Category Archives: dark poetry

Tears

Don’t be worried when I shed tears. Be worried when I stop.
When I shed tears, it means I’m dealing with it like a man should. when I stop it means my system is broken, it can shut down any minute.
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Scripted Anew

chained
Forget about pain and pleasure
Forget about right and wrong
I know no difference
I haven’t had both
It’s like destiny is one hell of a monstrous dictator
Who chains and tortures his subjects
Till they grow numb; to pain or pleasure or affection
I have been here too long
And though it can’t pass for a home
It is all I know
So I’ll write some more
About chains
Fastened on anchor and cast in the sea depths
About life in apathy and lungs lifting chests for that gulp of air
About deafness of friends
And blindness of family
About emptiness within
About lies I’ve told to prove I’m just alright
Today I’ll change the script
I’ll write my own
Riddled with bitter truths
For he who needs direction
Must tell of his true destination
I’m broken, Lord, fix me
I’m lost, please find me
I’m worthless, create me anew
I’m lonely, be a friend

Bruises and clots

We will fight again tonight
Like we always do when liquor fills the receptacles of our souls
My spirits will be on vacation
With reason and gentleness as escorts
The love we’ve been weeding all these years will melt into blood under fumes of fury

Whose blood will it be?
I pray it be mine
The kitchen floor hasn’t regained its lustre
No more pints for you

I also pray the neighbours will mind our business
Save you from me
And me from the law
I hate fights
But I love make-up sex

I love how we grow tender with each other
Even before the bandages leave our wounds
In the midst of it all; the blood, the swearing, curses and regrets, remember I love you

In my own strange way

I love your sad moments and your happy days too
I love your torn lips, your bruised face, bloodshot eyes
I love your limping feet
For in these moments of darknes
When beauty vacates
Kindness grows
Generosity takes root
And we love more than the promise our looks sculpted

We will fight tonight baby
Let’s fight even harder tommorow for what shall remain of ourselves

I’ve Found Home

profile pic
I’m not okay, but it’s all fine. I’m not okay but don’t tell me I’ll be fine.
I am broken, and I’m not asking you to mend me, just to help me find the part of me I lost. You’re the candle to illuminate my darkest hours.
Even a crooked stick can draw straight lines; it all depends on the hand that holds it.
Fireflies trek my mind no more, the poison within killed the antidote now my mind is a mouldy can of dead worms.
But this stench is all I know. This darkness is all I am.
You say depression is a creation of losers who’ll blame everything but themselves for their weaknesses.
You say depression a loser’s mind-set.
But you can’t judge a man until you’ve walked a mile in his moccasins.
Don’t tell me the cloud will be up for a while; you know nothing about missing the sun even when it shines.
Shoulders drooped in humiliation,
Tears streaked visage,
Backs bent with guilt,
Eyes frozen with fear,
You know nothing about the life I live
The battles I fight
The haunting past
A future I dread
You know nothing about the breathes that choke
So bask in the comfort of your privileges
And leave me alone
Yes, I said leave me alone
I’ve found home in this darkness

Hunger bites

Hunger bites
My empty-bellied wallet stares at me
My eyes hello back with deeper hollowness

Phones are dead
My uncle says,
Not today

I pick my journal
235 dollars in receivables
But no one has a dime

A friend says
You’ll get through it
Faith without action?

Find me in the morgue!

What’s in the kitchen cabinet?
Floor, sugar, ketchup, and salt
Can’t I make tea?
No, no tea leaves!

But hunger still bites
I call someone
She says I’m a spendthrift!

So I boil water
And take a warm bath
I’m clean in my hunger

Guilty Victims

Papa today I saw him
The man who snatched life me
He’s free papa
And his health is getting better
Papa, he fed on my blood
My virgin blood!
And drank my tears
He owns my flesh
Every inch my breasts grow
My fears swell
Will it arouse them?
Will it tell them I want it?
I saw him, and the memories surfaced
My mind popped open, and worms crawled out
There’s nothing left in this skull
But memories of torture and pain
All rotten
The smell won’t let me eat
The guilt won’t let me sleep
Don’t lie to me papa
I’m guilty
Wasn’t he right to pluck the flower of my childhood?
Wasn’t I meant to please the desire of men?
Papa, I’m guilty of fighting him
Guilty of reporting him
Guilty of damaging his reputation
I’m eating my flesh away
Or did I get sick?
Papa life has no meaning
Don’t you have death on speed dial?

Lonely

Loneliness eats my confidence
Bite after bite
I reminisce the fulfilling times
I had with me
The journey in my house
Eyes closed
Mind loose
Traversing beyond boundaries
Mysteries demystified
Under carpets swept
And cobwebs removed from
Dark corners of my mind
I remember the empty stages
Epic performance
Just me Marley and me
Now the veil is torn
Normalcy is boring stiff
And loneliness won’t let me be!

The End

Yearnings unfilled
Hollows me
The crowd cheers on
Laughter deluge my cries
And none saw
The silence, the tension
The dying embers
The shredding of life
I walked home dead
Suicide note wasn’t found
Dem hypocrites cried
Distant relatives became close
To mock me
Wasn’t it stupid?
They ask
Couldn’t he talk?
When nobody heard when I called
Nobody pulled my hand
As currents swept me under

Bad Ones

There comes a times when all you do backfires on you
When she keeps mum and hurts
And still blames you for not knowing her problem
When your hi sounds bye
And your laughter mocks her
And your love just hangs there
Waiting for her to be the girl you knew
And she drops you an sms
” you can never make me happy”
And you feel your balls melting under the weight of self-loathe
Your heart doesn’t respond, it’s dried
The only proof that it lives on is the fact that you’re still alive
Your patience reserve isn’t rich
But you try to give her space
And pray, that you will change
For you’re always the bad one

😒😒A Letter to the Living Dead😒😒

I have written before
But, I will write some more
My letters do reach you and I hope you’ll answer

My dearest husband, this isn’t the life we dreamt of, and that doesn’t cause me pain. What hurts me is that you created us and broke us when you sighted a virtual petite half your age.
I now live in permanent fear because I dread the question, what will I tell them when they begin asking about you?
Should I lie?

Or do I just make it clear that my thighs weren’t warm enough to bring you home? Will these children understand? Because I have seen the question in their eyes, it just remains unspoken.

Forgive me for not beginning with a greeting of any kind, for 9 years are too long and a lot have changed in this life and so are my priorities. This is a microwave age, you hit the spot, no dilly-dallying. Plus, wouldn’t greeting you unearth the beautiful memories I’ve buried in our backyard?

I don’t want to remember you, at least as the man I married. These memories are razors too sharp to cut, so they burn: all the dreams of our children, all the promises we made to them in the hospital, and all the longings of my heart for the man you were before short skirts short wired your brain.

I had seen it coming, the siren was loud enough to awaken the dead but it wasn’t loud enough to enlighten a fool in love. The nights were lonely and sleep was elusive, the nights you locked yourself in your study and wore your thick glasses and began your lessons, only for sexual noises to flood my room hours later.

And I would hear you unlocking the bedroom door and slink into my sheets, you’d spend the night moaning strange names and shit talking. It might have taken long but I knew the internet woman had taken my place in your loins.

And I hoped, prayed, and wrote letters to heaven to give me my husband back, but all the while you had gotten used to flawless thighs the world had to offer, albeit virtually.
I wasn’t a woman enough to satisfy your sexual needs, but d’you mean to say a motion picture is warmer than me? It would be different if you cheated with a living female, but I swallowed my pride and prayed some more for things to change.

Every night as I tucked my children, I hugged them tighter, and in every hug was a whispered prayer that they might have a taste of the man I married. The loving husband, the caring father and the foundation of our home but you were too busy making love to your virtual women to chorus the Hail Mary refrain.

The morning you left, I cried. It seemed like any other day but my intuition told me otherwise, deep down I knew there was no conference, but I still waited for the two weeks to elapse in the belief that you couldn’t desert your children. It’s now 9 years and the conference isn’t over yet.

I have heard rumours, of sworn affidavits and changed names. I have also heard rumours of short skirts and young women and late night diners, I was happy when I heard the latter for I knew you were learning to be a man again.

Just so you know, I haven’t been idle, shoot, I’ve got children to feed and school and though we were thrown into the streets like wild dogs, heavens opened its gates and ushered us in. I now have a job, my children are learning with white kids, perhaps they’re taught how to be men.

But wait?

Isn’t that ironical? That the same whites who taught my husband how not to be a man can teach my kids how to be men? I think I need a new school.

Certainly, I didn’t write this letter to tell you all this, what I want is simple. Meet your kids. Give them a chance of knowing how not to be a father.

Don’t ask how I got your address, I changed my name too. And it’s a small world. I’m so sorry I couldn’t approve your tender, my corporation only works with real humans. 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂
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