She wore madness on her face like an

expression; those self-induced flickers

of uncertainty inside the pale hues of her iris

represent something dark, some trembling secrets

sewn across the edges of her mind, of chaos. She

wrapped herself in her beauty and vulnerability,

a blanket of stars and fire and so easily,

she caused the unrealities to become realities

with her meticulous alchemy, securing, augmenting

tears and melancholy with chemicals

distilled from her poisonous past, the everlasting

genesis of justice, the immortal core of reason—

where she first died, emerged, and gave birth

to herself—where she rejoiced, celebrated

her own diabolical victory—feeding her

dreams to the devil while her heart—lost,

forever, in her own silhouette.




When Lucifer finally came

for me, I told him I

had no soul to give nor to offer and he

unseamed my body, searching desperately

for the lie and stepping back

with his monstrous claws clenched

when he failed. I laughed

at his childish look

of dismay and told him that I

had lost my soul long ago. It wasn’t stolen

it was just the way it was.

“Souls are precious commodities these days.”

I couldn’t agree more and he

asked me where I’d lost it.

“On earth,” I replied without thinking.

“And when?” so I pondered hard

in silence and

after a good long minute

I answered his question

with careful consideration:

When I was born. 


Tonight when the clock strikes twelve, it’s your turn to be afraid

You hold me in your arms, because you can’t stand being alone

I let my eyes rest, counting the shadows in your dreams

Shadows shaped like hands in a nightmarish breeze

Frantically reaching

Those awkward grabs in the muggy air satisfy me

I have found a new way to be happy


They’re coming for you


This is not what you’re hoping to hear

You lower your gaze and take a look at the mess beside our feet

Pieces of my heart shattered, scattered, littered

Everywhere on the living room floor, where we first made love

And also where pleads and mockeries congeal

Rolling back and forth on their bellies

Becoming indistinguishable as a chunk of goo

Like a deformed, melting baby


This is your moment


Your moment of glory. Days ago you reached out to me with your words

Blood trickled down my numb, zombie-face

A blade stuck in my left ear, etched in flesh

While our broken love fought its way in, deadly and corrosive

I had failed to defend myself from this unexpected infestation.


I love you. 


I think I understand what an apocalypse feels like now

I have learned how easily a world can end

It’s you leaving me, and it’s as simple and as childish as that

That makes you a good teacher, though you’re not that much of a learner

Which is why you will never understand the jolt of pain in your chest when I slap you across the cheek

You will never understand the anger you feel when I call you a dog-hearted bastard

You will never realize the way your nails curl inward and scoop up your flesh, a shitload of blood gushing out

Even if you’ve seen it coming, you won’t be able to prevent it

You will never find that time bomb I have placed inside of your kidney, which will explode in precisely fifteen seconds

Taking me with you, though I’m already gone

Note: This is not based on personal experience. I do have an ex but I did not plant a time bomb inside of his kidney. Okay, maybe he is stupid, because all ex’s are, but let me just declare my total detachment and non-involvement in the emotions and actions described above. I am merely experimenting with a dark, psychotic voice. And to those of you who’ve been reading my poetry for a while…you’ve probably noticed I’m a pretty dark person LOL but only in my literature, not in real life. Thanks to all of my regular readers ❤ I don’t have a big circle of readership, but I really appreciate the ones who come to my blogs and read my poems.

From Kim, with lots of love, and why am I babbling about this I do not know. 😀

P.S. Oh and yes, I know it’s physically impossible to plant a bomb in somebody’s kidney…it’s more of a metaphorical thing. 😀



Darkness spilled in from the windows of our houses

Our dreams became the splinters in our mind

And every time we tried to wash the blood off our hands

We scraped off skins, muscles and cells

But we were rotten to the bones

Endless darkness, down down down to our very core

There it was, the curse of the devil gnawing at the our heart

Our ability to love



We offered forgiveness to those who offered something in return

We performed charities only we had something to gain

We loved only when we were loved more

And we cried and complained when we weren’t love enough



We had overcome that darkness

We had thoroughly absorbed it and made it our own

Darkness had become us as we lived in light.


Eventually, we are light.


In my hand I hold a piece of sunlight.

It crumbles. Pulled to the ground by the gravity of its love.

Its love for earth. Like golden cookie crumbs and a child’s toothless smile.

Back in those moments when we knew nothing at all. Ignorance is bliss.

Back in those moments when the sky was just the sky and it was vast because it is was.

That was before we tried to understand everything. Before we lived by the so-called reason.

What good has reason done for us, so far? This reason. Ha. We think it is the truth.

We point at it and name it the truth. It becomes the world we live in today. It becomes our vision, a kind of blindness. It becomes God. It becomes Evil. It becomes whatever it needs to become so we can exist.

Like the Matrix. You have seen that movie? I just watched it last night.

And I think that world is not so different from ours.

Who really is our enemy?

How can you tell what’s real or what’s not, what’s love and what’s hate, what’s life and what’s death—

You’ll know it’s real. No, seriously.

Tell me if this is real. Tell me if your life is real.

Tell me this world isn’t what I think it is. Tell me.

Tell me when it’s all over.

Tell me that we live in a utopia and not chaos.

But hey, we are.

Don’t you know?

We are in a utopia. Of course we are.

No, seriously.

We are in a utopia.

And that’s the truth. That’s the reality.

Why am I so sure, you ask?


I have my reasons.

Dragon Bone

(Original painting by Margaret Lindsey)


Its eyes used to shine like glamorous amber,

Bejeweled by the hands of the sun—

A seemingly, everlastingly light.

Its talons—the holder of puppet strings—

Pulled at the hearts of men, drew out fear

Like picking a flower

Crushing it with a childish smirk.

Ah, the dragon’s laugh, the beast’s taunt.

Lives—brushed away like dust

Armours trampled over

Their silver hues so easily lost, so quickly eaten away

By blood and despair and rusted romance

By death’s cold fingers and something numb.


Until one day it

Heard voices, ubiquitous like winds

Speaking of deformed joys, nightmarish boredom

The inability of its reptile heart

To love, and the indigestible terror

Leaking out of a men like black acid

Shockingly burned down its throat

The backfire of its own malice

Dangerous, weakened, dark.


Buried deep inside a cave

Surrounded by slumbering stones

Dwelled a lonely fossil, a piece

Of dragon bone, cloaked

With centuries of unheard whispers

A knight’s wit and lion-heart

A sky-tearing shriek, a relenting roar

An eyeless blade, scratching at the impenetrable scales,


A quiet, willing phase

A thousand-year-old curse–

A dragon bone’s boisterous past.


By Kim T.

The Piercer.

Every midnight, the Piercer sharpens his spear

In his silver dungeon, down inside Earth’s deepest cave

A place too close to the boiling core

The heat presses against your eyelids

You can go blind

Your flesh will simmer

Only a piercer

Such as this Piercer

Can endure that heat.


Every midnight, the Piercer sharpens his spear

He watches for his enemies with his eyes

His third eye, on the back of his head,

His fourth eye, on his oil-stained belly

And his blistered fifth, drooping, on his left thigh

Those eyes never blink

Not even once

And they whisper of hell

And in silence, they seem to laugh


Every midnight, the Piercer sharpens his spear

Ties a tear-drenched ribbon to its end

Black, and still wet from the stolen memories

Candy-cane songs, rain-boot laughter

The smell of lemon flowers and chocolate leaves

Taken away, torn apart and ripped to shreds

Shreds! And pathetic ashes

The air is too thick that you will want to cry

When you suck in those dead things

You are numb


Every midnight, the Piercer sharpens his spear

He works in silence, his crooked arm and his

Layered skin, like putrid tree barks

Smelling of sweat and puke and bloody things

He sharpens his spear until it shines

Glows with an eerie light

Like greedy eyes in a mirror


Every midnight, the Piercer sharpens his spear

After he sharpens his spear

He admires it in his hand, and he

Leaves his cave, emerges,

Rides the next unfortunate cloud

Lurks in the sky like a ghost

Among the planets

Like a dark nebula


Every midnight, the Piercer sharpens his spear

He wanders across the sky, his arm thrown back in full extension

His muscles flexed, gathering his strength,

To throw that spear


At all that is good

And he lets go


Letting go

Letting go

Letting it go


And that spear

Tears across a child’s dream

So innocent and sweet and infinite

Still warm from a lullaby

Now oozing gore

Bleeding bleached blue

Acidic fissures slicing across

Slicing across an entire world.


An, entire, world.


So every midnight

The Piercer sharpens his spear

And watches with his five eyes

That spear across the night sky

The flash of its blade

A wish’s demise


The tail of a shooting star.