Ink From my Soul
Dark Poetic Features by C. Nola
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.