382 posts
  • vondutchess 6w

    My Mind

    My pain addiction. The affliction with the fucking ambition to bring the end of my days, to fruition. The Seedy Underbelly of Burned Bridges has roots in every good deed done without Karma's Permission. Like, a human transmission... Rode too hard and, put away, having never gotten wet.

    In Scarlett Letters to myself, my hand vomits violent clots as I field dress my mind, from it's sharply revolting thoughts. Every which way but grounded. Every which way but intended.

    The smoke is free; the ride, that's what costs us and, there's no escape hatch in a Black Hole but she's Sugar, in the raw; She enjoyed the finer things in life like, Brass knuckle engagement rings and, don't forget something; never feed the animals.

    We are all born terminal and, I can't tell if I'll find my way through the dense emptiness, so... Please, Don't waste precious time waiting under the street lights, for me to crawl back out from my own Darkness.

    I'll never break character because I don't play games. The only role, is reel to reel. Her Jaw skids to a grinding hault like, two plates of raw, fighting steel. Her Fists and Teeth clench down. The electricity telling her heart to keep pumping but not slow down, glitches... Because her broken mind is gaunt and, in stitches.

    To the one who desires, all he admires, as he creeps through the Darkness, to me. Her tears are emotionally charged volcanic ash on her cheeks that, stop poetic fury from unleashing through her fists, instead of making you bleed but how can she bury a hatchet that, she never brought to the fight.

    Life is punishment for an abject failure. Our demons, we see. Their goodness, lurking in the light of shadows is what frightens me. They're the ones who hurt me.

    Carbon Templates and, Mindless Think tanks. You couldn't handle it anyway, my mind.


  • wordsbybleak 6w


    Everyone seems happy, am I the only one who cries in agony?

    I lost my dreams and now I am losing myself

    I like to read, I love to write, and no one had the right to stop 

    Still, I am forced to live a life that was never meant to be mine 

    Parents force it all whether it is the clothes, passions, or beliefs

    I just need some relief, from all this mess going around me

    Will the increasing cuts on my wrists will help me to be free

    Or will I just live a forced life, with a fake smile and broken identity?


  • emeraldjay22 12w

    The Emerald within her eyes hides the evil of darkness from inside her mind

  • vondutchess 12w

    Mistress Of Misanthropy

       Black holes billowing atomic rolls of dragon's breath. Stored energy so powerful, the suns wept neon rivers of condolences into the midnight's sky. Every star; every galaxy knows her name. Knows never to question, as she saunters by. The righteous arrogance and need for vanity have them dangerously underestimating Mistress's authority.
       Coerced with tarred feathers, placed across their cheeks and their necks; poured atop their hyperventilating chests so heavy; fearul anxiety in their heartbeats continues it's rippling. Emotional forces tying knots in nooses. The horrified query in their expressions, carry into shrill nothingness; they're second guessing every crimeless face. Every sin-less holy place. Their regret piercing through her, past her; sunken, lucid thoughts splashing acidic blasphemy back onto their mistakenly confident, glass personalities.
       For every deadly thought traversing the storm waters in her head, you are six more macabre ideas waiting in line to make the dean's list. Light-years beyond your maniacally fiendish ego, white flags twitch in your lacerated, bludgeoned body. Neurotical twitches, telling your corporeal flight suit that, sutures and ice are rendered useless, when Mistress is finished putting you in your places. She'll bury your head, face down so, you don't have to acknowledge every life you've taken; who stand in broken disappointment, over your gravesites with their heads lowered in traumatic thanks.
       Distant expressions, who's eyes are deep, a thousand yards but their vessels are present here, in Mistress's cthonic domain. Polished hooks, anxiously awaiting dinner party guests, are begging for compliments from the executioners who stand patiently, by their sides. 
       Tie their windows closed; lock them indefinitely with Mistress's boot laces. Black canvas shrouds, to remove any silent begs for mercy, in salty streams flowing from their stitched lids to their quivering chins. Let fall the doors beneath their feet and gaze into the endless spiral of Red Art, overflowing Chalices underneath their defeat.
       A punisher, dealing punishment to all her false prophets: touting false hopes. A Mistress of Misanthropy who's judgement is never reluctant in this courthouse of Dark Insurrectionist Revolution. We've added you to our mailing list of reserved seat recipients to attend this, Invitation only, Black Tie Event.

  • _darkside_ 13w

    When I see the night sky
    Stars twinkling their light
    I wonder, I could be one
    And shine so bright

  • roel_gonz 15w

    A note

    I'm here
    In my room
    Picking up the
    pieces of a notes
    Like my heart scattered
    Parts by parts
    Shadow came in
    Tap my head and said,
    "Welcome to the dark side"
    I walk but
    I couldn't run
    A note to the past
    Still, I couldn't forget

  • _darkside_ 19w

    Whom do you think you are hiding from
    There's no place where I can't reach
    Wherever you crave for light of love
    There will be a darkness behind the beam

    I'm shadow of the sun

  • _darkside_ 19w


    Shadow of the brightest lamp
    Darker than the darkest black
    The brighter it glows
    Darker I grow
    I light up others' way showing them the right path
    Hiding the demons inside my heart. No one has ever seen this side
    No one will ever see what I hide
    The pains, the scars
    Of time has thrown many verses apart
    The anger, the ache which glows with flame
    Has a cold heart frozen black
    This is my darkside

  • vondutchess 24w

    When I wanted to grow up

    When I wanted to grow up, I wanted to take trips around the world. Ride my time like, my time was a surfboard, parading atop monstrous waves of words. Describe in beautiful details, my dreams of the most magnificent world's, worlds.
    When I wanted to grow up, how often I would find myself terribly bored. Not allowed any freedom whilst being screamed at about not keeping myself busy. Stuck in thoughts of the mundane and even, thoughts of running away; never realizing how I should cherish the paused moment of breath, of loneliness with every sip of ignorance, from every dingy Tupperware cup. No words can tell how much I miss the days of not understanding how different my world was. 
    When I wanted to grow up, what I wanted to be, never paid any mind to someone's stale, loveless bank account. I never wanted people to spend money on me because I was always told there wasn't any. Not even money to feed me.  I never frowned because that little girl didn't realize yet, just how badly she'd already been beaten down. 
    When I wanted to grow up… I wanted to be a mommy. I desperately wanted to give a child everything I was never shown. Wanted to love them like, a love I had never known. See them grow. See them smile, knowing I had not followed suit and, carried with me, the dark side of the family stone.
    When I wanted to grow up I wanted to be a mermaid, to be beautiful and, for people to not, when looking at me, only see what I had been through. I wanted to live in a place where these treacherous humans didn't go. Where everyone didn't hate me. Where I wasn't just a fool; a tool only there to fill adult shoes. Shoes that I had no business trying to fill, in the first goddamn place. Where all of the things that tortured me, couldn't follow.
    When I wanted to grow old, I wanted love, to be loved, to love like nothing the span of the cosmos had EVER KNOWN. I wanted to do good, to be good, to teach goodness to every living creature I encountered… Wanted to show it possible to others, something I had never been shown. Wanted the world to reap what goodness I had sewn and, how to carry and make gifts of their own. 
    When I wanted to grow old, I wanted to look back on my life and, know that, I had left this world in a better state than I had found. That I did what I could to make my moments profound, to make them all count. To never bring others down the dark paths that I had so often myself, wandered down. 
    Here I am, all grown up and, halfway to old. I try to live boldly like, no other who's known me. I share compliments and courage and try never to discourage. And yet, I don't feel like I've flourished. Don't feel like a success, or like I've thwarted some scourge. I haven't saved anyone and my best feels like it was nothing. And… The closest I'll ever come to being a beautiful mermaid, is when they sprinkle my carbon back into the sea. That's the day that, I'll be the best me that, I'll ever be.

  • lalleiy 29w

    Darker shadows

    Dark sides are lighter these days
    Almost everyone is having one
    Either people are more opaque
    Or sun is receding it's sunshine onto them
    Somehow, it seems they are blocking the light from each other
    May be there are too many people
    Or too less stars

  • kazumirin 30w

    Sometimes no matter how good we are to people, they will still betray us for one different reason. That's why I don't trust just anyone.


  • ananya_writes_ 31w

    Dont stop

    Dance your way through fears
    Make friends with the monsters
    Those under your bed, and in your mind
    Fall in love with the journey, be your own conqueror

    It'll be painful I know,
    Shaking hands with shadows of past
    Keeping a straight face while you lose yourself,
    Breathe into the phoenix of your soul, leave your ghosts aghast

    Walk slow, taking hold of everything
    Those you can't touch, but they won't let you breathe
    Pluck these overgrown weeds from your world,
    So what if they dont stop, dont you stop until you're free

  • aayushi333 41w

    Mujhe samane ki shamta agar tujhmein hoti
    Toh main kaha aaj shama ban jalti

  • veesthoughts 44w

    You have stayed this long
    You made it all the way here
    So keep staying
    Keep staying

  • varshinithulasidas 47w

    Dark side

    Your dark side is the scar
    Please don't start the war
    Let's accept who you are
    And understand that you are rare
    No one here is perfect
    Treat and greet everyone with respect!

    - varshini thulasidas

  • artycarry 51w

    Dark love! - Lust

    Only when love becomes an obsession, our mind 'tricks us' to believe that we need it, and we become so adamant that we stop caring for the one we loved.

    It is only when "I LOVE YOU!!!" takes it's dark side to "I LUST YOU!!!".

  • rexfaisal 53w


    Angel with no wings
    Devil with no horns
    Songbird that never sings
    Roses with thorns

    A hero and a villain
    A foe and a friend
    A cure and a bane
    Naught he can't pretend

    Thief disguised as saint
    His true colour is stained
    Head to toe he looks plain
    But who knows if he's insane

    Danger behind smiling face
    Poison in sweet taste
    Be fooled not by what he shows
    For the heart only God knows

    Guilt masked by innocence
    Guilty without evidence
    Crime without witness
    Dark side is a curse

    A secret he holds
    And never unfolds
    A gold not to be sold
    And better left untold


  • brokenlover2021 56w

    Raging fire

    I can hear them screaming. The demons got me feeling all numd inside. Pushing there way out of my skin. can you hear me screaming please help me. Scratching at the door please let me out. Then it all gos silent black out. So hurt can feel no more. Tell me what love is if it's not heart break. Fuck there calling again. Something it gets so hot feels like I'm going to pop. Steady in a rage don't know what's happening. Someone please please help me.

  • vondutchess 59w

    The energy a bullet exudes, to some, might sound rude but I think it's just the ticket for your fucking attitude. Maybe those mass shooters knew what they were doin'? Probably not, since it's almost exclusively white guys, and definitely never a woman.
    The only thing I believe to truly exist is energy.
    It's everything but we can't see it. It's what makes up you, and me. It's the Tangible bullshit that angers us to our feet.
    If you don't science, then don't tell me how you don't support this because you, Sir, obviously don't know shEit.
    Everyday we put all our efforts, all our energy into ruining eachother, and this fucking garbage rock we've divided with phantom gods, and invisible lines.
    Right after your right-slanted, brainwashed wife flushes a used tampon at a public shitter, you bitch at the girl wanting to have that lump of cells scraped out of her uterus, so she can keep making her life better. You sweat her while she walks past you, just because you enjoy being a douche but as soon as she's out of eyeshot, you've already forgotten she exists, and onto the next woman, you make your move.
    Why don't we see men rallying to stop shower masturbation? Every time you blow an aimless load, all those could-be babies find their way to a local trash holder...
    Fucking murderers. Killing all those would-be, future generations of proud white men is not very christian. FUCK YOUR RELIGION. Christianity, Catholicism; your priests rape your sons, and you put the check in the back instead of those monsters, in fucking prisons.
    You know why white men don't get parades? Because you want to celebrate your shade of skin, not the culture you were created in. You're not rallying for the ENTIRETY of the United States, you're screaming about white penis equality, and scrambling to purchase the newest Camaro because you can't deal with your lack of length.
    Still not understanding me?
    Let me keep explaining-
    You're not shouting about your scottish or Irish bloodlines, you're crying about not getting your own parades... Your own parades... yOuR oWn PaRaDeSsSsss.
    Not about your Asian or African lineage. Not about women's suffrage. Not about the rights of your libtard neighbor's gay kid; well, maybe about your egregious over-concern about the bathrooms they piss in... Your only argument is about the COLOR OF YOUR FUCKING SKIN... Don't you remember what blue-eyed jesus said, about Vanity, pride, and envy being DEADLY SINS?!

    And, the mic drops because I fucking win.

  • vondutchess 59w

    Memory Lane

    Riding in her car with her arm out the window, and a chill breeze over her goosebumps are eased by the sun's warmth. Cicadas sound the trumpets of summer, while Sweet Caroline plays to the scent of lilac and, for just a moment, she reminisces about the handful of childhood memories she's not sure are even real because they're…
    They're happy. 
    She wakes each morning; sometimes, the saddest event of her day. Opening her eyes only to remember what used to be, and had fallen into the frey. 
    Before stepping out of bed, she steps through the tears draped over her cheeks, on a stroll down Memory Lane.
    A funny thought passes through her mind, and she turns to tell the empty chair next to her, as if someone was still sitting at her side, waiting to hear what she has to say. 
    The pistol in her pocket has curiously removed serial numbers, and the skin around her ankles become galoshes, while she trudges the sewers of her own tragedies that, you indulge in while smiling like, you're breaking your drama diet by snacking on her darkest moments. Excerpts from her life on display, and behind it's back, it hides a knife…
    She walks an aisle, illuminated by every mistake she didn't make, every truth she didn't fake, and lined by curtain call gutter rats, snapping their fingers, in two rows of standing novation. In this humid tunnel of degenerate air, who's molecules are so weighted by filth, they couldn't even float upward to better scented freedom, she finds herself in yet another defeating situation.
    Those guns in her brain, their ammo never refrains but sustains every memory in emotional flames. Trauma has eaten holes through the moths, who've attempted to set up shop in this drafty loft. The half melted swiss cheese that remains, stutters the words spilling from her mouth; has left grease stains on her name, on her life, on everything she's never done in vain. Blame points the finger, and paints the pain in her tears, as if pain had been brushed onto her soul by Monet. She weeps noxious liquid that bares the names of every ounce of regret that's ever drained from her lifeless body. She's still not herself, and questions if she'll ever be. Her eyes are sewn wide open when she realizes that, Memory Lane is full of road spikes. 
    When life throws not just forks in your road but dumps out your silverware, and junk drawers, you feel every thumb tac and stray nail. Every bent fork, and plastic spork to insult the wheels on your transition-mobile will slingshot you through the guardrail, and over the edge of your insanity, and denial.
    This is where we have to make the conscious effort of deciding, whether we want to improve our lives, or toss ourselves into the glitch, and wait to fucking die. 
    If you can muster the courage, the tenacity, to give everyone, and everything you have ever thought to be true, a hard toss into the dumpster fire that is your life, you can turn and existential crisis into a critical monument to happiness. 
    It doesn't happen for most because most folks are just too comfortable in misery… BECAUSE misery is deceitful in that it will lie to you, coax you into it's pseudo-effortlessness. Misery can be accomplished in silence but there, you'll rarely find the voiceless; lying in wait, to proclaim their disgruntled opinions about this suggestion box they've overthrown. To most, the laziness of misery is so appealing that it's like, taking a seat at the round table for dinner. Everyone there is equally lazy, and sad, and content in both. Misery does indeed love it's company. Your miserable friends will assuredly hand you the keys to succeed, if to you, success is nothing ado with living, and growth but merely existing. To you, that roundtable dinner looks like fucking Thanksgiving, where the appetizers are anger, and suicidal thinking. The main course is bent and broken, and misconstrued into blind violence. For dessert, well have a slice of your finest silk lace, street novelties with a salty pallet of meringued overdose, laid gently on it's top. To the unhealed eye, a feast, for sure but it has been of absolutely no fucking use to you, and your future; should you survive long enough to explore it.
    The bumps down memory lane are sometimes best left as the flooded potholes that they appear to be. Things that make us angry, and do damage when we traverse their gaping wounds. Leave the memories right where you left them, and instead, claw your way into the nearest sunset.