Damned Words

Enter.  Sit before the Tale Weaver.
Heed: true beauty tis not in the eye of the beholder
but in the minds of the Damned.
Open yourself to us…


A Picture Paints 100 Words, by Dan Dillard

The knob creaked as I gave it a twist. The ancient sound of metal on metal made my ears ache and slithered panic up my spine. Funny it should do that. That anything was able to do that to me in this stage of the game.

It was brilliant that I even found this place, so fitting to my plan. Her body tucked ever so well into the old crematorium. The drugs working their magic until after I lit the burner and the flames licked up, tickling her with devilish hunger. My favorite part was yet to come. The screaming.


Poisonous Hope, by Tyr Kieran

Imprisoned behind an unlocked gate of decorative iron, I watch the world carry on without me. Each day I remain in captivity works on my soul as bacteria would on a slab of uncured beef. The breeze that swirls in and out of my chamber taunts of life’s sensations that could still be mine. Yet, intangible chains bind me to a rotting corpse while the sweet poison of hope corrodes my chance at eternal peace. It’s too tempting to ignore. I cannot rest, cannot let go. So, I wait for receptive prey to venture in and unknowingly forfeit their future.


Sacred Charge, by Nina D’Arcangela

Day after day I have grasped you, clung to your surface, held you as though you were yet a remnant of her. Many the night I sat below you, gazing upward; wishing, hoping, never praying. Have I made you my false idol? Perhaps. But in your solemn stance, you guard over all that was precious to me, how can I blame you? But I do. My mind bleeds for what should have been, for the chance never to have seen you. My tears shed upon your unyielding beauty only add to my remorse for what lies beyond your sacred charge.


Refuge, by Joseph A. Pinto

Refuge; before these iron gates I tremble.  Words, long forgotten, muttered upon this unforgiving draft.  Weary fingers graze lips; memory languishes.  A song cries.  Lost, what once remained.  Balm to my wounds, these iron gates I clutch.  To twist this handle, to enter into that which I have denied myself.  A thousand angels mock my arrogance; their light I have shunned.  Tell me godless thing, who haunts your starless nights?  My thousand lies expired at last; hollow, barren, crumbled within.  Shadows beckon; so soon shall I dance.  Refuge beyond these iron gates; blackened tomb.  Condemned both by heaven and hell.


Vacuum, by Leslie Moon

You ask me to grasp this? Enter something into which I cannot perceive meaning. Is there a way through this dim portal? Will I come to the end and find a vacuous self? Strain into a haze with no return?

Ask me not to open this sepulcher of doubt. Free my way, menial I will welcome. To touch this skeleton of all my fears, a repugnant notion. You bid me- go, no gentle nudge. I am plummeted to the world beyond my fears. Where all I cherish is missing. All I long for is past. All I was is gone.


Sleeping Dogs, by Thomas Brown

Higher and higher the dog-king climbs, advancing up the stairs. Where the brickwork fails, he catches light; small glimmers in the dark. Dawn illuminates the countryside, and at its heart his tower; a Gothic spike, a splinter, driven deep into the hills.

Steps crumble, break beneath paw-hands, and then he is outside. The rooftop glitters, wet with slime and sunlight on old stone. He crawls to where the guttering clings tightly to the slate, and where the new dawn sees his flesh, his broken face, his lolling tongue, it hears him laugh, breathe rancid breath, then turns him into stone.


Inner Sanctum, by Blaze McRob

From down the hall, the words do come, and with them now, a screeching hum. As door does open, telling all, that deep fears wait at beck and call. But now must I with no noise crawl, or parents both will make me call, out in the night as they will beat, the stuffing out from my small feat. For in my bed I am to be, and not in hall the place for me. As radio for this great show, within my soul is not to grow. But Inner Sanctum does arrive, and three year ears in story dive.


Welcome Home, Baby! by Hunter Shea

Shirley, I’m coming!  

The words came out as, “Sssrlleee, mmmm cnnngggg!”

One foot stepped on the other and my forehead slammed into the grated door. It should have hurt, but then again, all the should haves were dead and gone.

Unlike me.

Unlike the other shambling wrecks in the cemetery.

Do I look that bad?

I twisted the iron knob. I’d been able to breathe last time I’d been here. I came to bring flowers, talk to the air.

The door opened with a steady creek.


Her skin slid off her face. So what? We had each other again.


Veneration, by Daemonwulf

The shrieks of the ageless faithful defile him, seeking restitution from an eternally deafened heart. Their history of torment, revealed in screaming admonition, scrapes the frozen memories and claws at cold, darkened walls, struggling for a chance to be heard.

Theirs is a multitude of ignored voices; immeasurable lives ending as grist to be chewed by holy teeth.

He slams the door as the suffering faithful yearn for salvation, choosing instead the false prophecies he utters in glorious silence.

Crying out for redemption, they clamor for their promised reward, only to find sanctuary within the warming shit of their God.

Each piece of fiction is the copyright of its respective author
and may not be reproduced without prior consent.
Image © Copyright Dark Angel Photography. All Rights Reserved.

Broken Dream

I came so innocent as a child

such wild and  fanciful play

I would often tiptoe in the night

 staying long into the day


Fortresses queen I’d be

sea castles in my mind

and as I older grew

I toyed in the sublime


 chance encounter that I had

mad he flapped and cawed

black cloaked raven-man

a twisted face, how odd


things were altered now it seemed

my dreams began to thin

 darkness seeped in and through

imagination’s walls  begun to spin


Bloodless echoes haunted me

“please” I’d close my ears

steel-like, frozen where I stood

terrorized by my fears


Malevolence stalked through the mist

abyss like were his eyes

vile dropped from his lips

his cloak rendered no disguise


“I take you as my victim

pinned – a voodoo curse

you cannot from it run

I promise it’s the worst”


No light lit his face

trace, there was no sorrow

 a hideous malignant sneer

little time left to borrow


There is no place that I know

to go or leave this thing

bound in a timeless shell

to none hope can I bring


For you, life-taker grows this hate

rape you may my world

but watch this as life’s child

her vengeance is unfurled


try with all my will to shake

awake I’d purge the dream

blood through fingers oozed

coagulated as I’d scream


my hands they hold a sanguinous flood

loves I cannot save

none could stem abhorrent tide

In their blood I am depraved


alert my plans, they have wrought

thoughts to kill my foe

the curse must be undone

for the sake of all I know


The maniac’s thirsty schemes

dreams that I now dread

 dealt a hand I cannot play

his crimes are mine instead


rivulets of a cursed flow

grow as I hold them tight

I stand so pale and aghast

her stream gushes in the night


this dreaded, foretold dream alas

last of those I knew

puddles form in ebbing streams

I can only mouth,” Adieu”


“Ha” he gasped “Gagnez – you win”

A pin thrust in my side

too late was lost his final breath

” no victory all have died!”


 keeper of nightmarish pool

fool I knew too late

this ghoulish fiend held a key

would have opened freedom’s gate


you, dream-waker come this way

as the noir play unfolds

ghastly gore spread neath your feet

“what evil is untold?”


Endless blood pools there it lay

off-stage a cloak is draped

 one lifeless human voodoo doll

nightmares he must shake


From the doll a pin he gently pulls

full of shape and life is she

cruelly manacled to a frozen wall

his aim to set her free


 “there must a way to make this cease”

“release me not,” I scream

I now am specter of both worlds

 leave me shackled to this dream”

~ Leslie Moon

© Copyright 2013 Leslie Moon. All Rights Reserved.

Empty Hearts, Empty Stockings

Empty Hearts

On a brisk December morning

Children dreamt of  Holiday delights

A vile storm was brewing

To extinguish 27 lights

Little sisters with their new clothes

Little boys in wintry white

A storm thick was waiting

To extinguish 27 lights

The end of a new day

Who could see the darkest spite

A storm now was ready

To extinguish 27 lights

As the stars are just dawning

Look up high in the night

They are singing others playing

Missed, Precious 27  lights


Empty Stockings

27 stockings hung

My empty heart

Joins you on the pyre

Feelings  are  completely rung

no hope of life’s gift

of  your  love I am bereft


If I flung

myself  before  finality  did  start

into memory’s  fire

flames would purify and lift

casting this pain adrift


No presents slung

On Santa’s jolly  cart

can satisfy under ache so dire

no happy hugs to sift

this cold pale Christmas

~ Leslie Moon

© Copyright 2012 Leslie Moon. All Rights Reserved.