Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

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“If I had a Suicide Letter”

By Horror Novelist, Daton L. Fluker
http://twitter.com/datonflukers

To my beloved Friends:
I touched the panther on its shoulder. At first the cat was quiet and calculative. When I did it again, she ate me alive.
“When will I dream again?”
NEVER.
“How can I pull myself back-up?”
NEVER.
“How can I stand if you are not on my side?”
WITH HIDDEN STRENGTH…
My love, what else would you like me to do? Put a sword through my heart and video tape it?
(more…)

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“How Degradation kills Love”
written by Daton L. Fluker
http://twitter.com/datonflukers

Hate me my beauty, and I will hate you. Forever is forever.
People stop loving you after a while. That’s what hurts the most.
Those who do nothing shall witness a kingdom rise.
Those who stay shall progress.
Those who leave shall be lost and buried under innovation.
Darkness came after love left.
It was the beginning and the ending. Our shadows are the only thing that sustains truth after all.
They become meek. They say “the balloon blows away hard. You’ll explode just to be touched.”
But no one ever comes to help with your sensual desires.
The 2014 man says “I did not want to comfort her.
When I needed beauty to comfort me she left me cold.
Leave I say! Then I did not need beauty anymore.”
Things that are torn ain’t dead nor worn.
Sow it with needles and mend it with patches, open your dreams and break the latches.
When I was ready for her, beauty was lost.
“You are not ready for me” she said.
Buildings ash in flames, dead bodies powder the streets.
“I love my country.”
A phrase that can destroy an entire epic era if what you state is not true.
Maybe you are too commensurable to be loved.
Baby, no one can love you if you believe that you are too exquisite to be taking serious.
The fire that expands through your body when someone touches you, how can you delete that from your essence, from your existence?
I’m weak, but my friend, love is free. So is meat. Nightmares shine on me. I burn in heat. I go forward for I am beast.
I call out to her. The dark one is better seen in flashing lights. Once nightmares are gone, only the final hour exist.
And who am I to say I love you, to say I care. I am nothing. I’m only the muse. I’m a horror novelist with no ability to control my feelings.
How can I adore something so precious and beautiful when I have a mind full of darkness, treachery and hatred. I’m not suppose to, but I love you.
I am strong, but yet I am weak. I cried when you said, “No you can’t love me.”
I’ll become a freak. I promise you, I will never feel again.
It’s right, I speak the truth. I’m rotten because I’m outspoken.
I can make tears fall from your pretty eyes baby-doll because I am corruption.
Your heart divides in pieces. Baby, there’s no way to fill an empty fuel tank after there’s no more stations. Degradation is how it broke.

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Dedicated to the lovely Tori Lamour

Tori Lamour Twitter
http://twitter.com/ToriLamour

Home Page
http://www.torilamour.com

The Soulless shall Love Again
Written by Daton L. Fluker

Daton’s Twitter
http://twitter.com/datonflukers

I know it’s real, serious, and that you are extremly beautiful, darker than anything I’ve ever seen.
What do we say to beautiful when the night says that your majesty is dark, lustful, even got damn nasty?
They are tedious. Yes, they are serious. That’s why she looks at you the way she does.
Monsters call us.
My dear, I am not an evil person. Those names you called me hurt. I’m a horror novelist, not an evil worshiper.
But you believe that we are the soulless.
Oh, the things I’d do to her in the dark. I’ve seen her in the light. She’s more than welcome to the pleasure she anticipates.
When angels go to bed she forgets us when we close our forever eyes.
Nightmare women abstract kindness into our affliction. When rain comes, a shadow of hatred puddles over our sweet Earth.
Every minute it changes, breaks, lumps, and bleeds in cracks.
What am I?
I gave you my heart love, not thy tongue. I speak through my flesh. I write through thy bone, not thy fingers.
What am I?
When the sun rises. We dream under Mother Nature’s tall vegetation. She tells us to follow the brightest star. Follow the North Star.
Thy should understand thy wrath of their actions. I speak faithfully. Didn’t my tongue get cut out?
You asked, “why do I write dark words?”
Beautiful women fancy sexual positions with my tongue. I’m a sinner. I’m cursed to be a muse. I am darkness, and I am light.
You are told to see her like this because you worship her that way. You gave her your soul.
Does she hear our sniffles? Tears roll down their tearducts.
We are not afraid to speak our hearts. That’s what makes us human.
If we can’t speak then we sleep in our own hell.
My razor heart stuns with warts. Sequels made with dreams never won parts.
No blood is on my tongue; for the night is unsaid, and we conceive thy soulless love.

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Little Worth written by Daton L. Fluker on August 31, 2010.

Dedicated to Freddie Mercury.

What is this thing that builds and inventiveness but then diminishes away?

Pinus palustris needles bewilders in the forest.

And sadness and hate builds inside the long leaf pine tree.

Life bothers the needles of the tree.

The wind blows green with darken hate.

The ground finds a place for Earth to recap itself.

So does the foundation of life find a way to weld a new garden.

God, I beg you to forgive Adam and Eve and let us venture our souls again.

It’s that one moment that is very sweet to most, but still brutally miserable for others.

Sisters and brothers dream in our garden.

Mothers bear fruit, and the tree of life moves on butchering us fruitfully.

Catch my tears with your rag.

Tape my wounds and whip my ass.

A thousand forever’s forgotten; most are remembered but all is lost.

The most valuable things are given by time.

A kiss a touch and even a smell is given by time.

Appetites grow uncountable.

Greed penetrates kayos.

Art is now captured and not canvassed.

Time tortures dreams but inevitably destroys us.

Nothing is certain not even a perennial source of water.

The emulation to survive has taking away valuable time.

Is this sadness are a regrettable remembrance of forever?

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Covenantally written by Daton L. Fluker

Dedicated to Lzzy Hale
and Alecia Beth Moore -Pink

We can’t fully understand civilization. When the shadows call, we come running. When the light calls, we hide in its shadows.
To my beautiful world. We should stand, and not understand. We are, we were, and we will be great.
That’s all I need is Mother Nature. When I see her, all the pain goes away. I’ll die happy. I’ll die with love in my heart.
That’s how dark poetry was created. Silhouettes dance on pink walls. An eyeball is amazed by silent music hailing the shadows.
I don’t know everything; I’m a star. I’m broken. I’m not beautiful. But, I know my words can make tears fall down your lovely tear-ducts.
I can play with you my dear. I love beautiful. And I adore ugly. I can love all.
And I will be, even if you don’t believe I am.
God’s Darkness told me that you will love me. That’s why I am.
I will only except more. I’ll never except less! MOIETITY I’ll never except you. You S.O.B! Never!
My nightmare tantrum, “who will stop me?” Me.
“Who will break me?” Me.
“Who will keep me full of energy and passion?” My dear friend, you.
Tears bleed through my heart. Isn’t intelligence given by time, and not by birth? What if a dog doesn’t bow anymore, is it still a dog?
Hatred guides us to glaciers when dark clouds loses their medium of fire. Who cares about bivalence when our soul flies when we’re free?
I told you that you’re beautiful. But, her wrist shatters when her arm breaks the coffee table because of her nightmare sneezes. Her dark hour.
I’ll eat your cookie out baby-doll. Who changes sexual favors given freely for love? As her wrist shatters, my heart breaks.
I dance on the edge. I’m sorry my chest burns with holes. They bleed with sorrow. Who can love me? Who understands my poetic tongue?
I’ve defeated myself because I’ll bow down to her; I will. So the dog is not a dog when it stops bowing its head; it’s haunting the haunted.
Her kisses curve my head. Painted on shelves and burning in fireplaces her touch mildews. She said, “ignore me and when you do see this you’ll cry hard.”
I’m not a poet – “Ha, ha, ha.” I’m just a man. We drew silhouettes on our skin in the darkness. We drank like fish and we made dirty lustful love.
I wanted you to see me naked and on hard. I shall kiss you under jet streams. My words did not speak to you fool. My heart did.
She left me riding on a rocket. Nightmare creatures dance filthy in their borrows as a muse stays hidden in his cave until his dark hour.
Covenantally.

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