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Their ceaseless hate burned
Our souls beyond recognition,
Let us bewail and bury these
Charred chunks to the garden
Where smothered hopes
And broken dreams lay,
Forever decaying.

May our seeds of despair
Grow into the flowers
Like the ones standing there,
Forgotten and withered,
As we were never allowed
To bloom under this dead,
Old frozen sun.

The only thing left of us
Are our ill-fated remains,
Emaciated hands reaching
For a polluted sky they yearned,
Here we shall stay and rot,
Thrown away from the world
That never wanted us.

visibility198

Garden Of Rot by family_staralternate_emailKurjin

posted last year, edited last year

Old poem from 2015.

Poem © Kurjin

creepy horror literature poem writing

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Endlessly by @Kurjin

EndlesslyThe stars are falling from the sky and I do not know why; are they escaping the blackest void that has spread across the heavens or are they tired of shedding tears to the world below that is now full of misery? The sight of their departure is beautiful nonetheless and when I shift my gaze away from the heavens and look back at you, I can see how the starlight is reflected from your glazed eyes, your body motionless as you wait for the sign that makes our bodies move like puppets controlled by strings. It seems like tonight you do not remember our earliest memories; I can see it from the way you are looking at me. No matter how many times I experience it, it always feels like a stab to the heart. I do not know if it is better this way, I am being torn apart anyway. Either we both retain our memories and are forced to face each other in the battlefield or one of us does not remember the other and thus only sees an enemy that has to be defeated while the other one is suffering from an unbearable heartache no one should ever have to endure. It never gets easier. But this is how our lives are, this is how it has been for a thousand years. Everything around us is dead and still, we remain. The soil under our feet has been lifeless for centuries, completely dry and cracked and nothing can grow from it. There are a few dead trees standing, like dry corpses, their branches like the fingers of the deceased as they desperately reach for the uncaring sky, begging for something, a rain or a sunshine, that would rejuvenate their withered carcasses. But the heavens ignore their silent cries. The trees here are the last ones remaining of a beautiful landscape before the war destroyed and butchered it all. Now they are nothing more but mementos of the days when everything was well. Winds play with their branches, twisting them, clinging onto them like mischievous spirits, not letting their dried-up corpses rest in peace. Tonight, however, the winds are in a different kind of mood. They are blowing across the vast field of nothingness in an ominous way and I can hear them whispering. They want blood, they want misery. I do not know what kind of sadistic glee they will gain from what is about to transpire here, but they will get what they wished for. With the vile winds came legions of soldiers of the past, groups of people I have seen for the past thousand years, but whom I cannot remember anymore. In my eyes, their bodies are translucent and their facial features have been smudged like ink stains. I simply do not recognize who they are anymore. Perhaps that is how they perceive me, maybe I am like a ghost to them, too. We are all supposed to be dead and gone now, and yet, here we are. Legions of ghostly soldiers have gathered behind your back and without looking, I know that I have comrades behind my back as well. We are all standing here, silent and motionless, waiting for the sign. Soon it comes: a blast of an ancient horn rushes throughout the battlefield, reaching every corner. The battle will begin and troops of soldiers who have spent a thousand years fighting the same war over and over again are engaging in a conflict once more, and some of them have forgotten why they even are here and what they are fighting for. But I know that losing your memories completely will not give you salvation. A luxury like a free will is something we do not have. Countless times I have raised my weapon against you and it just keeps getting harder – except on those days when I do not remember you. I do not want to do this anymore! But no matter how much I have begged or demanded this to end, it never does. My body is moving on its own, swinging my weapon, causing pain to you and every time my blade cuts your flesh, it feels like I just got cut, too. I never wanted to be part of this war and neither did you. The ancient mad lords forced us into this; they called it a holy war that would purify the land. But which side was the wicked and which was the righteous? There was no answer to that to begin with, the lords just wanted an excuse to steal the lands from the other one. This never was a holy war; it was a cursed one. We are still here, in the middle of a senseless battle, and where are the lords now? Have they died or just abandoned us, forcing us to repeat the war endlessly, unable to break out of this cycle? Just like our memories, the battlefield itself is flickering. It is unstable, a lot like our minds, and is unable to stay in its current state. Like ripples in time, flashes of various shapes of the field are echoing from the past, not sure which form to take. We can see past battles through the flickering and we are dancing macabrely together with the ghosts of our former selves. We will keep fighting even when our bodies start to break down. When do we stop? I do not know. Maybe when all of it is too much for a mortal mind to take and we get consumed by madness. Maybe when the land tries to reset itself and as a byproduct, so do we. Or maybe when whoever is pulling the strings gets tired. It definitely is not death that grants us a moment of rest and soothes our restless and rotten souls. Ah, how I see death as a friend… However, I have come to the conclusion that the world will die before we do.trophy

Your Soul Is Sick by @Kurjin

Your Soul Is SickHe came back to his senses slowly, as if waking up from a dream that had continued way too long. First he registered the chilly air that lingered, then how stagnant and a little bit moldy it smelled. He opened his eyes and got greeted by white ceiling and walls. Was he in a hospital? He looked around the room, but it was empty, except for the hospital bed he had been resting on. He got up and swung his legs over the bed, placing them on the cold floor. What on earth had happened to him? He tried and tried, but couldn't really remember anything... apart from a vague memory of a car crash. Had he hit his head really hard on something and lost his memories? But he didn't feel any pain. All of this seemed so strange. He stood up and walked to the door. He placed his hand on the knob and – to his surprise – the door opened. Cautiously he peeked out to see the corridor, like a little mouse that was afraid of meeting a cat. But the corridor was empty, only rows of doors were lined up on both sides. On the other side was just a dead end, but on the opposite end he could see a reception room. He sneaked out of his room, his destination set on the reception room. The room fit perfectly hospital's empty theme, having only reception desk and few withered plants in the corners of the room. Strangely, there were no doors that would possibly lead outside of that rotten place. He scratched his head pensively. What would he do now? This didn't feel real at all. “Can I help you?” He flinched and turned around to see who had startled him. He faced a woman who definitely wasn't from his world. The woman was really tall, easily over two meters in height. But the strangest part was the fact that she had four arms. She was wearing white, clean long coat as if she was a doctor. “Can I help you?” the woman asked again with a calm voice. “I... I...” he stuttered. “What... What is this place? Where am I?” “Oh dear, this must be really confusing to you! Let me introduce you: this is a hospital for lost souls”, she answered and smiled a really unnerving smile. “Don't be afraid, you are welcome here.” “A hospital for lost souls?” he repeated, perplexed by her response. “Am I... dead?” “Only if you think you are”, she said. That only made him feel even more confused. It seemed he couldn't get direct answers from her. “So, umm... Who are you?” he asked. “Doctor Myriad”, she replied. “I am the one who takes care of every soul that ends up in here, including you.” Somebody's crying sound started suddenly somewhere from the corridor. It made the situation feel even more unnerving to him. “So, umm... How can I get out of here?” That question took much more courage to utter out loud than he dared to admit. His heart went wild, pounding his chest like a hammer. It felt like an eternity before Myriad answered: “Oh no, no, no. You're not going anywhere before your soul is cured.” Her disturbing smile only grew wider. “You're not leaving anytime soon. So please, go back to your room and let the healing process begin.”

Kiss From A Butterfly by @Kurjin

Kiss From A ButterflyHe couldn't believe it. He just couldn't. He didn't want it to end like this. His daughter, the only significant thing in his life, had lost the fight. She had fought against her sickness for so long and he, a poor man, was unable to do anything but to watch her suffer and pray that if there was some high divine power somewhere above, they would hear his plead. But they didn't – if there even was any deity listening, that is. He had tried to seek help from healers, but it was all in vain. They had ended up being all alone with their painful problem, dwelling in despair. And so, it happened on that one autumn morning that the little girl took her last breath. She had been young, way too young, and it was unfair that fate had stolen her life so soon. Her father had stayed up all night, grasping her fragile hand, begging for a miracle. It didn't happen. Her life slipped away trough his fingers. His daughter, his most precious treasure, was gone. The inevitable had ensued. Then came the tears. His vision got blurred and he couldn't help it. He wept and wept, but no matter how much he cried, the tears that dropped couldn't bring relief to his bottomless sorrow at all. Why did this have to happen? Who was responsible of the demise of such innocent child? Oh, he so wanted that somewhere out there would be a higher force so he could blame them for this tragedy. Deeply mourning, the father raised his beloved daughter and started to carry her tiny body. There was only one thing he could do. If the stories that were told around his home village were true. Perhaps he still had a chance to see his little girl. He simply loved her too much to let her go this easily. He just had to go to the hill of butterflies. The grieving father carried his child's dead body out of their warm home. The weather was a bit cold and the sky was clouded and dark like the man's mind. He began his travel to the hill that was good distance away from their village. Protecting the figure of the dearest person in his life as if she was still breathing, he journeyed to his destination. Even though the world seemed grim at that moment, the hill was beautiful. A lot of colorful flowers were blooming, and as the man reached the top of the place, then sat down with his daughter still in his arms, it appeared as if the gorgeous plants were guarding them. The man embraced her, petting her long, dark hair. Now he just had to wait. So he waited. Eventually the dawn turned to dusk. That whole time the man had squeezed his child's empty husk, mumbling to himself that everything was going to turn alright and that he loved her more than anything. He was so focused on the small body on his arms that he didn't realize that something miraculous started to happen around them. However, it didn't take long for him to snap out of his somber state of mind and become more aware of his surroundings. The magnificent flowers didn't get reduced to buds as the veil of darkness intertwined around the world. Instead, they started to glow with a radiant light in many different colors. The sight was breath-taking, but there was still more to come. Then they appeared; the butterflies. It was as if the flowers had summoned them. Those beautiful tiny beings just materialized out of nowhere, each one of them conquering a blossom for themselves. And then, in unison, they took off from their little plant platforms, rising higher and higher, and began to dance in the air. The sight was stunning. The man could just stare in awe as the butterflies fluttered around them. So it was true. The fable about night butterflies was valid. They could help him. Soon one of the colorful insects separated from the group of its sisters and brothers, descending to meet the man. It landed on his lips, and the man closed his eyes. For a moment the time felt like it had stopped. Only when the butterfly decided to leave the spot to ascend again did the man open up his eyes. “Daddy?” Greatly astonished, the father shifted his gaze at his precious little girl he was holding. She was staring at him with bright and joyful eyes. She was alive, she was alive! He closed his daughter in a tight hug, tears of happiness rolling down his face. His heart was beating wildly, bursting with love for his only important being in his life. Delight killed all the last remains of his previous sorrow that he had felt when he had arrived to the hills. It was like that misfortune never even happened. “Thank you… thank you!” father whispered and made known his gratefulness for the little insects. “What's wrong daddy? Why are you crying?” the little girl inquired. The man wiped away his tears before answering: “Everything is okay now. Nothing is wrong.” Then he kissed his daughter's forehead. She let out a small giggly noise, which made the father's heart melt. After that, they both stood up, hand in hand and looked together at the dance of butterflies. Those small creatures began to flutter around the father and his child. The family members looked at each other with a sheer glee on the face of them both. Then they gazed to the sky above and collectively, still holding their hands together, they started to ascend to the heavens with butterflies.

The Tiger's Heart by @Kurjin

The Tiger's HeartOnce in the past was a time when they had not been aware of each other's existence. She came from a big city and he… well, he came from a small village. If neither of them had never began their own adventure, would they have met at all? However, perhaps it was meant to be that their fates got intertwined together. That was what he wanted to believe, at least. His love for her was so deep that it felt almost unreal and even something beyond mortal's comprehension. She meant the world to him, and more. After their hearts had met, they could not be separated ever again. Lately he had felt that this was truer than before due to his journey of trying to get more powerful. He had not seen her for a while and it was tearing his heart. Thinking about her, however, eased the pain a little. Even though they were away from each other, their hearts would still remain united. Oh, he remembered it so clearly. They had got along well immediately. She was the loveliest maiden he had ever met. There was something about her, something he couldn't really explain with words, but it made his heart burst with love. Of course, she was kind-hearted and beautiful, maybe even a bit silly… especially when it came to money. But she was his silly beauty. Together they became a perfect match. Not only with their hearts but as warriors and defenders of their world as well. They had fought against the Wraiths as one. In a battlefield he was a fierce beast who protected his beloved one with his life and she, a mighty spellcaster, would ease his pain with her healing abilities. And together, they were unstoppable force. Simultaneously they had advanced as combatants and practitioners of Spiritual Cultivation. They had experienced and overcome a lot of fear and horrors which regular people would never have to face. But these occurrences had only made their bond stronger. And together, they both became sages, which makes them one of the most enlightened people in the world. But no matter how much they developed spiritually, it was nothing in comparison of his love for her that just kept growing and growing. They had not talked about their feelings that much, but he was positive that they didn't need words – they knew everything in their hearts. Whenever they would stare at each other's eyes and he would hold her fragile body in his strong arms, shielding it from all the evil in this world, they would be in a state where they didn't need to speak. They shared their feelings for each other through their eyes. It was unquestionable that their love was everlasting. He let out a heavy sigh. He missed her so much. He longed for her presence, and wanted to hold her close to him so badly… Perhaps it was time for him to stop pursuing power and go to where his heart was yearning for. Then he looked at the horizon and started his journey back to where he belonged.

The Candle Boy by @Kurjin

The Candle BoyDespair and darkness, hand in hand, together they ruled the town with an iron fist. They had banished the sun, making the sky turn black. And because even the sun couldn't do it, there was no way that the moon could penetrate its way through the dark clouds. The air felt heavy and it was hard to breathe. It was like the sky itself was suffering. But it was not only the sky. Water had turned somewhat contaminated, making it taste pretty rusty. The town was also experiencing a famine, since the crops wouldn't grow without the sun. This also meant that there was not enough food for the animals and their numbers were getting low day by day. These events were giving plenty of anguish for the townsfolk, but there was also something else that was making their lives a living hell. They were sick. Tons of blisters would appear on their skin and they were painful. Some who hadn't yet become ill were living in fear and wouldn't come out of their houses. Those who were infected hoped that death would come soon and put an end to their suffering… but in vain. It seemed like that even death itself was avoiding that town. These poor people were living in a nightmare. Had they offended the gods since they were being punished like this? Or had this realm always been protected by these deities, but for some reason they had abandoned this town and so it had turned into this nest of darkness and despair? No one knew the answer. There was only fear – fear that this place had become a land of agony, permanently. And there was no way out of there, since there was nothing beyond the borders of the town. However… There was a tiny spark of hope in darkness. Some people had seen a little boy wandering around the town. He seemed pretty normal, and yet at the same time, not quite. He was pale and had dark hair and wore a weary expression on his face. In his hand he carried a candle – its flame was small and weak and by the look of its flickering, it seemed like the darkness would crush its life at any time, extinguishing it. But even though his essence seemed rather feeble, he also appeared as the most powerful being in the town. No one had any idea where this mysterious boy had come from or who he really was, but that didn't really matter. The most important thing was that he brought hope into the misery ridden hearts. Who knows, maybe he was an answer for the prayers. Some had seen it happen: the miraculous power of this boy. He would approach someone with that horrible sickness and just by touching them, he could give them their strength back. He hadn't cured the disease, but he had given them power to follow him. Because that's what he was doing. Everyone who he had gifted with strength would come along with him. Then he would lead the way out of that death trap. Those who had been seen walking with that boy at that point were never seen again. That wasn't considered as a bad thing, though. At least they could escape from this pit of hell. Of course, there were also those people who wanted to benefit from this boy, since they wanted so desperately to get out of town. But could you really blame them? It didn't matter, though. No matter how hard they tried to chase the boy, they would eventually lose a track of him – the darkness would ensure that. It could be said that if he doesn't invite you to be his company, you should save your time and leave him alone or else you will be lost in shadows. Those who are wise will wait for their turn. Because now that people have something to believe in, now that they have figured out that there is a method to escape, the everyday pain feels a little bit more tolerable. There shines a light of hope in the darkness. You just have to wait that it will come to you and then it may help you get free from the torment.

(Not) Lonesome by @Kurjin

(Not) LonesomeWho cares about a crawlerhiding in darknessand choking onhis own pitiful words? "No words, no worth."That's what the rules state. Loneliness keeps hitting meexcept when he,the one who holds the knife,assures me it's better this way. After all I will alwayshave some company (like him)insidemyhead.

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Hamish - A Drunk Story by @REZNiKOV

Hamish - A Drunk StoryOnce upon a time there was a dog called Hamish. He was a little "Scotty dog" who came from Scotland. He had an established job as a game designer, but he was also versed in painting and window repair. One day, while freelancing washing windows, he wondered what it would be like to live like a gopher. The only problem was, as knowledgable as he was, Hamish didn't know anything about gophers. Thus, once he had finished his current task, he realised he needed to go to the library. He had a phone, sure, but it wasn't a smartphone, just a "dumbphone" as you will, that was only capable of fulfilling its base function of calling people. So, he quickly headed home for a change of clothes before he set off for the library. On his way he met a dragon who was from out of town. The dragon asked him various questions about how to get to certain places, and while Hamish was very knowledgable, especially about where he lived, the dragon was asking him silly questions such as the quickest and most cost-effective route to Jupiter, to which Hamish unfortunately couldn't answer. He did, however, point the dragon in the direction of the library, which, as we already know, was the place he was going himself. The dragon looked mostly delighted, but was also puzzled. He wanted to know whether anyone at the library would be able to answer his questions. Hamish, as mild-tempered and patient as he was, didn't know whether anyone at the library would know, but he would endeavour to find out as well while he was there. The dragon this time was delighted, but had the problem of not knowing where the library was, seeing as he was from out of town. Hamish, as knowledgable as he was, could actually answer this question, and so thus asked the dragon whether he could escort him. The dragon agreed, and off they went post-haste. While on their way, Hamish asked about the dragon. It turned out the dragon was Welsh, was red and purple, and was called Marvin. Marvin was an ecological expert who had a vast interest in space travel. He had a friend, a cat, called Frieda, who was mostly ginger. She wore a tinfoil hat and often asked him interesting questions such as what temperature should Irn-Bru be when prepared in a bathtub and what bricks used in buildings talk about all day. This seemed to explain Marvin's questions somewhat, Hamish thought to himself. After all, they do say things about birds and feathers. Having said that, Marvin went on to tell him all about the time he saw two swallows in the street engaged in a heated debate about certain velocities, but as interesting as their conversation was, Marvin didn't have the time to listen to all of it, neither did he have the answers they were heartily discussing. You see, Marvin was on his way to a convention, one that involved the measuring of toenails, and not one that you would like to picture, either. Despite his reservations, Hamish did ask more indepth questions about this convention, and so Marvin told him all about the competition for "most wiggly toenail" and the prize, which he didn't win this time, being a whole flask of chicken soup. It was a shame, really, seeing as he rather liked chicken soup, especially as this chicken soup was free of charge, being a prize and all, instead he had to buy his own chicken soup when he got home. It transpired Frieda had told him about this convention, alas she couldn't go that day as she was having a new tinfoil hat fitted in the expensive tailors off the high street. Marvin had asked her about what else they sold, but she could only tell him about the tinfoil hats, as that was the only thing she ever went in for. Marvin had also inquired about whether the tinfoil hat fitting could ruin her perm that she had done every two weeks, but Frieda got surprisingly cagey about it. Quite likely it did, Marvin thought, but didn't wish to press her further on the topic for fear of potentially upsetting his friend. When all of this knowledge had been relayed to Hamish, he was only too glad to have reached the library. Sure, it indicated that Marvin was a good friend for not upsetting Frieda, but Hamish realised their lives were so vastly different and shuddered at the thought of having his toenails measured for wigglyness. Although, interest piqued, he wondered how one could even measure the wigglyness of toenails, and whether it was a true competition and how long it had been a tradition for, or if it was even a tradition at all or whether he had suddenly assumed so. That was something else he had mentally written down on his list of things to look for in the library. His game plan was to ask the librarian for a book about gophers and then access to the computers to find out exactly what Marvin was talking about, or whether he was actually having him on, but considering his seriousness, and him having a friend who wore a tinfoil hat, it was more likely that this was true. Marvin held open the library door for Hamish once they had arrived, at the very least as a kind of thanks for the escort, and explained he would be asking the librarian whether they knew of any books that may answer his questions. Hamish offered the fact that even if the librarian didn't have the answers he wanted, they did have a set of computers that he could use to look the questions he had up on. Marvin nodded, but, as Hamish discovered, was a traditionalist, and would prefer to look it up in a book. Hamish, understanding of Marvin's ways, nodded as well and decided to let him get on with it. There was only one librarian today, as it was a Sunday, and so Hamish and Marvin had to decide which of them would go up first. Hamish argued because he had a relatively simple request, he should go first, however, Marvin responded that because he was a guest he should go first. After some to-and-fro, they both came to a realisation that they could settle this some other way. Hamish suggested they toss a coin, but Marvin then disagreed, pushily suggesting that they should have a competition. Hamish dreaded the thought that Marvin had a "wiggliest toenail" competition in mind, but rather Marvin had something far, far simpler. He pointed to his feet and, without looking at them, proudly exclaimed he would measure their shoelaces. Except, Hamish pointed out, neither of them were wearing shoes. Marvin hit his palm against his forehead, quickly seeing his silly mistake and apologised for his lack of shoes. He did continue to push his point and heavily implied they should both buy a pair from the shoe shop opposite the library. Hamish, however, was not buying into his view. He didn't understand why he should have to buy a whole new pair of shoes just for one occasion. Marvin disagreed, saying that actually, buying a new pair of shoes meant Hamish had plenty more opportunities to wear them out and about. Hamish continued to disagree, stating that actually, he didn't wear shoes often enough to warrant buying an entirely new pair. Marvin and Hamish were thus at an impasse, and while in this state meant neither of them could get the answers they wanted. Hamish looked at Marvin and for a solid minute questioned how he got to this point in his life. Marvin, meanwhile, looked at Hamish and questioned what he was going to have for dinner. Chicken soup was nice, although not his absolute favourite, but was the easiest, and quickest, to make. Hamish, trying to be the better person, relented and let Marvin speak to the librarian first, rethinking his battle plan and now deciding to look for a book about gophers himself, or, should it come to it, just look online. Actually, now that he really thought about it, it made more sense to go straight to the computer and look for answers to both of his questions there. Admittedly he did want to speak to the librarian, seeing as he trusted this library very much and they hadn't put him wrong yet, but had to accept his loss and lick his wounds. It would be the more moral thing to do, probably. Allowing Marvin to go first, he headed off to the second floor with the computers. When he ascended the stairs, he saw that all of them were currently being used. With a heavy and most animated sigh, he went back downstairs and began trawling the library for books about animals. After searching the aisles twice over, he eventually, and luckily, found a book strictly about gophers and their habits. He took this opportunity to sit down and read at long last. However, barely a few pages in, he was interrupted. He looked up to find Marvin standing infront of him, holding two books: one on space travel, and the other about strange traditions and customs. He apologised for being so headstrong and understood that he was being very pushy, and so he wanted to make it up to Hamish by taking it upon himself to help provide him with as many of the answers he could without Hamish having to do the legwork. Hamish was greatly surprised by this, and also intensely grateful for the sudden turnaround in his behaviour, and was a little bit proud of Marvin's self-awareness. He invited Marvin to sit next to him, and so together they looked through their books. Marvin unfortunately didn't find a cost-effective, nor quick, route to Jupiter, but found one nonetheless. Hamish found that, surprisingly, Marvin wasn't pulling his leg, the toenail competitions were real and weren't limited to finding just the "wiggliest" of toenails, rather there was an almost exhaustive list, that included but was in no uncertain terms and means limited to: beauty, spottiness, bendiness, and singing ability. Hamish couldn't fathom a toenail singing competition but Marvin verified it was indeed something that was possible as one of his cousins twice removed had a singing toenail, and had won third prize in a national competition with it. The day ended with Marvin telling Hamish all about his strange friends and family, and Hamish inviting them all around to his house for tea and cucumber sandwiches should they want to. Marvin gravely admitted his great-great-great grandfather was deathly allergic to cucumber, but everyone else seemed to be fine, which made little to no difference seeing as his great-great-great grandfather had passed on from said allergy so it wouldn't hurt him. However, Hamish asked whether anyone else had any allergies and offered something no-one was allergic to, just to cover his bases. Luckily for him, Marvin happily told him that was the only allergy he knew of, and that everything should be fine otherwise. Hamish patted him on the back and called it a date, and that now he knew where he was going, to stop by his house anytime.person

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