"Bringing you the best in horror, one uncomfortably dark page at a time."
Ink From my Soul
Dark Poetic Features by C. Nola
There are times like now that I just want to succumb, to the sobs in my soul that just never come. The pain in my chest that crushes my heart, that spreads dark tendrils to the depths of my psyche. That fractured place that never felt like me, as if I came into the world already broken and unsightly.
A constant search for my quiet nirvana, an inner peace, my daily mantra, a quiet contentment that soothes my being, rather than this despair and sadness, that drowns my real feelings.
Choking my emotions before they can bloom, turning joy into grief, confidence to dismay, imposter syndrome that invades every day.
I look in the mirror and loathe what I see, hating the eyes that look back at me. Every inch, every flaw, every mark on my skin, I utterly hate the person within.
I long to shred this cocoon I am in, I beg to feel the sun on my face, to spread new wings and be free of this place.
I long for nirvana, for its beauty, it’s grace. I crave the sunshine upon this cold face. A single tear loses its race, as I step off the ledge into that vast empty space.
Draped in Midnight
Draped in midnight purple, velvet and bruised, silence screams from the broken,
heart beats in erratic whimpers and dreams, unleashed from the chaos and noise, the daily grind, that disguise the void.
The abyss, yawning wide, to consume our misery, the pain that we bare through gritted teeth and broken dreams, feral beasts snarling viscerally.
The savage rise of sobs deep in my lungs, blocking my chest, drowning my air, choking and writhing, mentally broken, beyond all repair.
Heart, bruised in midnight purple, velvet skinned misery, I wither and rot, putrid inside.
by Candace Nola
Never ending ripples spread
across the surface
of the pond
of despair violently raging in my soul
Despondent waves of sorrow
growing black tendrils to latch
Love that has never been mine.
A has been
a should have been
memories of pain and love lost
hauntings that never cease
invade my thoughts
feelings that never were
drown me in the pitch
The idea that I still miss
Gray matter inside a meat suit
birthed by accident
red tissue, bone and blood
that were never meant
To be here upon this earth
this wretched domain
full of fear and pain
Fraught with the cruel, the vile,
the narcissistic and insane
Lies shred the innocent
And push them insane
Words of men drip like venom
Acid rain from a cold black sky
Smooth voices and lustful lies
Deaf to the cries around them
As they prey upon innocent
And gasping sighs
Only to be discarded
Thrown away garbage
Broken and used
Lit fuse begins to spark
As she gathers herself
In the dark
Rage fuels her heaving breast
Hope gone from an empty heart
Dark and Soulless creature
Demon spawn now borne
Hell itself urges her on
Love no longer exists within
Only memories of
Narcissistic self serving
Self loathing lies
Join their ranks
Climb on in
Pipe bombs packed tightly
In their little rowboat far from shore
A lit fuse burns in each
A nuclear war about to rage
by c.nola 2/7/2021
bone weary ache lingers deep in my soul
daily it grows, every second, hour by hour
threatening soon to swallow me whole
to render me useless, part of the void
leaving my empty shell alone
devoid and unsound
lost in my mind,
my essence weeps and cowers
fearful of life, of love, of hoping to prevail
such things do not happen
when lonely and scared
I ache to return to a life that once was
to the light, to the warmth,
to the love that empowers.
to a desire to heal, if only to feel
whole and complete for a single hour.
an hour to touch what I so deeply yearn
an hour to feel heavenly bliss,
sixty minutes to surrender,
then I will not resist this fate,
this solitude, its isolated years,
alone with my ache, my sadness, my fears.
softly the void beckons, my bones sadly obey
dragging my corpse, fraught with madness, slowly to hell
I do not resist, do not cry or yell,
so lost in my mind, unaware that I fell
into the blackness so thick and so deep
I was already lost before the abyss heard me weep.
Ode to the Poe-t
Like the werewolf howls forlornly to the moon upon its first change, exquisite pain strikes my veins, pours over, pours thru like magma, never ceasing, burning me, can’t stop the orgasmic pleasure piercing me, my flesh, down to my atoms through to my molten core.
A slave to your tidal pull, insipid fool, longing for the sting of Cupid’s arrow, shoot me up, again, again, with line after line of the good stuff. Hit me up poet man, I’ll never get enough.
Glutton for punishment, I am a heathen, a slob, a sloth, a vain enraptured diva, jealous, shallow, miserable, an empty whore on her knees, mouth open wide, pour your pain over me. I drink it in greedily, let the burn begin, teasing me, pleasure me, killing me.
Writhing in beautiful agony upon your dirt floor, hit me again, drunkenly, rip my heart out with blood filled hands, pin it, still beating, to your door.
Let me in mister dealer man, please, I need some more, the last one left me wounded, dying on the floor, addict, addicted, fiend, feining, bound to your wounds, rip the scab, let it pour into my
haze filled swoon.
I am but a werewolf, howling at the moon, addicted to your pull, harsh desperation, a bloody tidal pull, change me deep, borne again, each verse dripping new.
by C. Nola
There is a face haunting me, man or spirit, I cannot tell. I close my eyes and the face appears. Awake or dreaming, day or night, I close my eyes and it is there, screaming out of the darkness in my mind, hurtling towards me like a comet across the sky, mouth open in a ferocious wail. Hands outstretched, cloaked in black up to the throat, eyes like two sunken pools of fire, rimmed with dark circles, like smeared ashes across the pale gray flesh of the old withered face.
The eyebrows are bushy and thick, white with age, knitted together across the brow with hostility and rage. Angry tufts of gray and white hair are standing on end, furiously sticking straight up and out, as if being pulled by an electrical charge. The cheeks are sallow, weathered parchment paper skin, antiqued with age and time and the burden of its sorrows. The thin lips are stretched into an angry howl, rage contorting it’s features even more than the passage of time has. It’s angry. It’s coming right towards me and it means to harm me.
I open my eyes and it vanishes from my sight, I close them, and it comes for me, streaking across the blackness in my mind. I open my eyes, but the feeling lingers, rage, and violence tinge the air with tension and fear. I can feel it, hovering just out of sight, always waiting for me to close my eyes.
I delay blinking as long as I can, eyes becoming dry and thirsty, begging for moisture. The itching is maddening, a nerve twitches and I lose the struggle. Both eyes close. The demon streaks out of the darkness and I inhale, and my eyes fly open even as I rear back, away from the image, desperate to escape the inevitable.
Blink, close, demon, panic, blink, eyes wide open. Day after day, blinking is my nightmare. Over time, I’ve learned to not see the face screaming out of the darkness. I’ve learned to breathe through the blink, to blink and open, don’t see, don’t acknowledge.
Nights are the worst, each blink becomes longer, heavier, harder to not see what is waiting for me. Hours pass, a losing struggle, finally, my eyes close and I sleep. Paralyzed by fear, legs kicking at air, screams choking my throat, I can do nothing as it hovers over me, snarling and howling its rage.
It’s waiting, but I don’t know for what. It hovers, screaming, as I scream my own terror into the silent night. I can feel my body twitching, like my legs are running but they do not move, like my fists are punching but they do not move. Lead weights tether my body to the bed. The demon hovers and snarls, sharp teeth bared. I breathe but I only hear my screams.
Suddenly, I blink. Eyes fly open, light floods in. My body is released, muscles stretch and move, suddenly I kick, delayed reaction to the fright still pumping through my veins. I lay still, I breathe, I blink once and try not to see.
C. Nola 3/14/2020
Written by C. Nola
Dark Shadows invade my light.
Nightmares control my night.
Paralyzed with fear, unable to fight.
Still I lay, wishing to vanish with all my might.
Skeletons lie on my closet floor.
Here lies my innocence, barring the door.
There goes my childhood, joy, no more.
Turn away, leave me in pieces, broken and torn.
Silence surrounds me, eyes to blurry to see.
Speech escapes me, but no one takes heed.
Fear is my enemy, as is the night.
Escape is nowhere in my sight.
Written by C. Nola
Born of ashes, Born of dust.
Born of blood, of rage, of scorn.
Phoenix rise. Phoenix fly. Phoenix die.
Cold heartless cruel desolation.
Child of hatred, Child of war.
Terrorized soul forced isolation.
Flames of ice. Hatred borne.
Phoenix rise. Phoenix dies.
Ash from flame. Desire wanes.
Burning wings, glowing brighter.
Red gold molten fire.
Slow burn, torrid desire.
Nuclear rage, mushroom cloud spires.
Tears of fire pouring down.
Burning out, destroy the ground.
Phoenix rage. Phoenix splayed.
Ripped open, beat and bound.
From the ashes, embers glow.
Written by Candace Nola
My light went out last night,
faded into blackness,
shattered by despair and sadness.
One last ember, flickered and burned,
the cause, elusive and unknown.
One last word from a loved one, now gone.
One last tear, shed and done.
Last heartbreak, past mistakes,
Lost hope, innocence and dreams.
Lost cries and silent screams.
My light went out last night, left my cheeks, fled from my eyes.
Warmth left my heart and soul,
sadness swallowed me, leaving me cold.
My heart, deadened and dark. My soul, cold, no spark.
My light went out last night,
left me weeping in the dark.