Category Archives: poetry

Pandemonium Crypt Obscure [Horror Poem]

Pandemonium. Crypt obscure.

Wetlands, woods, a night that bleeds…

Sick ignition. Flame that’s sure.

Hell is spawning blackened seeds.

It goes viral. Goes insane!

Lumière. Your dark. My madness.

That are worms that breath out strain,

Drowned-out truth is fading essence.

Crystal balls. And rituals…

Nothing ever mattered here.

Breathing coal – habitual,

These are cubes in shapes of sphere.

Look at me! And taste the blade.

Morning mist. Ascent descending,

Early death but rotting late,

Taking smiles but sorrow sending.

Are you here? Or I am dreamt?

Cry non-existentialism. Deform!

This is nothing. It was meant.

You. In blood. The guilt. My storm.


There Was Chaos [Dark Poem]

There was chaos born delightful

Into broken glass on shelves.

Frozen, humid, dark and frightful…

Colorless rainbows themselves.

Speak no evil, hear no less

Burnt in corners, shadows cry

Be the voice of the regress

Cough up fog and melt the sky.

Cogs and wheels and rusty blades.

Neons, cans and garbage bags.

You, yourself – the ace of spades

When you hurt – the sickness spreads.

Raindrops falling in abyss…

When you suffer, when you die.

Non-existentialist dismiss

There was chaos in goodbye.



The last breath of the Chimaera [Poem]

Up on Olive Cliffs –

A shadow born from breeding death

Smiles upon the setting sun

With murmurs of a fragile breath.

There are these people dressed in black,

With voices singing crying glass…

They want a yesterday – to have it back,

The hours, seconds, days that passed.

A moment in your short existence.

A trembling raindrop – autumn leaves,

A thought of them – recalling distance,

Another hand-written fault like this.

And in the courtyard from above,

Where figures dance in nightly robes,

You might decide to yell and sob

And put you memories in blood wardrobes.

The figures – what they really know

And how they feel – I can’t imagine…

Their dance – a silky shaking snow

A life so lost – so ripped – so fragile.

When I approach – I hear their wailing…

So much disturbance, boiled emotions

And sounds of brokenness – my brain impaling –

No cure for derangement – stale toxic potions.

I try to bring them to a sense,

To figure out what pain dictates,

But slowly they ignore my breathing –

Deciding what unbalance states.

They climb the cliffs, they have dark crowns

And Death itself – awaits on throne!

With roses, serpents, ups and downs

And grey helplessness carved in stone.

And one by one they reach the lord

Of the decaying turbulence –

They kiss the hands made up of bones

And twist and die with violence.

They don’t fight back – they never stop,

Like blind flies in a darker chamber…

I too engage to reach the top

Leaving behind all I remember.

In front of Death – a silence speaks

The massive bones of thousand eras.

It’s time – the moment has come – this is

The last breath of the Chimaera.




We Live On Borrowed Time [Poem]

We live on borrowed time,

And we forget to spend it right.

We run, we dwell, we try and fall

But never really live enough.


We live on borrowed time,

And lose these days without a smile.

We fall like leaves, we break and die

And life becomes a fruitless mile.


We live on borrowed time,

We pay these seconds with our soul.

The clockmaker is inexpressive.

We can’t escape the faithless toll…


We live on borrowed time,

And death is waiting in your path.

You’re here today and on this morning.

Tomorrow – dead and rotten in the dark.


We live on borrowed time,

And then we die and fade away.

So ask yourself one little thing…

You really are alive today?