dark poetry, mental illness, poetry

Darkness Slithers – Dark Poetry

snake 2


Darkness slides under the door

When the lights turn down

And the sun sinks far below

Familiar black form

Rises and floats

Disappears for a moment

Grey puffs of smoke

It’s presence ever felt

The creature

Suffocates and strangles

Crawls up the walls

Parades across the ceiling

Darting about and mocking

Bringing up fear like vomit

Draining your blood till you’re cold

Cursing  your heart

back into it’s fold

Beckoning like sirens that

Sing in the deep

Follows you into

That vulnerable sleep

image from pinterest – HERE

dark poetry, mental illness, pathological people, poetry, psychopath

Mr. Lucifer

devil with woman art source pinterest


You reached into the flames

That were tearing my flesh

Burning me alive

I did not stop to wonder why

The flames had no effect

on your skin as you reached in

And joined me deep within

You said you had been choking

Suffocating …on the smoke

From your own inner hell

All alone…And now

We could hold hands

And join souls

in that fiery hell

Ruled by the morally insane…

Truth be told. I wanted you there

because if it made you feel  less alone

I would feel saved…

I never suspected

that the blazing black pit

Of brimstone was being stoked

Ever higher as the hot gas

Exploded into screams

Because after all

You recognized the nature

Of the flames


Darkness within the billowing smoke

Filling my lungs with ash

Formed from my buring flesh

I never suspected who you were

Even as I watched you

Expertly move about the fire

With a soul-less smile

that fueled the flames higher

dark poetry, depression, insomnia, mental illness, narcissistic abuse syndrome, poetry, psychological abuse, Ptsd from abuse, PTSD from domestic abuse

Cell Phone Light

The light from the cell phone
Only partially illuminates the room
All else is silent but the wind
And the sound of the tiny clicks
that sound out loud
each time a letter is typed

The writing keeps me thinking
The writing stops me from thinking too much
About the darkness
The writing keeps me feeling
The writing keeps me from feeling too much
Of the darkness

The resonating echo of the clicks
Filling the emptiness of the room
Makes me feel some safety …
Something familiar
Something “normal”
Something reliable
Something to frighten
the darkness away

To ward it off
To block it’s path
To distract my mind
To pretend it cannot reach me
But it’s all around
I can feel it rising
From the floors of the bedroom
To the top of the mattress

But I just keep typing
To hear the clicking
Of the cell phone keys in the dark
Because it isn’t the darkness
From the lack of light
That frightens me the very most
But the other darkness that rises
And closes all around me
That no one thinks is there
And no one else can see

abusive relationships, dark poetry, domestic abuse, domestic violence, emotional abuse, mental abuse, narcissist, narcissistic abuse, writing, writing challenge'secret keeper writing challenge

Beauty in the Mist

He sees her from afar

She is untouchable


Isolated by her captor

As if she is lost behind the mist

Of the darkness of a summer evening

Full of ominous clouds

Predicting disaster…

He would revel in her beauty

and femininity

If only

he could have the chance

to hold her

to cherish her

To keep her safe

from the monster she is with..

But she is lost in a maze

where all paths lead to pain..

He knows she has lost her way

He watches her suffering

but to no avail

She cannot see him

or hear his pleas to her

To leave the monster

She does not know

that he would love her

in ways

she cannot imagine she deserves

because she is being suffocated

by the monster…

the psychopath that

keeps her imprisoned

by manipulating her reality

She serves the very monster

That will ultimately destroy her

For no other reason 

Than to see if he can…

The end will come soon

With a bullet to her head

or a beating black and blue

When she finally sees 

That she should have left the monster

Long ago

Before it was too late

Written for the writing challenge by the Secret Keeper blog. This writing challenge is called Time Never Arrives #9


abusive relationships, dark poetry, life, narcissism, narcissistic abuse, poetry


Streams of words flow

Caressing my mind with pain

Black and white doesn’t go

In a world where things are not plain 

Shades of grey are what I see

The truth is variable to some

Goodness is true

But hard to construe

in a world

where lies and truth

sound the same

dark poetry, death, loss, mental illness, poetry


Dark is the night

When all have forsaken you



 have mistaken

your intent

For malice


 have seen a glimpse

of your soul

And despised it


have perceived you

As unworthy

And you


Lost yourself

In an ocean

Of torment

Undulating waves

of painful



of confusion


of perception

You have

lost your mind

Lost your reason


your memory

of what was important

in the first place

You are left

with questions


you are afraid

to know the answers to

the Why

the What for


Was the past

just a dream

A nightmare

Or simply

a passing thought


a comatose patient

lying motionless

in a hospital bed

dark poetry, life, mental illness, philopsophy, poetry


Thunder rumbles and rolls 

Over top of my attic rooftop

The sky darkens threateningly

Appearing insidious 

Impending storm is brewing

The roof promises to hold

the downpour to be

contained outside

and yet…

Something from

my past experiences

with promises

tells me…

I had better go get

my umbrella


dark poetry, domestic abuse, emotional abuse, life, mental abuse, narcissism, narcissistic abuse, poetry

Lies, Truth and Insanity

Twisted shadows of questionable reality

invade my darkest nightmares

The lies you told and realities you denied

still exist 

Somewhere in my mind

The existence of  both true reality and malicious reality

Both pulling on different sides of my sanity

The different masks you wore to deceive 

The compassion you manufactured to confuse

Are all tangled in my brain like a spiders web

of lies, truth and insanity

dark poetry, life, mental abuse, mental illness, narcissistic abuse, poetry


Alone in this room
like a cave of protection
I can feel the monsters
They are hungry
Hungry for the blood
of my heart
Aching to spill my compassion
onto the floor
And leave me to bathe
in the carnage
The monsters deceive
They lie and they cheat
Show you the beauty
of what you dream of
in your deepest dreams
that only you know
They find their way in
to the farthest
most protected temples
of your mind
They steal
what was never theirs
to take
Then reflect to you
what you desire
In you innermost being
never letting you know
how they snuck into
your temples
and stole out your desires
is something they play at
Moving their pawns
where they want them to go
Into harms way
Without letting them know

dark poetry, life, mental illness, mental illness poetry, poetry

Madness of Mental Abuse

If I sit very still
and breath very softly
I can still hear
the sound
of your insanity
The way it went right
into my nervous system
like a thousand volts
of death…
In the insidious
blackness that comes
If I sit very quietly
I can hear your screaming
Your act upon my stage
that was as real
to my mind
as the blood
coursing through
my veins
Every graphic detail
entering my senses…
Tearing apart my soul
If I sit very quietly
in the darkness
of the 3 am hour
Before the sun rises
Before life renews
I can hear your screaming
Threatening me
that you will stab the scissors
through your neck…
Impale the blade
straight through my heart
Splattering your blood
in my mind
With utter terror
and surreal horror
That would make anyone
teater on the edge
of their own
precarious sanity…
If I sit very quietly
in the darkness of night
the fear attacks my mind
I hear your voice inside
The way it sounded
on the phone..
Desperate and angry
Intentionally drawing me
to the edge of madness..
Your life
seemingly hanging
in the ragged net
that you handed me
to hold …
Demanding that
I do not fail…
What is more frightening?
Dare I ask the question
that plagues me?
Do I dare?
Ask the question?
The question that taunts me
and laughs at me…
Tempts me to dance
with its shadow
Like a psychopathic lover
grabbing my wrists
too hard…
What is the more terrifying reality?
That you were disturbed enough
to place the blade
of rusting scissors
against your neck?
Or that there were never
any scissors there?