Poetry Book of Nightmares

[Shy2Infinity]

Somewhere, somehow a book fell into the wrong possession.



“Fairy tales were never just sunshine and rainbows.”

Painting picture perfect dreams,
Evil will never wait behind stoic walls.
Listening to a lullaby that douses everything in disharmony;
Painful to the ears; Misophonia bridges the gap.
Fear and disgust in a delicate bouquet,
That pierces through your guard.

Blood and despair will surely coat,
Even memories of sunny days.
Envy is a silent killer and slowly…
Young boys and girls don’t know the weight of their sins.

When friendships die and loneliness reigns,
All it becomes is another tale to be told.
Sinking like quicksand; sanity will surely rupture,
Turning hazy and peaceful days into silent nightmares.
Everyone will leave, no one will stay;
Just another dark fairy tale.​

 

[Shy2Infinity]

Rotten Fairy Tale (Elise) -- Just another Fairy tale with a twisted ending.


My life was a dirty fairy tale.
Rotten to the absolute core.
Stick a needle in it and give me another chance.
“Oh god, where’s my due?”
There’s no deity that can save me.

I’ll burn, yes I’ll burn.
Light you on fire with all of the rage I possess.
Rotten Fairy tale, how dare you make light
And pretty up my story.
But the Dark fables are in my possession;
This is my cross to bear.

Surely… Surely…
There will come a day
Where I’ll no longer be haunted by those memories;
Remnants of the person I once was.
Drowned; buried beneath the lake.
She once drew breath.
Drowning. . .


​

She rots.

She decays.​

Until not even bones remain.
​

Her siren’s song tempted them,
Dragging them beneath the waves.
Until a hero came to right her wrongs,
And that hero’s swing swung true.

I could’ve sworn that had been a nightmare!
Yet the memory rings true,
So am I a monster or a fiend?
Will you save me? Take me away from here?
My plea rings hollow; so strike me with your empty blows.



My hands shake;

The trauma Ḧ̸̢̢̦̖̭̠͎̙̖̭̝͈̼́̕͜e̸̜̫̳̬̫̳̯̼͓̗̲̽͋̅ͅl̸̡̥͔̬͓̝̙̝̱͚̹̰͆̋̊̍͑̒p̶̡͔̼̪͈̪͓͐̄̑̑̾͆̈́̅̂̿͠ ̵̯̩̜̫̞͙̹̲̝̞͌̈̀̊̽̔͗̊͆̇͊͑͘̕m̷̢̛͇͎͉̖̼̳̘̹̣̅̃̈́̒̿̓͛͗̄͊e̴̢̞̟͕̾̄͑̈́̈̄͒̿̈́̽͠͠

Ỉ̷͇̩͉̭͊̍̀̈́̚ ̶̪̝̹̼̩͕̫̤̻̦̼̺̹̀̇̈̃͑͒ͅc̷̰̫͓̳̣͇̈́͑̓a̵̮̖̮̋̓̽́̋̆̚ͅņ̸̧̡̬̬̳͙̯̲͚͖̎̅̊̈͊͑̏̉́̍̏͜͠'̸̡̛̲̩̪͚̘̖̮͓͚̖̻̲͚͒̑́̀̃̑̇̏͘t̵̡̘͙̱̽̒̄̓͐͝ ̵̯̙̤̻̏̿̉̂̏̓̍̀̆̅̋͑͘̕͜͝͝b̵̡̰̼̼͕̫͉̤̳̝̰̫͇̞͉̏̆͒̒̔͗̓͠ė̶̬̝̠̼̓̒̌̓̏́̈́̉͘ ̸͓̺̤̙̺̀̈͌̅̈́͛̄̊̑͜s̶̡͇̮͖̦͕̫̰͍̥̪̦͚̼̿̓̀͆̕͜ͅȃ̸̹̬̪̘͚̤̫̾̏͒̅̏͌̾͘͝ͅv̷̦͕̳̙̖̤͚͙̱̭̗̰͇̰͍͉͐̊̒͗̋̀̒̉͐̒͛͆̊̿̕͝ȩ̷͍̙̭̹͙͑̈͛̃̇̂̏̅̈́͘d̷̡̢̛͎̟̞̠̝̰͊̈́͆́̃͑͛̉̃̍͘͜͝͝

It must be a dream.
Í̸̤̠̺̗̮͈̟̮͔͂͗́t̵̢̨̡̪̙̝̤͖̤̺͉͈͓̼̫̏̓'̵̢̨̮̭̜̦̹͇͉͉̣̮͉͙͐͛̅̅͊͆͗̽͘ş̴͚̖̠͙͎͚̿͊͊͋̊ ̴̢̨̺͖̣̼͓͇̭̹͎͙̈͂͆͂̆̅̄̈́̓͊̿̚͜͝ͅn̶̘͉͉̽̽͑͋͂̀̑́̈̍̿͛̅ơ̷͚͍̲̫̩̳̭̝̠͎̲̟̻̖͒̔͘ͅţ̴̮̫͕͈̟̝̞̌́̇̊̐̾͋̒̾̅̀͜͝



My glare pierces through the book,
If looks could kill I know the book would be gone.
But tales never die;
This is my cross to bear.
And I’ll never be free of it.​