Catatonic Hallucinations

[FireKitten18]

awesome poetry, much better then i would ever be able to do. ( i have tried ...)
put up which ever poem, you think is your best.  

[alical]

Yeah excellent. I love it.
"Laughter is my suicide pill" sounds cool, I'd like to see that.

[darkphantomime]

Here it is, enjoy my suicidal thoughts...


Laughter is my suicide pill         5-31-05

Everyday, when all the others come
To play, and feel the things
Within them, just to be
They laugh, they cry
Upon fallen beds
The mimes' silent cry
yet to speak through continuous whispers
But it is that laugh
That comes from a shadow
Balls of fallen light
From logs burned away

The ashes come and consume
Out of the blaze
Into shadows
Or are they simply water?
just when I feel it all coming, stripping away
Leaping higher, higher
Through an insane comedy
Between the fallen shadow and moving forms
They laugh, tilt and fall to eternal decay
Because the pill of smoke and water
Laughter that fell away
between a fallen moon
Marbles that sit on my desk
Yet to break when dropped unto a harder floor
So this is the way everything ends:
With laughter and beautiful suicide
At a darkened door.

Where smoke and mirrors transcend to
Optical illusions that you are so afraid
Do you see those puppets as they laugh?
Do you see them as everything on liquid smoke, fades away
I feel so dizzy
Yet I have a smile
Darker, covered in shadow
Pealed away by neon lights
The moon is only a hallucination
Because I see it laughing and
Calling away
If I just find a twisted thing,
Maybe I can untwist,
Yet to cry from a weeping mime
It is laughter
And death the end of the insane time.

Do you hear the pianos?
While I fall away in my spell
Captured, then fallen,
Shattered like a fallen, broken sphere bell
Watch and see
How the water falls out
Red water that glows faintly
While neon lights of strobe
Collect and cover in a flashing scream.
They laugh, because laughter
Is the train that takes away
All of my fallen pain.

And yet to feel my body go numb
My face frozen in a twisted mask
Choke and breathe in a calmer manner
Drink away the world,
And with a hallucinating moon,
Laugh and numb all the beautiful pain
Like cyanide when you can't breathe it is just water
Water that drowns out my screams.

Like a fallen ribbon,
There it goes
See the wind play with its noose?
And the faces you claimed to love
Frozen in a colder glance
They are nothing
When as you see them
Poison my mind,
But were they the one thing
That could release my soul?
Watch them cry, marble glass like teats
In frozen spheres
Look at them cold upon my rising bed
Under the shrouds of
white holocaust
And time, melting away

How the elegies
I keep hearing them
As they calm me in a tainted hour
Do you smell something strange?
Maybe it is the blood
That seeps from my frozen face?

[Hi no Seijin]

Don't stop writing man.  You should get these published.

[darkphantomime]

I wish I could, but it's hard to  find anywhere to get them published. I live in a really poor and small county. Sucks being me when I'm so talented...

[darkphantomime]

And here it is, not a poem, but a short story, posted on ZV's request.


The Devil and the Thorazine addict

   I am not who you think I am, but in here, where everything seems in it's own altered perspective, a strange sight. I am a witness to something that may either horrify you or force you into a psych ward with a continuous Thorazine drip.
   Under the same odd circumstances, of strange parody, it can be said that when we go in the wood, that which transpires within, is nothing more than an hallucination. I had gone into this wood, searching for oftly named skulls of the red Indian. How, under more subtler circumstances can we believe, the existence of those beyond our realm of perception.
   The wood was full, filled as with a swamp of ancient trees that existed even before the advent of man. The same sound and sight of loathsome beauty is enough to perceive inside something greater.
   "Why are you talking to yourself like that?"
   "Who the devil said that?" said I.
   "We are the Knights who say 'NI'!" responded the voice.
   "Get out of here, go back to England, you merry git! THIS IS MY STORY, you freaks of the Holy Grail!" Chastised I.
   "Oh, OK, Ni Ni Ni,"
   "And stop with that stupid annoying sound,"
   The voice disappeared, fading with a reclusive repetition of 'NI',
   Another voice, this one with a darker undertone comes,  "My lad, it was quite rude how you treated those poor fools."
   "What the heck!? Darn it, don't sneak up on me like that!
   "Aren't you going to ask me who I am?" replied the voice,
   "hmm, nope, you are either a) a figment of my imagination, or B) something someone else imagined."
   "If I am the latter, then you'll probably be sued for copyright infringement, just for including the Knights of Ni." Responded the nameless entity, "I am the one who lurks in these woods, I go by many names, I am the wild huntsman, in other locals, I am known as 'The Black miner', and here, I am the 'black woodsman'," continued the entity, "I amuse myself by presiding at the persecution of Wuakers and Anabaptists, I am the great patron and prompter of slave dealersm and the grand master of the Salem witches." Finished the entity.
   "Oh, so that must make you a PIMP! OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!" screeched I.
   "No, No, stop, stop, I am not a foresaler of bawds or whores, that's my cousin, AKA Father Spanker." Responded the entity.
   "So, is it ok if I call you Homer Simpson?" asked I
   "Oh, if I'm as fat and stupid as him, in your world, be my guest." Responded him.
   "What the devil are you doing here, Homer?"
   "D'oh, don't say that name, do you wanna get sued?" said 'Homer'
   "What, oh, this name, D-E-V-I-L?"
   "Now shut up and listen. I have a little something to offer you, you can have anything you want, but in return, all I ask of you is service after some time."
   "Okay, soooooo, can I have that apron full of silverware?" inquired I.
   "Nope, mine... it took a nasty price to get this little pot bellied piggy." Answered Homer, "But you can have any other thing you desire."
   "Oh, in that case, can I have an endless supply of Thorazine? I need to feel happy, and get some sleep from this insomnia," responded I,
   "Just carve your name on that tree thither, and twill be done, anything else?"
   "Oh, hmmmm, Acid-filled doughnuts." Moaned erratically, did I.
   "Done, have a nice trip," responded Homer.
   Homer disappears.
   "Hey, where the heck did that dude go? Oh, well, I got my acid and Thorazine, now for a feast!"
      A Strange dream comes

   There are faces everywhere, voices everywhere. Amd who, in saying,   be there anyone with the notion of life? The demon haunts, and torpid through all the sights of drunken boats, there it floats. And the sleep of terror, who coming, through all the stones, muttering dimly and lowly. Nowhere, with the woods, a haunting movement, there seem to be small people.. Those who wander, entering, from the life of homer, to remake the larger things, until the crying in the wood subsides into a shallow whimper... where mushrooms seem infinitely giant, and the trees seem too small to either t touch or tread.

   There, then, when I awoke from my drug-induced stupor, I notice this sensation, that while I feel, my face is frozen in an empty grin.
   While moving, and trying to dilllude the self-amusement, I notice the return of the fat one called "Homer".
   "So, how goes the game of disillusionment?" he asked.
   "So this is the wood or is still a dream?" muttered I.
   "is it I that bargain with yu in such direlect forms? No, it is you... but I wonder, by the image of the darker clowns, drunken and sad under their masks, do you still care?" Asked the image of Homer.
   "Vile wretch," said I, "You are the demon of this wood, aren't you?"
   "I told you, by these terms, you ask for this and I give you life, but whether the smile upon your face will come or go by your will, is all left to the bidding of one's giving," Replied he.
   I hear a laughter in the wood, the laughter that I thought his own, had I been hearing this voice of parody differing with the voice of reason for so long? Then under the same circumstances, trying to feel the happiness of a dream, I dillude myself into the latter ether, and there, under the stairs of the clocks and leaves, do I believe I see... hours fly and horses gather in the night. If I am as he says, then this is not real.
   "Ho, where'd that demon go?" uttered I.
   "I talk to myself too long, under this adaption of night and sunless dreams, this is the play of the devil's parody, isn't it?" said I to no one, save the demons of the drug.
   In my fortitude of meditation, I had scarcely noticed that a scene was playing before me, however twisted and inept the image was.
   "By the fey feeling of the wood and the oblivion of the drink." Said a voice.
    My nerves had been shot, because the voice I had thought I heard had been without an apparition, at least on this occaision. The voice itself seemed oddly distorted in the frozen atmosphere.
   "There are trees and the hacking be good for our warmth." Said the voice to no one, "Here, the names are carved within the bed, and over here, he he hehe, we'll be doing our chopping."
   I had not realized, and it is now, out of the greater moment of shock had I transfigured my logic to believe that the devil had now taken my name, my identity as one of his many. Because the woodsman who was now conversing to no one in front of me, obviously could not see me, or feigning identity, he simply was ignorant. I prayed for the former event to be true.
   The new woodsman brought out his axe, and scarce to my amazement did he begin to chop down the very tree on which I had inscribed my name. It is under these circumstances did I at once notice the reparation of the one I had called Homer.
   "Lo, here, how do you, eater of the poison doughnuts?" said he.
   "The woods talk to chop down their own, do they?" asked I
   "heheheheh, I am the demon of this wood, and now, ha ha hahaha, here with the felling of this tree, your dependence on Thorazine will become absolute, for it is here, you will lose all recognition of sanity," said he.
   "No, No, No, please," screeched I,
   "Too late, the horse is already here, now you will be taken into the deeper regions of this fell wood, and there to stay."
   And it is at this point where my body disappeared into the ether, and the rabid horse came to bear me away. Now you see, brother, why I haunt these woods, in such states of paranoia? For I am the schizophrenic of the malame.


Please comment on this, why don't you?

[Zelda Veteran]

lmao! That was actuallykinda funny! I understoof maybe a quarter of it.

[Hi no Seijin]

I'm sort of reminded of Edgar Allen Poe.  Very good.

[darkphantomime]

I'm sort of reminded of Edgar Allen Poe.  Very good.

Your not far from the truth, Hino. I actually wrote this as a satire for english class last year. I wrote a dark satire, it was supposed to be a satire on "The Devil and Tom something" By Washington Irving, I think. It's style is quite similar to Nathaniel Hawthorne and EA Poe.

[Jack]

Wow, amazing, crazy stuff DP! I especially like this part of your first poem:

When one's face turns
Into a mask,
Eyes unblinking, sight, unstaring

Really wonderful stuff. Want me to publish this at the library?

Also have you tried getting published at one of the teenager writing magazines, like Teen Ink? Have you shown these to your English teacher, perhaps? Maybe he/she can help you get published somewhere.

[darkphantomime]

Oh, I have shared them with my teachers. But they haven't really recommended any place to publish them. I once sent a poem to poetry.com, don't try that, they'll scam you. I sent a really good poem, they said it was good and sent me an invitation to an awards thingy, and they were tryign to rip me off, cause it costed thousands of dollars to go, damn them...

But I haven't tried any magazines, not sure if they would really fit in, because my poems have a really developped style. I guess you could put in the library if you'd like.

[KR0N]

Your poems are really good. I like them. Better than anything I've ever written. I especially like "Autumn mourning"

[darkphantomime]

And now another poem in our defunct series

YOU PEOPLE NEED TO POST MORE!

Anyway, this one is very freaky and fast, so imagine a guy chanting, and you'll understand how creepy it is.

Kaleidoscope: Translucid Holocaust

Watch and stare endlessly
Numbingly emptily
At the windows, lowly, freakishly
Where certain fabrics,
Like endless curtains melting into misdirection,
Everywhere, nowhere
And every shout from an opened mouth
Closing quietly

My mouth is open,
Then it closes,
Gaping listlessly at every fear
And how the blood transpires from this pale cheek
Of forgotten airs without fears of lust
Beating, silently like a light
Like giant eyes gaping over there endlessly
Watching staring without a feeling,
Where all the eyes surrounding become unmoving
Like when the cold freezes the blood
The pupils dilate endlessly.

Everywhere there seems to be a cloud
Dimming, faster freakishly
At darkened doors
While staring at the black blankishly
Where lonely lights along the street
Seem to gape and consume
Giant eyes disproportionate to each other
And everywhere, lighting falls
All the balls seem to grow bigger
With each passing hour
Staring endlessly at a window
Where fallen balls of silk
Seem to merge endlessly
Neon globes, watching
From paler stones floating
With darker endless chants
And the giant mouths seem to swallow
Every drop of red ether
Appearing from the phantasmic gourds

The nose is a larger thing
When it inhales itself
Bleeding the ether of dried foam
Palish grey,
Until you see, all those faces
Of modern parody
Drifting out and around
Like the moon ante-twilight
Bleeding from the form
Of each transpiring undertone
Walls of chrome, endless bones
At each of the half domes
Watching, staring, another eye
Seems to come, then to go
Across each of the faces froze
Like laughter when nausea
Freezes and makes numb the wider currents
With every cyclopical breed
Everywhere, nowhere
Across the frozen seas
There it rolls
Endlessly
And silence of the prospecting maven
Enshrouded by pale holocausts
Ashen film of the burning grey
It comes like an ethereal fog
Like seeing echoes
After you drink the tea in the cold, frozen dark rooms
Across the street,
Like the blood that falls against the pavement
Others staring endlessly, blankishly
Like the floating of the grey puffs,
And your cheeks and hands
seem to be openly cut in the rain.

And everywhere
I see an eye
Staring back emptily
In the windows and the glass
When it stares like petrified glass
And from every paranoid (dis)appearing star
I wonder if they can see what it's like
When the glass is cold
And the frozen cobblestones
Seem to stab back vengefully


Very freaky ain't it?

[alical]

Yep.
Vair good.

[darkphantomime]

Now this is for Alex, hope she enjoys my crazy way of presenting dreams...

Makers from wooden voices      3-31-05

Lo! Tis a ball of rusted eaves
Where they feel
Mirror falls to all this sight
Of age, before they could see in themselves
How, with so much a thought,
To give as though, they could remember,
though in sorrow, still walking away
they try to forget.

Carefully tread and see,
Illusions of the soul,
Even when it runs like faded dreams
Reflected in these mirrors
But to ask,
"At what age did I live,
at what age did I see?"
in purest wish, only to dream
once In summer, next in fall
to feel the warmth where I rose
and shadow, fading shadow where they
could live, all dreams, but horror still
upon nightly seams.

The bodies moved,
Tilted and reveled to wooden strings
Parts in shadow, glowing light
But to lie away,
Lie awake in standing near the
Trying  once, aging in to dust
How once turned, like spiders
That float among immortal trees
And to come forth,
Like water from wooden strings.

Were, that could be
Upon this glowing sensing voice
Once heard
Marches forth, from crawling, walking,
standing shapes
And fallen,
wiped away by silent winds.
Turned and revolved away
Light, shadowy glows
in mirrors, that could see
Rusted and moving forth
Then falling in irreversible decay

Never resting, though sleeping lie
From faded purple flower
Rustle forth from halls of silence
Then standing, rising
Into the solitude of rain
Tears, decrepit tears in grey shadow
Just to wait for the fairer red
Fairer days, when all things that came forth
From rising bud to greyer
and bleaker tombs.

In quiet, scenting nocturne
From candles holy seeped
A thousand memories of younger brighter days
And to stand clear in careful, prickling flesh
Mind and spirits
Just as mimes and mirrors wait,
Dawn in frosts that could
Both heal and shatter
in crystalline form.

In careful grains
Harvested in late,
Sown in earliness
Of brown, rylling, fading green
How like morning birds
Mourning winds
Seep from unquiet waiting
Tombs,
In shadows, mirrors come and dance across
Then from shapes unnamed of
Rising moons and fallen earth
In lying, dust
Do they remember?
Just enough, the flesh, life
That in spring's early light
In wait, so they can believe
That they were never forgotten
From dusts creeping
From strings trembling
In waters do their voices
Yearn to be heard again
In quiet morning mists, to wait, wait.


Now if someone would actually help me  make this topic more popular...