Monthly Archives: December 2013


With my Charlie alone and
lost, blue bow his smile,
always there when I am
sad, scared..I hold him
close, my tears apart of
his skin.

Mad, I throw him against
a wall, apart of the
torn, stain of poor.

A mother, walking the fine
line between the living and
the dead, fraying wildly between
delusion and illusion, preying
on chaotic dreams…

Father, dead, walking on green
miles, parting the earth, lying
to children, drifting in and
out of consciousness.

Sister, always a shadow,
the light never quite reaches
your fake smile, your sex
raked by other Fathers.

Aunt, feet tremble, trample you,
but you can’t ever get
enough, pain is your pleasure,
their eyes your orgasm..

We are the apocalypse, the
fires of Hell escaping our

Heaven waits on the edge,
dangling our sins, praying
to be YOURS, but I
never was, I was the
demon that reminded you of

Night bellows, your eyes follow
a angel, kneeling, wings giving
up, and so life washes
red, we swallow, our last,
the Cross has risen…



Strum my delicate silence,
fingers rush to heighten
my notes, pull them from
my mouth to taste lovely
on the etches of your
soul, your fortune told….

Red  flows, willows
to and fro, waters on milky
thighs, a candy confetti…

I listen to breath, windy
against my ear, smile escaping,
as French travels my Southern
delicacies, sipping jasmine….

Poised, I dip in song, tips move
inside the walls of music, saturating,
finding my sweet spot to nibble, drizzling
on mounds of warmth…

Opening, closing, repeat the insatiable

I become symmetrical as you create a
new ballad on my veins, cords of complete
obedience of my undoing…..


I colored the rainbow today,
too many shadows lingering,
wanting to play on the skips
of children….

Many facets I hold, shades
of secret places to corner,
to play with darkness.

Grey plays peek-a-boo
on a bruise refusing to
come out and paint innocence.

Even crayons can create monsters,
in young imaginations..

Playing in my head, psychotic delusions,
all to keep the voices smiling, to
find escape in insanity.

I am never to be understood in a world
of black and white, so I stay in my hue
and sing silently to the dead, muted in

“Love is like the wind, you can’t see it but you can feel it.”
Nicholas Sparks, A Walk to Remember
Children’s eyes on the others
soul, who was to know
what was to be foretold…

Love formed on the tips
of bible verses, Southern tongues,
rebellion, pushed into praying hands…

God had a twisted sense
of humor playing match maker.

Who was to say it
was Gonna be Love.
We play at pretend, the
only price, not to fall
in love with me.
I cannot be your secret.

A kiss that bonded, the
Heavens smiled
as destiny was sealed.

Death reared it’s ugly head,
yet Fate won, and you
were my only hope.

I’m in two places at
once, and a butterfly on
my shoulder with your breath
that placed it there.

The stars and planets have
aligned, and so I am
learning to breathe…

A dark secret steals the
show, but maybe, God had
another plan.

A chapel perched under mothers
eyes, united under the white
of a veil for love
is always patient and kind.

A angels lips were sealed
forever, yet lays like the
wind, you can’t see
it, but you can feel

A miracle was granted in
deaths final embrace…

*This poem was inspired by the famous
movie A Walk to Remember, which is one of
my favorite movies. I used quotes and names
of songs, and of course, movie facts to write
this piece. This movie truly moves me every time
I watch it*


Laced delicate, the warmth of sun flows,
shadowing my flaws, smiles seep over
delectable risen virgins as all eyes
are upon me…

Slowly I parade, tips of fingertips
in a curtsey, the illusion flirting..

Silhouettes play on flesh, creating their
own morbid story….

Closer still you will never be, as
your senses rake over me, blood
and bone, dissecting every part of

Not a drop found to lick upon
your lips, as my dew stays snug
glittering like diamonds, blinding
Heaven, mistaken for eternity…

My door passes, opened, but you never
enter, trapped on my pedestal, dangled
on feet, perfect place for my foot steps…

Foreboding wisps arch seductively
against breath, rushing to take
shape in ominous tales…

Cloaked and toppled, shadows
even cower as foot fall echos
on cobblestone, stained teeth
forced to watch the immoral…

Sinister tears cascade, strained
to taste malevolent, only to die
upon their first crush…

Bodies protrude, bony, dismal,
reaching for the bliss that never

Phantasm spooks around ankles,
creating figure eight, dancing to inhabit
nightfall, fleetingly frightening with
a smile.

Crystals hang, your reflection
never revealing….

Cold veins searching for warmth
in immaculate corpses that stalk
to disorganize organs in such a
untimely fashion.

The dead lay as night wakes,
an invocation read, closed
and forgotten…
Lips blow, and so they follow….

Eyes dance dark on pupils
that want to consume..

Your shadow devours me,
inch by slow inch onyx
jewels me.

Your fingers trap my hair, and
insatiably, I become your captive…

Body pressed, and you take my
mouth into yours, absorbing me…

We splash into each other like
a storm, crashing to only restore

You breathe into me, and so we become
the downpour….

My teeth bite lips that sink into flesh,
we growl at each others demise.

I feel your temple against my velvet
breath as it teases your musical note.

You play celestially on my nudes,
creating water colors as I rain open,
unashamed as to what you do to me…

On bended knee you worship, rainbows
flooding you as legs wrap, as I stain

You surge, ascending, entering my
teary veil, snaring us both.

In a frenzy you split me, screaming I
take all of you, bruised, hued on your

Released on eternal rest we fall
on prism falls….

social underground



A Student Literary Journal

hands in the garden

Indigo radio free listening, thinking, breathing space.

Diary of a Psychokiller

take a trip with me to the darkside


Rippling Juices Of The Bright Eyes


Thoughts on an ever-evolving life

Darkland Poetry

Writings from Rachel Firmin


. . .can you imagine?

During the days in which I choose to conform, I do so with a specific feeling in mind that I want to achieve. A sort of climax that I aim to reach. A feeling effortlessly maintained between the ages of 6-9 and again between the ages of 13-15, when being a girl was simply one of the numerous ways of being.


Where bad things make you feel good...


Views of a Dandelion Girl

Tshombe Sekou

Poetics & Rumens


Paranormal Author, Artist & Empath. Follow Sheila on Twitter, Facebook & Instagram! @sheilareneeparker