WitchyLady's profile
AGE:
42
LOC: Unionville, VA
GEN: Female
LAST LOGIN: November 02
LOC: Unionville, VA
GEN: Female
LAST LOGIN: November 02
I’m a very old soul with a somewhat dark and twisted past. This past most of the time reflects in my works of writing. Most of my writing is poetry and tends to be more gothic/dark than anything else.
As you read my work maybe you will come to understand why it is that I have this darkness inside my soul.
For me writing has always been a way to express myself and to get out my voice which so often in my life went unheard or ignored. And at times the anger, depression, etc builds up so high inside of me that the only way to relase it is to write.
I’m an Adult Survivor of childhood abuse. And what I write, how I write, why I write, all comes from inside my soul, heart and emotions.
I won’t apologize for what I write or in the …
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Broken and bound, blinded and bloody, For all to see, In this prison that entombs me. Dead and dying, tears dried, inside crying, Tortured and awoken, words unheard, barely spoken. Wounded and bare, reborn, remade, full horror displayed. Now you see me, but you don’t… Now you hear me, but understand…you won’t. Now you can forever have me, but you can‘t… Turn away, slink like a dog, Face frozen in a bloody fog. You made me, you broke me, and killed me true, Took my heart and ripped it through....
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Raindrops of false tears; dripping water and grime, softly glide, Over steel, molded in place… A haunting human android face, Lost and rusted, sorely disgraced. Perfect beauty, a sight to behold, From metal long forgotten and unbearably cold. A monument to humanity that ceased to exist, Now rusted; a statue honoring those missed. Created in a factory, infused with humane quality, Made to look, act and feel, Like people, only not real. Sitting in an attic or museum, scattered pieces, Left alon...
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Servitude to slavery, Objectivity a non-reality, Existence is bleak… Conformity to only one, Face a mask of horrible fun. Not what it seems… Silence: a darkness that gleams. Collared and cloaked in dark mystery, Violence a un- justified hidden history. Pain underneath a façade, faded. Bleak nothingness jauntily paraded, For all to see, and none to feel. A clown, a jester, To madness that bleakly festers. Below the surface, where none can go A breathing mannequin time forgot. What you see, isn...
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Wednesday’s child is full of woe… Dark thoughts entertained, With vileness contained, Trapped in endless mire… Evil is passions midnight desire. Delicate and defined, Like bland sugar refined… A taste, forbidden fruit, Melancholy divine, so sublime. Morbid-ness ignites deep inside, Taking flight, on wings of spite. Flames of controlled madness erupts, And shadows of blood corrupt, Red liqueur liquid, fluid and markedly grim, Like cheapened foul wine… A taste, deliciously bold, Essence of tort...
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Lost is the way, Dead as the day… Fallen angel, child of woe, Doom and despair you do bestow. Forgotten in the soot and ashes, Buried in tattered lace & tangled black sashes, Dressed for death with nowhere to be, A pitiful zombie, wandering free. Forever and a day, Lost is the way… Shards of misplaced hopes, chasing midnight dreams, In the world of decay, nothing is as it seems. Dying in the world of dead, Alive only inside her tainted head. Breathing air of noxious rot, A little dead girl, t...
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I could feel the love and respect you carried for your brother in this poem. I liked the fact that it was a memorial that could speak to those that knew him best as well as serving as closure for your own emotions. And the words flowed easily which always helps when reading any poetry.
I would certainly agree with this quote. There is so much intolerance for everything. It used to be so much about race and religion, which still exists, but now it goes even deeper. People are intolerant to others based on sexuality, fashion, class, body size and image and a myriad of other things.
I was following along with your poem but then it seemed to almost pull back a little bit. Almost as if you, the writer, were a little bit scared to explore and name the darkness itself. What really is the darkness, is it inside you or trapping you and why are you scared of it? Darkness can be lots of things in life such as death, fears, or night time. I get the feeling you were talking about the night time. If that is the case then you are contridicting yourself in these ways: You go from "Ne...
Your words are powerful and to the point and I'm thinking there must be heartache involved. Which shows me that a imagery is everything. Good job for pulling me into your world. Now I want to know more.
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