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You've travelled into the dead world\realm. Only with your spirit. You're alive, but can't find your body. You meet ghosts, zombies and other scary creatures. What happened to you to be in this state? Do you end up finding where your physical form/body is? How do you end up returning to normal & the physical world. Narrative, & descriptive writing format, please. Or You can also make it a quest. You needed to be in the spiritual or dead realm to find a special powerful device|object.
Written by desmondwrite in portal Horror & Thriller

"The Great Fugue"

[An excerpt from the famous orc scholar and adventurer Brakis Grimdear. For the full text, please consult the librarians of Teatree University in the city of Harkness.]

"The underworld is not the heart of a volcano as described by the Cult of Fire, nor a blue ice-fringe as described by the Cult of Ice. There is no eternal whirlwind, meaning the djinn of the Cult of Air are wrong (or metaphorical). Perhaps the Cult of Earth understands this realm best, for the underworld is a cave that expands to bounds unknown. Here, shadows rule, and the darkness has such potency that it becomes fluid and runs on the rocks. The void is lessened only by the blue lights emitted from the souls of the dead, and by the cairns, or stacks of stones and skulls, which glow internally from some secret flame, and the lanterns at the docks. 

The terrain is mostly plains of a material akin to obsidian, and is intercut by hills and shade-cloak rivulets; these 'rivers' are called Little Fugues and are easy to cross as long as you don't step in them. The entrance of the realm ends at the Great Fugue, an immense black channel, although I am sure it has no current. To be truly initiated into the dark halls, one must cross the river. This is usually done by a barge called the Ferryskul, although I believe that boats buried in tombs can be used as well. On this side of the Great Fugue, the undead do not emit a glow, for they still carry their meat and cloaks and any possessions left in the grave. I think the lantern-light attracts them for they crawl across the plains intently and growl if deterred. At the docks, sarlowes strip the dead of their belongings, load the barge with freshly-shaved souls, and ferry across the Great Fugue. The dead's luggage is tossed into the river which is, in some form, alive. I did not see where the refuse went, but if you peered into the muck, you might glimpse lights in the depths and the honeycomb of tombs.

The sarlowes (these labormen of the underworld are robed halflings with faces concealed by hoods, although each had a single blue eye which shone from within; not cycloptic, but as if the other had been punctured) were efficient carvers, and could whittle a man to spirit in seconds. I watched an elf lose her long-ears and long hair, her pale skin, her accruements of sexuality, her green and brown leather coat, and a single arrow puncturing her neck, and when this was peeled away I watched the sarlowes scrape away muscle and bleached bone and even bits of personality, including her elvish grooming, artistic ability, honor, freedom, vitality, and grudges. A dwarf tyrant, too, I beheld; I think it was Urist II of Val Dhuhaim (he had died of an energetic bowel). The stone-faced king was first parted with his beard and jewelry—diadems, rings, a crown, armor plate laced with silver. Then his gentle red cloak, his garments, and all other materia that makes a fattened monarch. Urist almost kept his cruelty and folly if an observant sarlowe hadn't pulled him from the barge for a second snip—then the tyrant lost his lust, glory-love, and insolence, too.

Finally, it was my turn, and those robed barbers examined me confusedly. "Yes," I said to them. "I am still alive." The creatures chittered to each other in an underling vernacular, and then one of them asked about my trip. I explained my rationale; how I was not satisfied with the wars between humans and goblins and other species, nor the political conflicts of Harkness, that rotting capitol, or world cultures. All of these endeavors were arbitrary, and it was a testament to the entropy of scholarship that I was one of the few who still wondered what the gods were made of, if they were merely magical mortals, if there was an afterlife, how magic originated, from where the different races derived, etc, etc. How could anyone let themselves be distracted from examining the principles of the cosmos?

The sarlowes wanted to know how I had come to the land of the unliving. I will not detail my process of reaching the underworld here for it was a tedious project, but I explained to them my preparation. Just imagine a ritual with the usual accruements of necromancy: signs made from blood, infernal words, candles lit and extinguished by cold gusts of wind, wails from invisible spirits, etc, etc, and a breach into reality itself—down into which I climbed.

Finally, the sarlowes took their blades to me. It was fascinating to watch my physical experience be severed from immaterium. First they took my armament—my foul-wind sword, my cloak of ever-fire, my flying scabbard beetle for a shield, and the black crown I let hang by my neck from a chain. Then they cut away my green flesh and layers of muscle beneath, and pried away my bones. Of my persona, especially my intellect, courage, pride, and independence, I would not depart.

All of this luggage they secured in a chest for my return. And then it was the onto the Ferryskul, and onward to Hell, not to rescue a lost lover, not to seek ancient counsel, not to conquer some infernal beast or steal a wondrous artifact, but to better the annals of mankind through the cogency of research."

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You've travelled into the dead world\realm. Only with your spirit. You're alive, but can't find your body. You meet ghosts, zombies and other scary creatures. What happened to you to be in this state? Do you end up finding where your physical form/body is? How do you end up returning to normal & the physical world. Narrative, & descriptive writing format, please. Or You can also make it a quest. You needed to be in the spiritual or dead realm to find a special powerful device|object.
Written by desmondwrite in portal Horror & Thriller
"The Great Fugue"

[An excerpt from the famous orc scholar and adventurer Brakis Grimdear. For the full text, please consult the librarians of Teatree University in the city of Harkness.]

"The underworld is not the heart of a volcano as described by the Cult of Fire, nor a blue ice-fringe as described by the Cult of Ice. There is no eternal whirlwind, meaning the djinn of the Cult of Air are wrong (or metaphorical). Perhaps the Cult of Earth understands this realm best, for the underworld is a cave that expands to bounds unknown. Here, shadows rule, and the darkness has such potency that it becomes fluid and runs on the rocks. The void is lessened only by the blue lights emitted from the souls of the dead, and by the cairns, or stacks of stones and skulls, which glow internally from some secret flame, and the lanterns at the docks. 

The terrain is mostly plains of a material akin to obsidian, and is intercut by hills and shade-cloak rivulets; these 'rivers' are called Little Fugues and are easy to cross as long as you don't step in them. The entrance of the realm ends at the Great Fugue, an immense black channel, although I am sure it has no current. To be truly initiated into the dark halls, one must cross the river. This is usually done by a barge called the Ferryskul, although I believe that boats buried in tombs can be used as well. On this side of the Great Fugue, the undead do not emit a glow, for they still carry their meat and cloaks and any possessions left in the grave. I think the lantern-light attracts them for they crawl across the plains intently and growl if deterred. At the docks, sarlowes strip the dead of their belongings, load the barge with freshly-shaved souls, and ferry across the Great Fugue. The dead's luggage is tossed into the river which is, in some form, alive. I did not see where the refuse went, but if you peered into the muck, you might glimpse lights in the depths and the honeycomb of tombs.

The sarlowes (these labormen of the underworld are robed halflings with faces concealed by hoods, although each had a single blue eye which shone from within; not cycloptic, but as if the other had been punctured) were efficient carvers, and could whittle a man to spirit in seconds. I watched an elf lose her long-ears and long hair, her pale skin, her accruements of sexuality, her green and brown leather coat, and a single arrow puncturing her neck, and when this was peeled away I watched the sarlowes scrape away muscle and bleached bone and even bits of personality, including her elvish grooming, artistic ability, honor, freedom, vitality, and grudges. A dwarf tyrant, too, I beheld; I think it was Urist II of Val Dhuhaim (he had died of an energetic bowel). The stone-faced king was first parted with his beard and jewelry—diadems, rings, a crown, armor plate laced with silver. Then his gentle red cloak, his garments, and all other materia that makes a fattened monarch. Urist almost kept his cruelty and folly if an observant sarlowe hadn't pulled him from the barge for a second snip—then the tyrant lost his lust, glory-love, and insolence, too.

Finally, it was my turn, and those robed barbers examined me confusedly. "Yes," I said to them. "I am still alive." The creatures chittered to each other in an underling vernacular, and then one of them asked about my trip. I explained my rationale; how I was not satisfied with the wars between humans and goblins and other species, nor the political conflicts of Harkness, that rotting capitol, or world cultures. All of these endeavors were arbitrary, and it was a testament to the entropy of scholarship that I was one of the few who still wondered what the gods were made of, if they were merely magical mortals, if there was an afterlife, how magic originated, from where the different races derived, etc, etc. How could anyone let themselves be distracted from examining the principles of the cosmos?

The sarlowes wanted to know how I had come to the land of the unliving. I will not detail my process of reaching the underworld here for it was a tedious project, but I explained to them my preparation. Just imagine a ritual with the usual accruements of necromancy: signs made from blood, infernal words, candles lit and extinguished by cold gusts of wind, wails from invisible spirits, etc, etc, and a breach into reality itself—down into which I climbed.

Finally, the sarlowes took their blades to me. It was fascinating to watch my physical experience be severed from immaterium. First they took my armament—my foul-wind sword, my cloak of ever-fire, my flying scabbard beetle for a shield, and the black crown I let hang by my neck from a chain. Then they cut away my green flesh and layers of muscle beneath, and pried away my bones. Of my persona, especially my intellect, courage, pride, and independence, I would not depart.

All of this luggage they secured in a chest for my return. And then it was the onto the Ferryskul, and onward to Hell, not to rescue a lost lover, not to seek ancient counsel, not to conquer some infernal beast or steal a wondrous artifact, but to better the annals of mankind through the cogency of research."
#fantasy  #fiction  #adventure  #death  #underworld 
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Written by P09EYE in portal Flash Fiction

Am I home?

Three blinks left.

I don't feel like I need to breathe anymore. It's funny, my whole life I felt like if I didn't get my next breath, I'd go insane. It was never a matter of being afraid that I'd die, but that panic overcame me. I now realize that I used to have nightmares of drowning, or suffocating, and the lack of breathing was the main thing that scared me. What a silly thing to be scared of. I think that I used to have dreams where I was able to live without breathing, or something, and strangely I was free. More free in those fleeting dreams than in any moment of my... what was the word?

Two blinks left.

I try to laugh. I cant. I don't need to breathe to laugh. Do I?

Why would I laugh? I'm d... pain. I feel pain. I think that's pain. No, what's the word, mirth? No, this is a giggle. But I don't breathe, I don't need to, so why laugh? Is laugh the right word? Nothing seems funny to me. I remember that I used to be happy and want to laugh at things. But never out loud, why never out loud?

I never enjoyed life properly. I spent all of it fearing pain and repressing my real happiness. Live, laugh, lo- what's the last word?

I'm going to do it. I don't need breath to do it. I'll just force it. OK, laughter!

Copper?

One blink left.

Blinking, I remember having staring contests with my friends. I never realized how much blinking I did. I'm suddenly very aware of my eyes. But I'm not really seeing anything. If I'm not seeing, why blink? I took it for granted, I took so much for granted. My family, my friends... love. That was the word, live, laugh and love. Oh my, I remember love. I love love! I never let myself love anyone... or let anyone love me. Why not? Why didn't I love? I had love and I ignored it. I feel like I'm losing my breath. I can't breathe! Wait... I'm dying, I'm dying here on this dark road. For my wallet, my stupid wallet, that guy took my... That's why I can't breathe. Copper. I taste copper. What's going on? I'm not breathing, I'm not doing anything. I'm dying. I never lived. I never loved. Please, can't I just go back? Please... my eye lids are getting heav... why blink? It's so co-cold. Let...me... love... someone... oh... it's you. I remember you... am I home?

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Written by P09EYE in portal Flash Fiction
Am I home?
Three blinks left.

I don't feel like I need to breathe anymore. It's funny, my whole life I felt like if I didn't get my next breath, I'd go insane. It was never a matter of being afraid that I'd die, but that panic overcame me. I now realize that I used to have nightmares of drowning, or suffocating, and the lack of breathing was the main thing that scared me. What a silly thing to be scared of. I think that I used to have dreams where I was able to live without breathing, or something, and strangely I was free. More free in those fleeting dreams than in any moment of my... what was the word?

Two blinks left.

I try to laugh. I cant. I don't need to breathe to laugh. Do I?
Why would I laugh? I'm d... pain. I feel pain. I think that's pain. No, what's the word, mirth? No, this is a giggle. But I don't breathe, I don't need to, so why laugh? Is laugh the right word? Nothing seems funny to me. I remember that I used to be happy and want to laugh at things. But never out loud, why never out loud?
I never enjoyed life properly. I spent all of it fearing pain and repressing my real happiness. Live, laugh, lo- what's the last word?
I'm going to do it. I don't need breath to do it. I'll just force it. OK, laughter!
Copper?

One blink left.

Blinking, I remember having staring contests with my friends. I never realized how much blinking I did. I'm suddenly very aware of my eyes. But I'm not really seeing anything. If I'm not seeing, why blink? I took it for granted, I took so much for granted. My family, my friends... love. That was the word, live, laugh and love. Oh my, I remember love. I love love! I never let myself love anyone... or let anyone love me. Why not? Why didn't I love? I had love and I ignored it. I feel like I'm losing my breath. I can't breathe! Wait... I'm dying, I'm dying here on this dark road. For my wallet, my stupid wallet, that guy took my... That's why I can't breathe. Copper. I taste copper. What's going on? I'm not breathing, I'm not doing anything. I'm dying. I never lived. I never loved. Please, can't I just go back? Please... my eye lids are getting heav... why blink? It's so co-cold. Let...me... love... someone... oh... it's you. I remember you... am I home?
#fiction  #death  #spirituality  #home  #blink 
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Written by jaymeh_moon

Mother and Daughter

 I tried to be happy once, but mother wouldn’t let me. When I was twenty-three the boy I was going with proposed. It was the most magical thing that happened to me. He walked me into the park at dusk, saying that he wanted to talk about his day, and then we stopped on the arched bridge and he popped the question. With no hesitation I said yes, blubbering the word as I cried.

Immediately we went to Mother’s, to tell her the news. As he broke the news to her Mother’s face went from happy to mad. She slapped him hard, right on the cheek, and told him to get out.

That was the last time I saw him, that was the last time Mother let me do anything on my own.

Since that night twenty years ago I’ve been locked in my room. She only lets me out to eat, shower, and to help her get around the house or the town. Mother never lets me speak for myself. In public when I am asked a question she speaks for me, in a way I have lost my voice.

Mother said she didn’t want to loose me, that she wanted to keep me safe from all the men in the world. Daddy cheated on her. When I was little he packed his suitcase and said, “You keep me trapped when I want to be free.” He slammed the door shut and never came back.

Now I understand why Daddy left. Mother wants everything for herself, even her family. She doesn’t care about anyone, that’s why she did this to me.

Everyone said I should be in magazines, that my face was a painting. I was telling Mother that I could model and put the money towards the household. Her reply was picking up the kitchen knife and slicing my cheek.

The scar stares back at me, and the dent in my lip yells at me, do what she did to you.

But, I couldn’t; Mother is a lonely soul that needs companionship. This is what daughters do; they take care of their parents in times of need.

But, people do that willingly. They are not forced into a room and only allowed to go where the parent goes; I am not six years old.

The clock dings and I look at its face, six o’clock on the dot. This means it’s dinnertime and mother will be up to unlock the door. Three minutes go past and the key jangles in the lock, then the doorknob twists.

“Okay sweetie, time for dinner.” She says it as if I am a dog waiting for food to be put in a bowl. Slowly I rise from my vanity and follow Mother down the steps.

Tonight’s dinner is steak with mashed potatoes and green beans. Mother always is elaborate at cooking, it is the only quality she has. She sits down across from me and begins to talk about the television shows she watched. This is the closest I get to watching, only books occupy my room.

“Mother, I want to go get a clean fork, this one has specks.” I say with a wobbly voice. She makes me nervous, and the stare she is giving me makes my stomach churn. Right when I think she will insist on getting the utensil she allows me to walk through the kitchen door.

I open the drawer and I see it. It’s staring back at me, telling me to touch it.

The butchering knife is so clean, shiny, and sharp. Before I can think I grab the handle and slam the drawer shut.

I walk into the dining room where Mother continues her conversation about television shows. I say, “Uh-huh” in agreement. She doesn’t feel me when I walk behind her, doesn’t flinch as I put my arm around her neck, says, “Darlene, what are you doing!”, before I drag the blade across her neck.

She’s now choking up blood. I see it pouring out of the cut and trickling from the corners of her mouth. This isn’t enough for me. I want more. I want her to pay for the pain she has caused.

I take the knife and hack the cut. The knife goes farther in then I expect, I feel the crack of bone vibrate trough the hilt. It’s like cutting a chicken thigh in half.

The feeling is good, tempting, addicting. I lay her hands on the arms of the dining room chair. One by one they are chopped off, falling to the floor followed by a shower of blood.

Now I am laughing, I can feel the blood on my face. Mother has now paid; she got what was coming to her. I take a few more hacks and drop the weapon. Then I fix Mother’s body in the chair, crossing her legs and folding her hands onto her lap. Her head is barley on, so I position it the best I can.

I sit down and sigh with relief; no blood has touched my food. I take the steak knife and begin to eat. Looking at mother with a mouth full I say, “I’m free now, just like Daddy, I’m free.”

Image credit link: 

https://68.media.tumblr.com/cc90f9cf52d81066601c09d25a8c089d/tumblr_mzv7izG3ZQ1qfqx8do1_500.jpg

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Written by jaymeh_moon
Mother and Daughter
 I tried to be happy once, but mother wouldn’t let me. When I was twenty-three the boy I was going with proposed. It was the most magical thing that happened to me. He walked me into the park at dusk, saying that he wanted to talk about his day, and then we stopped on the arched bridge and he popped the question. With no hesitation I said yes, blubbering the word as I cried.
Immediately we went to Mother’s, to tell her the news. As he broke the news to her Mother’s face went from happy to mad. She slapped him hard, right on the cheek, and told him to get out.
That was the last time I saw him, that was the last time Mother let me do anything on my own.
Since that night twenty years ago I’ve been locked in my room. She only lets me out to eat, shower, and to help her get around the house or the town. Mother never lets me speak for myself. In public when I am asked a question she speaks for me, in a way I have lost my voice.
Mother said she didn’t want to loose me, that she wanted to keep me safe from all the men in the world. Daddy cheated on her. When I was little he packed his suitcase and said, “You keep me trapped when I want to be free.” He slammed the door shut and never came back.
Now I understand why Daddy left. Mother wants everything for herself, even her family. She doesn’t care about anyone, that’s why she did this to me.
Everyone said I should be in magazines, that my face was a painting. I was telling Mother that I could model and put the money towards the household. Her reply was picking up the kitchen knife and slicing my cheek.
The scar stares back at me, and the dent in my lip yells at me, do what she did to you.
But, I couldn’t; Mother is a lonely soul that needs companionship. This is what daughters do; they take care of their parents in times of need.
But, people do that willingly. They are not forced into a room and only allowed to go where the parent goes; I am not six years old.
The clock dings and I look at its face, six o’clock on the dot. This means it’s dinnertime and mother will be up to unlock the door. Three minutes go past and the key jangles in the lock, then the doorknob twists.
“Okay sweetie, time for dinner.” She says it as if I am a dog waiting for food to be put in a bowl. Slowly I rise from my vanity and follow Mother down the steps.
Tonight’s dinner is steak with mashed potatoes and green beans. Mother always is elaborate at cooking, it is the only quality she has. She sits down across from me and begins to talk about the television shows she watched. This is the closest I get to watching, only books occupy my room.
“Mother, I want to go get a clean fork, this one has specks.” I say with a wobbly voice. She makes me nervous, and the stare she is giving me makes my stomach churn. Right when I think she will insist on getting the utensil she allows me to walk through the kitchen door.
I open the drawer and I see it. It’s staring back at me, telling me to touch it.
The butchering knife is so clean, shiny, and sharp. Before I can think I grab the handle and slam the drawer shut.
I walk into the dining room where Mother continues her conversation about television shows. I say, “Uh-huh” in agreement. She doesn’t feel me when I walk behind her, doesn’t flinch as I put my arm around her neck, says, “Darlene, what are you doing!”, before I drag the blade across her neck.
She’s now choking up blood. I see it pouring out of the cut and trickling from the corners of her mouth. This isn’t enough for me. I want more. I want her to pay for the pain she has caused.
I take the knife and hack the cut. The knife goes farther in then I expect, I feel the crack of bone vibrate trough the hilt. It’s like cutting a chicken thigh in half.
The feeling is good, tempting, addicting. I lay her hands on the arms of the dining room chair. One by one they are chopped off, falling to the floor followed by a shower of blood.
Now I am laughing, I can feel the blood on my face. Mother has now paid; she got what was coming to her. I take a few more hacks and drop the weapon. Then I fix Mother’s body in the chair, crossing her legs and folding her hands onto her lap. Her head is barley on, so I position it the best I can.
I sit down and sigh with relief; no blood has touched my food. I take the steak knife and begin to eat. Looking at mother with a mouth full I say, “I’m free now, just like Daddy, I’m free.”

Image credit link: 
https://68.media.tumblr.com/cc90f9cf52d81066601c09d25a8c089d/tumblr_mzv7izG3ZQ1qfqx8do1_500.jpg
#fiction  #horror  #death  #mother  #murder 
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Written by JayChimera in portal Poetry & Free Verse

Sleep.

So soon it will come

My temporary death,

I will find solace.

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Written by JayChimera in portal Poetry & Free Verse
Sleep.
So soon it will come
My temporary death,
I will find solace.
#haiku  #death  #sleep 
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Written by ClarkyGrace in portal Poetry & Free Verse

do not adorn Beauty in Death

to find what makes Death beautiful

look Death square in the eye 

comb through it

and learn to find beauty 

in the maggots, rot, and grief

instead of hacking off the most palatable bits

and leaving yourself unprepared for the rest

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Written by ClarkyGrace in portal Poetry & Free Verse
do not adorn Beauty in Death
to find what makes Death beautiful

look Death square in the eye 
comb through it
and learn to find beauty 
in the maggots, rot, and grief

instead of hacking off the most palatable bits
and leaving yourself unprepared for the rest
#poetry  #death  #beauty  #quickwrite 
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Written by ChanelleJoy

ROSES OF DELUSION

When everything screams at you to give up

What else can you do?

So you fold yourself in half & cry

To slowly wither & fade away

Some believe in a place called hell

Where you go if you've been bad

Some time after you have died

You are sent there & don't come back

I don't know where i am right now

But in my mind, this must be hell

& if it turns out that it is not

Then how much worse can hell really be?

I wish that i knew something

Other than fear & dread

I wish that i knew something

Just one thing better than that

I see my world in shades of grey

The colours have all gone

Smudged, erased, polluted, muted

My world is clouds of rain

I long for a beacon, a light, a ship

Yet even if I found one

I would doubt it's very existence

Deny it so it doesn't hurt when it gets taken away

That's the trick

Have you learnt it now?

Do you see the way things are?

The truth behind the grand facade?

Never trust what gives you hope

Never trust that shiny jewel

For soon enough it will be stolen

Swept away & lost in the Black Parade

A black parade with no end in sight

A black parade that smothers & smites

It strikes you when you think your safe

& leaves you hollow while it laughs in your face

Hope is Death dressed in drag

A tempting disguise to distract & attract

The Reaper wears his crown of roses

& drops the sickle while you sigh in bliss

"Victory!" The Reaper cries

"Victory is mine

I have slain you in your waking dream

As you stared me in the eye

I've been standing here in front of you

I've been here all this time

& yet you never saw me

You only saw the lie"

The Reaper laughs & the roses die

The veil falls away

& as you watch your life slip by

You see how you were lead astray

You listened to promises laced in poison

You heard the song but not the tune

You held the roses in your hand

& felt not a single thorn

Such is the power of delusion

It strips you of logic, reason & sense

It tricks you to think you float on air

When really you're drowning in sinking sand

So, do not hope & do not dream

Do not even dare to wish

For the star that catches it in flight

May well be the bullet to end your life

You may think me cynical, depressed or insane

But oh, my friend, if you only knew

If you saw the things that i have seen

Then you would understand

I pray you never come to this place

I pray you will never understand what i say

But if you do, then please, please hear this...

Please know that you are not alone

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Written by ChanelleJoy
ROSES OF DELUSION
When everything screams at you to give up
What else can you do?
So you fold yourself in half & cry
To slowly wither & fade away

Some believe in a place called hell
Where you go if you've been bad
Some time after you have died
You are sent there & don't come back

I don't know where i am right now
But in my mind, this must be hell
& if it turns out that it is not
Then how much worse can hell really be?

I wish that i knew something
Other than fear & dread
I wish that i knew something
Just one thing better than that

I see my world in shades of grey
The colours have all gone
Smudged, erased, polluted, muted
My world is clouds of rain

I long for a beacon, a light, a ship
Yet even if I found one
I would doubt it's very existence
Deny it so it doesn't hurt when it gets taken away

That's the trick
Have you learnt it now?
Do you see the way things are?
The truth behind the grand facade?

Never trust what gives you hope
Never trust that shiny jewel
For soon enough it will be stolen
Swept away & lost in the Black Parade

A black parade with no end in sight
A black parade that smothers & smites
It strikes you when you think your safe
& leaves you hollow while it laughs in your face

Hope is Death dressed in drag
A tempting disguise to distract & attract
The Reaper wears his crown of roses
& drops the sickle while you sigh in bliss

"Victory!" The Reaper cries
"Victory is mine
I have slain you in your waking dream
As you stared me in the eye

I've been standing here in front of you
I've been here all this time
& yet you never saw me
You only saw the lie"

The Reaper laughs & the roses die
The veil falls away
& as you watch your life slip by
You see how you were lead astray

You listened to promises laced in poison
You heard the song but not the tune
You held the roses in your hand
& felt not a single thorn

Such is the power of delusion
It strips you of logic, reason & sense
It tricks you to think you float on air
When really you're drowning in sinking sand

So, do not hope & do not dream
Do not even dare to wish
For the star that catches it in flight
May well be the bullet to end your life

You may think me cynical, depressed or insane
But oh, my friend, if you only knew
If you saw the things that i have seen
Then you would understand

I pray you never come to this place
I pray you will never understand what i say
But if you do, then please, please hear this...
Please know that you are not alone



#poetry  #life  #death  #roses  #delusion 
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Written by ChanelleJoy in portal Poetry & Free Verse

ROSES OF DELUSION

When everything screams at you to give up

What else can you do?

So you fold yourself in half & cry

To slowly wither & fade away

Some believe in a place called hell

Where you go if you've been bad

Some time after you have died

You are sent there & don't come back

I don't know where i am right now

But in my mind, this must be hell

& if it turns out that it is not

Then how much worse can hell really be?

I wish that i knew something

Other than fear & dread

I wish that i knew something

Just one thing better than that

I see my world in shades of grey

The colours have all gone

Smudged, erased, polluted, muted

My world is clouds of rain

I long for a beacon, a light, a ship

Yet even if I found one

I would doubt it's very existence

Deny it so it doesn't hurt when it gets taken away

That's the trick

Have you learnt it now?

Do you see the way things are?

The truth behind the grand facade?

Never trust what gives you hope

Never trust that shiny jewel

For soon enough it will be stolen

Swept away & lost in the Black Parade

A black parade with no end in sight

A black parade that smothers & smites

It strikes you when you think your safe

& leaves you hollow while it laughs in your face

Hope is Death dressed in drag

A tempting disguise to distract & attract

The Reaper wears his crown of roses

& drops the sickle while you sigh in bliss

"Victory!" The Reaper cries

"Victory is mine

I have slain you in your waking dream

As you stared me in the eye

I've been standing here in front of you

I've been here all this time

& yet you never saw me

You only saw the lie"

The Reaper laughs & the roses die

The veil falls away

& as you watch your life slip by

You see how you were lead astray

You listened to promises laced in poison

You heard the song but not the tune

You held the roses in your hand

& felt not a single thorn

Such is the power of delusion

It strips you of logic, reason & sense

It tricks you to think you float on air

When really you're drowning in sinking sand

So, do not hope & do not dream

Do not even dare to wish

For the star that catches it in flight

May well be the bullet to end your life

You may think me cynical, depressed or insane

But oh, my friend, if you only knew

If you saw the things that i have seen

Then you would understand

I pray you never come to this place

I pray you will never understand what i say

But if you do, then please, please hear this...

Please know that you are not alone

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Written by ChanelleJoy in portal Poetry & Free Verse
ROSES OF DELUSION
When everything screams at you to give up
What else can you do?
So you fold yourself in half & cry
To slowly wither & fade away

Some believe in a place called hell
Where you go if you've been bad
Some time after you have died
You are sent there & don't come back

I don't know where i am right now
But in my mind, this must be hell
& if it turns out that it is not
Then how much worse can hell really be?

I wish that i knew something
Other than fear & dread
I wish that i knew something
Just one thing better than that

I see my world in shades of grey
The colours have all gone
Smudged, erased, polluted, muted
My world is clouds of rain

I long for a beacon, a light, a ship
Yet even if I found one
I would doubt it's very existence
Deny it so it doesn't hurt when it gets taken away

That's the trick
Have you learnt it now?
Do you see the way things are?
The truth behind the grand facade?

Never trust what gives you hope
Never trust that shiny jewel
For soon enough it will be stolen
Swept away & lost in the Black Parade

A black parade with no end in sight
A black parade that smothers & smites
It strikes you when you think your safe
& leaves you hollow while it laughs in your face

Hope is Death dressed in drag
A tempting disguise to distract & attract
The Reaper wears his crown of roses
& drops the sickle while you sigh in bliss

"Victory!" The Reaper cries
"Victory is mine
I have slain you in your waking dream
As you stared me in the eye

I've been standing here in front of you
I've been here all this time
& yet you never saw me
You only saw the lie"

The Reaper laughs & the roses die
The veil falls away
& as you watch your life slip by
You see how you were lead astray

You listened to promises laced in poison
You heard the song but not the tune
You held the roses in your hand
& felt not a single thorn

Such is the power of delusion
It strips you of logic, reason & sense
It tricks you to think you float on air
When really you're drowning in sinking sand

So, do not hope & do not dream
Do not even dare to wish
For the star that catches it in flight
May well be the bullet to end your life

You may think me cynical, depressed or insane
But oh, my friend, if you only knew
If you saw the things that i have seen
Then you would understand

I pray you never come to this place
I pray you will never understand what i say
But if you do, then please, please hear this...
Please know that you are not alone

#poetry  #life  #death  #roses  #delusion 
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Written by CaitlinMarie in portal Poetry & Free Verse

defiance

for I’ll kick up my heels at

the Devil in a reel; I’ll swing

and I’ll tango with Death, but

never will I ever give up

the rhythm; you’ll have to

steal it from my final breath.

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Written by CaitlinMarie in portal Poetry & Free Verse
defiance
for I’ll kick up my heels at
the Devil in a reel; I’ll swing
and I’ll tango with Death, but
never will I ever give up
the rhythm; you’ll have to
steal it from my final breath.
#death  #dance  #devil  #dancing  #defiance 
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For my first challenge - I would like a break up, a bad break up. One that haunts you or just keeps popping back in your head. Story or poem as you like, but it must convey the message "It wasn't me, it was definitely you" I want to relish in these tales of woe, so please tag me.
Written by ChanelleJoy

The Final Break

I loved you.

I loved you with an all consuming fire.

You were the warmth that melted my frozen heart.

You made it beat again.

For the first time in so many years, my heart was beating.

All thanks to you.

See, I've had this hate hate relationship with myself.

I've been judged, criticised & abandoned my whole life.

That leaves scars, man.

Deep, rotting, festering scars that ooze with anger, self-loathing, anxiety, depression & myriad other sad emotions.

I thought I would never be good enough.

But you changed all that.

You treated me like a queen.

Everything was perfect...

Until you hit me.

At first I thought I must have deserved it because, how could someone who claimed they loved me do something so cruel unless I had made some heinous mistake?

So I dismissed it & loved you still.

Then it happened again.

I questioned why, begging you to tell me what I did wrong.

"You're just useless. Pathetic."

That was all you said.

For months I tried so hard to make you happy.

I loved you.

I wanted to be with you.

Yet, I failed. Time & time again, I failed.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I'd ask myself this every single day, hoping to come up with the answer.

& then I knew.

I knew exactly what I had to do.

I wasn't right for you &, as you had pointed out, wasn't right for anyone else either.

So what was the point?

I loved you.

Oh how much I loved you.

I loved you as I held the gun to my head.

I loved you right up till I pulled the trigger.

I always loved you.

But it's over now.

Everything has stopped.

Thanks to you, I ended it.

I broke up with myself.

I broke up with life...

©CJ

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Juice
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Juice
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For my first challenge - I would like a break up, a bad break up. One that haunts you or just keeps popping back in your head. Story or poem as you like, but it must convey the message "It wasn't me, it was definitely you" I want to relish in these tales of woe, so please tag me.
Written by ChanelleJoy
The Final Break
I loved you.
I loved you with an all consuming fire.
You were the warmth that melted my frozen heart.
You made it beat again.
For the first time in so many years, my heart was beating.
All thanks to you.
See, I've had this hate hate relationship with myself.
I've been judged, criticised & abandoned my whole life.
That leaves scars, man.
Deep, rotting, festering scars that ooze with anger, self-loathing, anxiety, depression & myriad other sad emotions.
I thought I would never be good enough.
But you changed all that.
You treated me like a queen.
Everything was perfect...
Until you hit me.
At first I thought I must have deserved it because, how could someone who claimed they loved me do something so cruel unless I had made some heinous mistake?
So I dismissed it & loved you still.
Then it happened again.
I questioned why, begging you to tell me what I did wrong.
"You're just useless. Pathetic."
That was all you said.
For months I tried so hard to make you happy.
I loved you.
I wanted to be with you.
Yet, I failed. Time & time again, I failed.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I'd ask myself this every single day, hoping to come up with the answer.
& then I knew.
I knew exactly what I had to do.
I wasn't right for you &, as you had pointed out, wasn't right for anyone else either.
So what was the point?
I loved you.
Oh how much I loved you.
I loved you as I held the gun to my head.
I loved you right up till I pulled the trigger.
I always loved you.
But it's over now.
Everything has stopped.
Thanks to you, I ended it.
I broke up with myself.

I broke up with life...

©CJ
#poetry  #challenge  #life  #death  #broken  #breakup  #spokenword 
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1
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Juice
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