloody, raw

    They write notes (they absolutely will not speak of it!)
    warning guests away from the dark basement
    in which this undead creature is held in confinement

    But six of the six hundred and sixty six ghosts
    to which this hotel will always play host

    The rates are high and terror is nigh
    and if you dare to stay the night, you'll spend every second praying for the morning light

    So, do you dare to face the horrors that are waiting there?

    ©jazz_loren