Throwback Thursday: Darkest Passions

A throwback to a poem I recently featured on my YouTube channel: Darkest Passions.

I must admit, I do not know Whether it is the eerie glow That makes your secrets interest me Or if it’s something I can’t see. But always, you have filled my mind With sense of power ov…

Source: Darkest Passions

YouTube Tuesday: Darkest Passions

This poem was originally written for Poetry 101, with the prompt ‘dark’:

Darkest Passions

I must admit, I do not know
Whether it is the eerie glow
That makes your secrets interest me
Or if it’s something I can’t see.
But always, you have filled my mind
With sense of power over mankind:
It helped me through on solemn days
(And in some more erotic ways)
To ponder evil over good;
I feel more curious than I should.
The elusive secrets of your magic
Could turn into something tragic:
Why then, do you lure me in?
Today I count another sin.

Self-Abuse

Windswept on the porch with eyes as cold as steel
Jacket torn to shreds by the bitterness of night
I have returned to you again
As apparently
I cannot escape from the sphere of your influence

A face somewhere there, settled between the bruises
Shoes soaked in the blood that fell from my wrists
I am incomplete without this
So it seems
Because I come crawling back every time

Cheeks dripping from the torrent of tears
As the self-hatred washes over me yet again
I am the recluse who sinks
Back slowly into
The dark corners of my mind

You, who has controlled me
You, this other me
My soul of misery

The Patient by Aya Benotmane

Read at your own risk.

The following excerpt you are about to read represents a concise presentation of a very intriguing and fascinating individual. The following events represent real life situations that have not been altered nor distorted in any way. An extremely trustworthy and mighty legend once said that a human with insuppressible powers would be born on the fourth of August during the late nineties. This magnificent being would belong to the Leo star sign; thus promising a lovable and genuine personality. Up to this day, this human being has remained in hiding, fearing what society would do once they find out about the destructive powers contained within them. Some people claim to have met this hero, while others wish to catch a glimpse of their wafting soul. This person might be your best friend, classmate or maybe just a person you passed by while shopping for Christmas gifts. However, it just so happens that this so called ‘powerful’ human being is sitting with a pen and paper trying to come up with some interesting aspects and ideas about themselves in order to introduce themselves to the world.

This person is Aya Benotmane.


The Patient

Sometimes, when the world is tinged with orange vibrant colors, i wonder if it was all worth it. All the pain, all the meds, all the constant screaming in my head. I remember the tightness around my arms as the guards secured the rough strap-jacket onto my frame. I remember the wild fear in the patients eyes’ as they took them one after the other to the procedure’s room. Their faces, once filled with determination, now looked haggard and distraught.

I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. 

Constant vivid nightmares chase me nightly. Nightmares so real that i cannot seem to cut the thread between reality and dreams anymore.

“It’s the afteraffect of the procedure,” Dr. Dason said. “She’ll return to her senses in about six months.”

It’s been a year till now. A year of sympathy etched faces and concerned voices. The constant “Oh auburn! Am so sorry.” sentences played through my head. A year of “Am sure it’ll all work out in the end.”

Oh but i know the truth. 

“Auburn, please talk to me. Say anything! Anything at all! Please.” My mother said exsperatley. Her face is now hollow and dull. The effects of malnutrition and worry took their toll on her. Ofcourse, she’ll go back to the drugs.

Why speak when no one will listen to you anyway?

Although am behind closed doors, i hear everything. Constant arguements begining with “She’s ruined! Look at her jennifer! This is your fault!” No. Its all of your faults. and ending with Dr. Dason’s reassurance of making ‘it’ better.

See? After all of what you went through, you’re still just an object to them.

Before the procedure:

“You should take the procedure, it’ll make you feel way better than you are now.”

“Just take them off! You won’t need them anyway. Besides isn’t it better to just be normal?”

Oh but i am normal. We all are. It’s just that some of us are more unique than others.

I am not crazy. I am not an object.

They think they broke me. They think that they healed me of my curse, that i am ‘normal’ now. They think that i became what they wanted me to become.

Ignorant humans. 

They did not remove my darkness and my powerfulness. It’s still here brewing deep inside me, and it’s going to kill them all. One by one, like pebbles dropping down a cliff.


Ooh, I’ve got tingles. Now that’s a great way to introduce yourself.

If you want to discover more or read more of Aya’s writing, visit: https://mindtranquilityblog.wordpress.com

The Shadow

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Image credit: Pixabay

The shadow in the corner of the living room was large and mysterious. Billy was suspicious of it, if that was the right word to associate with a shadow. It did not seem to be cast by anything in particular.

He decided that the best thing to do would be to get rid of it. Every time that he looked at it, the shadow freaked him out a little more. Billy got off the sofa and moved over to the curtains, then pulled them shut to block out the natural light from outside. He turned around, flicking on the lamp as he spun.

The bizarre shadow was still there.

He turned the lamp off again, but that didn’t affect it either. He flicked the rest of the lights in the room on and off, to no avail.

‘Right,’ he said to himself, his hands on his hips as he stared at the stubborn shadow. Billy made his way over to the corner and started to move things around, trying to find out what was causing the shadow.

He pulled out the chair and dragged it across the room. He moved around ornaments, bottles and glasses. He cleared out the whole corner, then stood back to admire his handiwork.

The shadow remained.

Billy decided that the best thing to do now was to cover the shadow up, so that whenever he looked over at that corner, he would not have to see it. If he could not see it, then it might not bother him so much.

If that wasn’t effective, then he could avoid using the living room at all costs.

If that didn’t work either, then he could always burn down the house.

He settled for covering it up and hoping that it would work out. Billy all but buried the corner of the room in his belongings, creating a pile of items that reached the ceiling.

‘There,’ he said, dusting himself off as he stepped back to see if he could spot any sign of the shadow. There was none.

From time to time, he couldn’t help but take a peak under the pile in the corner of the room. The shadow remained there, ever present, and after a while he became used to it.

The room became cold and uncomfortable, and visitors began to notice it. Some of them claimed that they could see things moving around just beyond the edges of their vision. Billy tried to spot these things for himself, but he never could.

He knew that the shadow was responsible for scaring his visitors, but he was not going to allow it to kick him out of his own house. They would both have to stay.

A Hero’s Welcome by Peter Indianna

Extremely well written and dark horror.

The cobalt dress was taut around Carter Graham’s hips, the nylon thigh-hose stretched smooth and the blonde wig that he made out of Janet’s scalp fit radiantly snug over his short, salt-and-pepper hair. The pumps were far too small so he had to slit the sides of the black leather to make his feet slip into the shoes. Sitting at the dressing table, Carter fumbled about in Janet’s jewelry box, primping and fussing, trying on different pieces to achieve that distinctive look. The make-up strategy was harsh and gaudy, the scarlet lipstick a bit too thick and became smeared from his unskilled attempts to apply it. An synthetic pearl necklace was selected and Carter clasped it around his neck, followed by a pair of pearl studs which he punctured through the lobes of each ear. He stood before the full-length mirror and turned, spun and swayed, mugging at his reflection…

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Dysphemism

Great imagery in this poem. I can clearly see the inspiration from Hannibal – it’s all about the visual, and making something gruesome and horrible look like art.

The Scrawlyst

I suppose this piece deserves a disclaimer.
Euphemism is a deliberate attempt at understating or gently putting a harsh or unpleasant idea. It’s antonym would be dysphemism or cacophemism, which is a calculated use of disparaging or offensive phrases to represent a largely inoffensive idea. The following poem is not as much about murder as it is about absorbing inspiration from an observation.
Also, it’s a result of binge watching Hannibal.


I prod your neck with my thumb

And search intently for the throb

Of your nervous pulse

To stopper it, once and for all.

I trace your shivering silhouette

With the edge of my knife

Slashing softly through a trail

Of excited goosebumps.

Almost lovingly, I brush

The unkempt strands of black silk

Off your face, tucking them gently

Behind your diamond studded ear.

Lazily, I nibble that delicate earlobe

And enjoy the rush of your heartbeat

Against my prodding…

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Something is Missing.

Deep, powerful poetry. I love it.

Musings of An Insomniac

My worst fears

Are slowly unraveling

Themselves

One by one,

Tearing out

My sanity

From desperate clutches,

Leaving me

With bloody hands

And torn fingernails.

It was I

Who taught you

To pick yourself up,

It was I

Who taught you

That it was okay

To fall down.

You were the perfect student;

You learnt too well.

You have picked yourself up,

And walked on

Proudly displaying your

Battle scars,

But it seems to have never crossed your mind

That while picking you up,

I lost all my strength,

Hardly able to take another step,

I called you

But your victory over your demons

Seems to have blocked your ears

And you never turned back,

Taking with you

A part of me,

What was left,

After I had lost

All the other ones

And I try to find them now

In my writings,

My dreams,

My beloved books,

But nothing…

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Writing Prompt #152 ~ The Chariot

A really powerful story on a dark subject that goes on behind closed doors. Very well done.

Word Adventures

She couldn’t breathe. She suffocated really. Everything was tainted red, or black. It oscillated between the two. Her lungs didn’t pump enough oxygen. Her heart kept missing beats. Terrified. She was terrified. She was going to be trampled by the feelings.

There was only one way. She trembled… And pierced the skin. As blood pearled against the edge of the blade, some of the pain became physical. That she could deal with: that was more comfortable. She looked at her scarred arm. As blood flowed free, it purged her of the fear, the aggression, the anger, all feelings that terrified her. She had no idea how she could handle them. They were overwhelming, overpowering and only the process of hurting herself took the edge off.

She watched her blood leave her body washing away the emotional whirlwind. When it stopped, she cleaned it with fresh water. She wrapped the mark…

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Unrecognizable

A dark, gripping poem. I always enjoy reading this blog.

the_dorian_poe's Blog

As the glass shatteres, at her feet,
The still of the moment
Is clenched between her teeth,
Her eyes, swimming, in the tango of sound
Around her, catching every whispered crash,
Even the hurried flap
From its wing, perched heavily,
Behind light shades, to see what she can,
When she, herself is encapsulated
In a narrow uncertainty,
The grim scene she sees, isn’t registering
Inside her corrupted mind, lost
To the horror in the spotlight
From the knocked over lamp,
A trail of havoc leads to where she’s frozen
At the nightmare she can’t get away from,
Blinking, in reaction to strikes upon
Open flesh, opening deeper in the crimson,
She continues to cling to what stands
Before her, stumbling into her eyes, yet
She begins to wonder,
As her heart drops below the iced surface
When she notices, how far from dream
All that is transpiring, she actually is,

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