Tag: horror series

Dusty Story

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Photo by Elisia Badaró

I read this dusty story where the heroine lived

And the kingdom came apart in a single strike.

She stretched the spaces between her own ribs

So that she could outbreathe everyone she liked.

They called her a traitor but never a menace,

And they summoned ghouls just to kill her rage.

Their petty thoughts made them look too jealous.

She had no choice but to turn to the next page.

As they were reaching for their sharpest knives,

The walls collapsed around their blue bodies.

I read a dusty story where the heroine survived,

But the trail she left behind always stayed bloody.

-Jackie

Lighthouse In Flames

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Photo by Lucas Pezeta

Does the mirror on the ceiling reflect my own claws?

Are my eyes once again playing cruel tricks on me?

I am building a pile in the corner from knives and saws,

Hoping somebody stops me and calls it misandry.

But there is no one around to choke out my roaring flame.

It illuminates photos and memories until they burn.

I was a lighthouse for people who deserved only pain,

And I learned my lessons, so I guess now it is their turn.

Does the early morning fog resemble a sinner’s path?

Is my rage once again becoming the hero of my story?

Those who fooled me always mocked my rightful wrath,

Now they faint and call my tactics uncouth and gory.

They cannot kill me now or slay the god that they gave me.

It must hurt to see how I have chewed through their ropes.

I wonder if they truly thought that they could tame me,

I wonder if my punishment will wipe out that hope.

-Jackie

Epiphany

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Photo by Zulurid

As a cocktail of rain and leaves crash against the skylight,

This epiphany hits me in the chest and flees the room.

I have loved this city through two thousand silent twilights.

Why do I always associate your silence with doom?

The cobblestone streets and wooden houses consume me,

And they wrap me in fairytales that shall stay untold.

Why do I always try to reinvent the new me?

You have called me “enough”, painted it in rose gold.

I still remember how I chased real wonders by their tails.

Three years ago, I found my place and chose to stay.

For weeks I thought that you had cut open my sails,

But I had trapped the wrong wind and called it a day.

Now I preach love lessons like I do not cause messes,

And every corner of my neighborhood shimmers and gleams.

Your love is a blue night that sulks and confesses.

You are my resting place,

An empty corner of a dream.

-Jackie

Reasons To Go On

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Photo by Plato Terentev

The rainy boulevard gnashes its teeth,

Trying to bite off little pieces of my feet.

I sprint from side to side, fleeing its mouth,

And I attempt to take a different route,

But the cobblestone streets keep screaming,

Accusing me of being a demon.

I curse loud in a park with no one to hear.

They used to make piles out of bodies here.

My neighborhood grieves lost centuries,

Blood and flames turned into eulogies.

And then there is me and my excuses,

My pathetic escapism dressed as a muse.

The old churches look with cold judgement,

Turning away my pain and my torment.

Still, the unkept cemeteries tell me stories.

They tell me I can make it to my forties.

Every little corner speaks in my ear,

Offering protection when the death is near.

So, maybe I can find reasons to go on,

Face it like those before me and move on.

Maybe one more storm will brew before dawn.

Maybe I am just an unlucky pawn.

The rainy boulevard gnashes its teeth,

Trying to bite off little pieces of my feet.

-Jackie

The Witch Trials

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Photo by Rachel Claire

There is this urban legend about the hill by my house.

They say that back in the day they hanged witches up there.

I walk these city streets now and try to count the differences,

But there are not that many: the same stares, the same square.

Back then people talked until these two women perished.

Well, Anna and her sister simply got the short end of the stick.

I lean over the edge of the bridge by the graveyard

And I look down at the passing trains until I feel sick.

They say someone grew jealous over Anna’s sharp wit.

The rumors spread like wildfire; she did not have a chance.

She probably told judges the truth and they erased it,

And the gallows really did not care if you took a stance.

There is this old tale about the neighborhood I live in.

They say that one day someone furious will burn it all down.

Not like all those years ago when the great kings did it –

This time an angry woman will act like she has a crown.

So, I walk these city streets now, I avoid buying matches,

And I only burn my candles at night when they all rest.

Back then they put gallows on a hill and called it fairness,

But these days they skin us bare and call our souls blessed.

-Jackie

Destination

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Photo by Marcelo Chagas

There is this door floating between the tall trees,

And it tells me that I have reached my destination.

They used to tell me that truth sets people free,

But I would choose a fairytale without hesitation.

All I knew was how to keep chasing rotten dreams,

So, when they blew up the path, I lost my balance.

When the fabric of my life came apart at the seams,

They assigned me sharp teeth and killer talons.

I was their prey, but they called me the beast.

If I played the part, they stripped me of humanity.

I escaped their flames, but my pride was deceased,

And I almost believed in my own depravity.

Yet, here is the door, and it floats between trees,

And I feel every creature in the forest behind me.

If I open it, will I drown my past in stormy sea?

Will my anger die, or will it follow me blindly?

-Jackie

In My Footsteps

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Photo by Tatiane Herder

I keep my pace steady as leaves rustle behind me.

Birds snap their wings and die right on cue.

Small branches break as it is coming to find me.

Air freezes and paints my dry lips deep blue.

There is a breath on my neck that smells like sewage.

Hot saliva drips on my shoulders and it burns.

I feel my feet landing in puddles of fluids,

And I smile with my teeth as my stomach turns.

The monster follows in my footsteps for hours,

But I just keep walking like I have no fear.

One quick look and I will lose all of my power.

It will swallow me alive with nobody to hear.

-Jackie

On The Other Side

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Photo by Andi Alexander

Sharp wind awakes me from a gut-wrenching nightmare,

And I find myself lost in an unearthly forest.

Tall trees lean over my head, ready to grab me.

I hear charcoal shadows singing my favorite chorus.

The crowds that once craved my blood like a trophy,

They barely even make me frightened anymore.

Pastel fumes spew from the pockets I used for anger,

And I do not remember why I once craved gore.

I know that my soul would seem bare to a stranger.

My wild hair and wide eyes would make a beast run.

But the weight that pushed me down towards the flames,

It now spins around my head, wanting to see the sun.

My bruised feet keep taking me further and further,

And I dream about the creatures I will meet in this place.

The sharp wind pushes me, it pulls me forward.

I know someone is behind me, but I cannot see the face.

-Jackie

First Love/Nightmare

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Photo by George Shervashidze

Cherish me with cherry red lips

And worship me like a worthy opponent.

See me through blue tears and rips,

And cover me in clovers before we lose this moment.

Hide me with pride and malice.

Sink in your teeth to drink me like champagne.

Light a spark in this dark palace

And show me how to talk through the pain.

Slide the pin right under my skin,

Then pretend like the truth is not bending.

Sip me slowly, just like a holy sin.

Reassure me that this is not the ending.

Float above my throat at midnights,

Pulling out my vocal cords one by one.

Sprinkle smoke in the clearest twilights

And tell me that my sweet tongue is a gun.

Go and heal my meanest demons.

Let the magazines know and make a scene.

Push me down the stairs as a treatment,

Turn my soul into a figurine.

-Jackie

Exiled

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Photo by Joyce Dias

Arrows buzz by my earlobes like hungry bees

As some hypnotized crowds chase me down the road.

The smell of my terror makes their knees weak,

And their anger feels like some cyphered code.

I am the beast they exiled from their forests.

I am the beast they summoned when they were bored.

My victims might haunt me for being honest,

But these crowds made me feel loved and adored.

Now they chase me down paths good people avoid,

And their sizzling hot words spill on me like ink.

No amount of bloodshed will fill their black voids.

Still – they try to wash me down the kitchen sink.

As I hear them tiring and running out of breath,

A dark red border appears in the distance.

Once I cross that curved line, I will lose this bet.

Will they cheer as my memory slips from existence?

-Jackie