Gothilibrium
By Daniel Markov
Copyright 2015 Daniel Markov
Ugly girl
Beneath the monsters of stone
Sat a girl of skin and bone
Heavy rain fell on her
Her skin began to fester
She scratched herself until she bled
For her own body she carried so much hatred
So many cuts made with broken glass
So ugly was this walking carcass
Lonely man
A lonely man he was
Always wandering somewhere
A man who never received love
A man who never gave love
His eyes always looked into emptiness
His lips never moved away from each other
His ears heard nothing but silence
His nose inhaled only the corrupted
The lonely man made a decision
He had nothing to live for
As he flew toward his end
For the first time he truly smiled
Night of the poets
It was the night of dreadful clouds
It was the night of forest’s wicked sounds
It was the night of revealing the secrets
It was the night of the poets
In the house in the woods they gathered
Sat at the tables and drank wine of the color red
Everyone sat and speak they did not
Who dared was cursed to have his tongue rot
This was the night just for poems
The night to share all the secrets and problems
To share the beauty and ugliness of the written word
To make it possible for everyone to be heard
And so the poems began to pour
Of death and tragedy and amour
Some made them cry and some made them shiver
It ate their sanity just like alcohol ate their liver
The night of the poets ended
To insanity many surrendered
As they walked across the sea of blood and tears
They walked out into the age of dark years
Castle of pleasures in the fog
The fog was thick as spider’s web
As one man struggled to find his way out
He walked through the forest of wicked sounds
In hopes of coming out alive
The forest was scary and full of dread
The kind that shouldn’t belong to this world of men
Like some twisted mind designed it
To swallow sanity and spread the insanity
The man walked and walked
And he found a way out
In the clear stood a castle of black
Surrounded by fog and forest of dread
The man went in front of the castle
He stood and admired this monster of nightmares
And the monsters of stone that towered upon him
Creatures that came from the twisted minds
Doors opened and the man shivered
A beauty came out from the dark castle’s mouth
Pale as dead with hair made of darkness
Naked and with eyes that could melt icebergs
The man froze in place
What of beauty what of fear
She whispered with a voice of silk
And disappeared inside the castle’s mouth
This voice and beauty this man could not resist
This mystic beauty of darkness
And so the man went inside
Into the monster made of black and dread
The doors closed with a loud bang
The lights of the candles danced on the breeze of death
The man stood inside and with fear and admiration he observed
The ensemble of beauties that darkness poured out
Such beauty this man never witnessed
As they encircled him he shivered
Their breath warmed his skin
Their touches boiled his blood
His clothes was torn away from him
The beauties dragged him into the room
On the bed he was thrown and tied
Where beauties drained him of creator’s fluid
The man enjoyed like never before
The pleasure they gave him was of world beyond
The man enjoyed and enjoyed
Until he became nothing but skin and bone
Music in the night
Through the streets of old
Echoed the music of the night
Through the night of cold
Every time a little after midnight
No one knew from where this music came
This breeze of delight to everyone’s ears
This beauty that set even the hearts of cold aflame
That made even the monsters of stone to release tears
The legend said it was the music of a man in love
For a woman long gone from this world of dread
The woman with the beauty of a dove
The woman for whom many fell dead
The man captured her heart with the beauty of his music
She danced to its rhythm on the pale moonlight
To her it seemed like it was created by some magic
She danced and he played even dead this music of the night
Sleeping with corpses
She inhaled the smell of death
Every day she went to sleep
The smell that filled her lungs with joy
And her dreaded soul with pleasure
She consumed men like a plague
The ones who fell for her mystic beauty
For her pale skin and hair of darkness
They gave their blood and soul
In her own chambers of pleasures and dread
She held these men who wanted to use her
No one knew she had a dark side
The demon that hid behind the mask of an angel
She drained them of creator’s fluid and life
She enjoyed in their moans and screams
She placed them after death in her secret place
She slept with corpses of men she used
Baltimore’s tragedy
He was a man of written word
A man of love and mystery
The one who wrote about a dark bird
And spent his time at the cemetery
He wrote about love and grotesque
He wrote poems and tales
His work was unique
The result of his inner battles
Alcohol was his best friend
And many bottles he dried
But alcohol was probably his end
By which many were horrified
On that day the world cried
A great poet they lost
In Baltimore he died
Where ravens speak with his ghost
The traveling poet
There was once this poet
Who walked all over the world
With him was always his trustful bag
That contained pen and paper
On that paper he wrote his thoughts
About love and tragedy and death
As he walked he shared them with common people
Who stood in amazement because of the poet’s songs
Some were twisted and dark
Others full of love and emotion
But all pierced the hearts and minds of common men
And left them in thinking as he vanished into the night
Murdoch the Mortician
There was once this man
Murdoch the Mortician was his name
A tall and crude man he was
A man of dread and silence
Sorrow constantly followed him
He held Death by hand as he walked
In peace only when surrounded by the dead
Cemetery was his only home
Many bodies he lay into the Earth’s womb
People that once had stories to tell
But after death they were only shells
Their souls went into a world of better or worse
Murdoch the Mortician was his name
The caretaker of the dead
A weird man of solitude and dread
The one who danced with Death
The artist
He was an artist with bad teeth and a wicked breath
An artist who desired nothing more but quick death
His soul carried so much pain and sorrow
Loneliness devoured him for to women he was a scarecrow
He wrote poems of love and death
Many would say they were written by a psychopath
He drew paintings of macabre and gore
That came from the visions he wore
All that sorrow and pain he could not bear
The love for this world anymore he didn’t share
It was time to go to a world of better or worse
It was time into darkness to immerse
Extraordinary
Like garbage he was treated
Abused and molested and defeated
Just because he was different
Just because he was special
They did not like his appearance
Day after day they beaten him
They hated his intellect
Jealousy consumed their souls
An outcast he was
Banished from society of men
Just like all extraordinary men
For ordinary men hated those above them
The Hunter
Once more into the night
I bravely walk alone
Against nocturnal creatures I fight
While being observed by monsters of stone
Through narrow streets passes a breeze of dread
The flickering eyes move in the dark
Through these streets that count many dead
Above them stars never spark
From around the corner I hear a muffled scream
I run and a wicked thing I see
Many would think this is just a dream
Many but not me
The creature sees me and stands up
The nocturnal dread from the wicked tales
I am the only one who can the creature stop
I who fought with them many battles
The creature immediately attacks
Driven by the thirst for my warm blood
I take out my silver ax
And kill the creature in the name of God
The table
There was once this table
Full of cuts and burn marks
Table full of stories of dread
Covered in dust and wicked blood
It was the table of a writer
The one with a twisted mind
Whose soul never rested
Tormented with madness it constantly was
On that table he wrote his stories of madness
Wicked stories full of torment
Scary and full of pain
They even made the table shiver
The writer lived beside that table
The writer committed suicide beside that table
The table soaked in the writer’s blood
And trapped his soul within forever
The poet, the pen, and the poison
It was a dark and scary night
The kind from which all men ran in fright
Clouds of dread gathered on the sky
It was time for this poet to die
He wrote with his trustful pen
As he enjoyed the coldness of his den
About a love he always sought
She was his only thought
His last poem he finished
He didn’t want his life to end in bloodshed
So he took his trustful poison
And died in this small prison
Grotesque
The darkness hid many things
One of it was a man so grotesque
That light didn’t even dare to illuminate him
And it kept him hidden from the eyes of the innocents
A man full of sins and pains
The one who lurked on those in the light
He crept beneath the sleeping city
And searched for the warm and innocent blood
Razor wire
She covered herself in razor wire
It was time from this life to retire
Pool of blood began to grow
This girl lost her tomorrow
Red rose
It was white in the beginning
Innocent and free
Then the rain began
And the rose became red
Snake’s tongue
He licked her virgin’s blood
With his forked tongue
She became his food
He liked his meat very young
Sorrows of our fathers
Look at them my dead friends
They cry for us now when it’s late
But when we were alive
They stomped us because we were different
Look at them my dead friends
Soak up the tears that fall on our graves
For life that we took from ourselves
Wasn’t truly our life
Look at them my dead friends
Remember how they used to command us
But now they cannot
And for our deaths they are to be blamed
Rain
From the clouds so wicked and dreary
It falls upon humanity so weary
The kisses it gives are full of passion
Soaking in sky's tears is their addiction
Many escape from it but a few stay
Under the water curtain they pray
For death to be quick and gentle
And make the soil soft where they will settle
Life
This life is so unfair
To live more I do not dare
Oh demons with wicked breath
Grant me a pleasant death
Human
I don't like my cracked skin
I don't want to belong to this kin
This wicked race called humanity
As with each day they slowly drown in insanity
I don't like my rotten teeth
And I can feel the rising heat
Of rage within my mind
Because of this race so ignorant and blind
I don't like my greasy hair
And I don't like the way they stare
At me with their piercing eyes
One can only hope this plague eventually dies
What can I do to escape this life
Nothing but slash my throat with a knife
And so from the darkest depths of my tormented soul I roar
I'm just a human and nothing more
The suicidal man, the owl, and the wicked thing that runs in the dark
It was yet another night
Of full moon and dreadful clouds
The kind which would make any man run in fright
Except one man lost in his thoughts
Through this graveyard he wandered
Thinking about painless ways to die
This life he abandoned
It was darker than the night's sky
The names on the graves he read
Of the ones long gone
He envied them for they were dead
Now nothing but ash and bone
From a tree nearby one owl observed this man
This fool that did nothing but ran
He was lost in this world and in his mind
; And he was obviously blind
For he could not see the wicked thing
That made this night even more chilling
But the creature could see its next meal
And when the man saw it he could not believe it was real
He didn't want to die anymore
He wanted to live and see his family more
He began to run but the creature was faster
And the creature met nothing but disaster
A hunter emerged from darkness
He faced this creature of pure madness
And he cut off its head
This wicked thing was finally dead
The suicidal man begged for forgiveness
But the hunter was merciless
The suicidal man was also wicked
So the hunter had him punished
The owl observed everything from the rotten tree
It was happy this graveyard was finally free
That the wicked creature was finally gone
And that its reign of terror was done
Ravenous sky
I have seen the dark flock
Flying over our kingdoms
Announcing misery and death
Announcing He is coming
They flew over our kingdoms
Their shrieks chilled the bones of the dead
And they blocked the sun
And our kingdoms drowned in darkness
Victoria
This victory is for you
For you my sweet Victoria
For you I shall conquer them all
For your beauty I will lay waste to all the kingdoms
So much blood I have spilled for you
And I will spill more if you desire it my dark queen
And not will you only drink it
You will cleanse your body in the fluid of our mortal enemies
Sea of tears and blood
I have seen the future
I have seen the fall of humanity
I have seen this world burn
I have seen the death of all life
Gothilibrium Page 1