The poetry of my life.

I use poetry to help me heal by processing events and emotions. I’d like to start sharing it, but I’m not sure the content is suitable for most poetry forums. so I’m posting it here, as it is a safe place for people like me.

An all-consuming desire,
a rage bubbling deep within,
a need- twisted and contorted though it may be-
needs to be fulfilled.
to be set free.

with an ancient elegance, a cunning
that exceeds the silver fox’s,
with eyes of the playful devil- its unlocked

snapping her neck with a skilful stroke,
feeding snakes between her lips
flicking on the switch that brings her
back in to the warped fantasy that is his.

a body that trembles with cold and excite,
the needs of a slut, in her, they ignite.
gentle touch of herculean might
the smoke curls upwards
through the dingy light

oh, innocent lamb so cruelly mislead,
your Sheppard’s not here,
he’s almost dead.
surrender young girl to this man of regret.

as he grabs at you waist, hear that
feral growl. the goosebumps that raise
as his hand slithers down
from grasping your neck they wind themselves
around your scarred and rotten flesh.

that reek of singed hair-
that burning need. that chill
from the oak table on which you lean.

with age comes experience,
a developed expert touch,
to make her submissive to each flick and thrust.

with fingers like anchors, on her back
he will dredge, forcing her body to
arc and throw back her head.
as her hair tumbles down, it
reveals her neck.

thirsty for blood he bites at his prey,
twisting the corpse in his rough
manly play.

lost in a dream and surrendered to fate
the girl is abandoned, too weak to fight.

the ghost of the hands
and the flesh lumps entwined,
the puppeteers mask is left on the side.

a chancing encounter,
one that cannot be planned.
where the demons of torture
all meet and unite-
cover her now in the depths of the night