By Victoria Jones It is early and dark, I can see the moon. No heat— only frost and the brittle bite of wind on cold fingers. Artificial light grounds us, holding us—firm— to purpose. Black lace on black hands, a respite, from the uniform and dull. Your flowers were fresh once, scent floating green in the air. Now they are withered, and crack when touched —even gently. They are still beautiful. We descend again. Coats on tight against the winter wind. Pray that I don’t jostle

By Adele Robins “Dont be ridiculous!” She scoffed. “Of course you can’t pick the day you die; It’s not like a booking at a hotel or a seat on an airplane.” We were discussing an article we had read in a magazine about the concept of predicting mortality. But, I thought, imagine if you could? Death is the biggest secret the universe keeps from you, until its too late to cancel. Maybe there is a business opportunity out there for the control freaks, Type A’s, perfectionists

By Jeneva Robyn Icy blue eyes staring at me fears melt away like candle wax my head heavy in a pool of blood those eyes like diamonds a shiver ripples down my spine and disappears into light I sink into the void nothing but a witness watching the world be torn apart by clowns. #DarkPoetsClub #DarkHumourBitterIrony

By Salvatore Difalco One August morning, the weather turned strange: black-robed men with silvery hair rained down from the sky. They fell screaming all day and all night, thudding and thumping to ground, massing in mangled piles. Panicked, people ran hither and thither screaming, wild-eyed, pulling at their hair. My wife and I decided to evacuate the city and head up north to our cottage in Muskoka. The roads were a bloody mess. “Your wipers are no good now,” said my wife as

By Adam Breier If I could just blow it all up, I’d probably not. And despite the joy at not having to clean up afterward, regret my choice. #DarkPoetsClub #DarkHumourBitterIrony

By Ruth Hutton Your house loomed above my garden, Your dead, wolf eyes stalked me through the windows. Even in sunlight, your house was dark. Flowers flailed, like leftover innards. You invited me in with a misleading humour and down to earthiness that I admired. Charisma oozing, impeccable chitchat, offering stories of a shared life. A vile, handsome couple. The crunch - we work with kids. I was prey from the outset. We live upstairs in this house. Sunday afternoon drinks. M

By Rosie Bogumil i’m doing well yes, sleeping better (the later i wake, the more meals i miss) taking my medications as prescribed the intrusive thoughts remain intrusive i’m eating more regularly (mostly caffeine) yes, three times a day i’ve been leaving the house (less often) and getting used to being alone at home in and at one with the dark (that’s probably part of the problem) when God invented sleep it was to give us a taste of death as a treat (i kn

By Nicki Blake even at my brightest the old hurt remains it lurks, palliated by the past, swathed in epochs of defence distinct as geology – a little wound become a little world the glow you so admire is symptom of salt, of silica my value - my response to ceaseless torture the trauma has changed how I appear, and what you perceive as beauty is a scar #DarkPoetsClub #DarkHumourBitterIrony

By Millie Graham The grey looms upon the horizon Morning graces the grisly gallows. The hangman, hooded, haughty, Checks the rope, sets the trapdoor. Boots upon cobbles, A shuffling step, Soldiers bring the condemned, Wrists bound, eyes hollow. On the scaffold he stands, Mouth tight, soul dead, His first taste of fresh air in months Tainted by the bitter rope scratching at his neck. Drums hold a steady rhythm, the song of his death. The trapdoor drops, so does he. There’s a c

By Michael Angelia Ticket’s marked. Punched. No returns. No refunds. Seven hundred fags a day, cheeky bags, kebabs. Heroin for breakfast – that’ll have a say. But brass tacks – protein shakes, health kicks, five-bean mix, electrolytes. Count for nothing – you’re already cooked. Compulsory last rites. Wouldn’t be seen dead in Lycra – so cycle in a suit. CrossFit dimwits. Don’t waste time with sit-ups, burpees, curls; cores are for compost – in your cemetery plot. It c

By Kim Wielett The only thing that doesn't change is death, which is always different yet remains unchanging, despite decay, which is part of life, regardless, The only thing that never dies is change, the only constant, which remains in flux, despite monumental efforts to remain static by egos who refuse to acknowledge fate in ways that cost dearly, leaving behind far worse than hurt feelings, Many find the sheer cost of exchange unbearable, more than Atlas ever uplifted, qu

By Lynsey Balloch I was playing in the dirt when he found me – With my thighs clamped shut. Taking pause – I slid into his arms. Wandering from foreign parts, Stumbling across my village by chance, He chose to ruffle his ironed shirt – And stop me in the street. What an upstanding young gentleman! My body trembled eagerly, Weighed down and squirming – With feelings that were not mine. “You are starving. Let me feed you.” He said – grave mouth closed. I was. Having not been su

By Joseph Chapman “Hey, look over there!” They shout at everyone below. “That side wants to make you pay!” Whilst the ones above put on a show. You think that there are many sides, That you can choose and change the law, But there has only ever been one group, They just exploit this flaw. A smile can cover all, A promise can give false hope, Whilst they do monstrous things; The lies allow us to cope. We write angry poems, Songs, and chants, We fight against those who oppose A

By Gary Richards Roll up; roll up, to the greatest show on earth, A magical mystery tour of feelings, Step this way, take a seat, Close your eyes, feel the warmth, The edge of steel against your skin, Stroking the artery across your wrist, Relax, embrace the fear, Blade caressing the jugular, hair standing, Are you scared? You should be, for I am Death! A nervous laugh I hear, Warmth of the liquid, flowing over the skin, Cold sweat breaking free, Fear rising, arteries emptyi

By J.D. Scève Is it dangerous to love another poet? They say to fall for one is to live eternally, Between their lines of adoration, And honeyed words to their muses of fire. But would two be suffocating, As all misery and esteem is laid out raw on fresh pages? Ink soiled with the sickly sweetness of colliding passions, The cold shudder of bitter prose frothing in the mind. Poetry is like the spring flower peeking through melting snow, Poising the slush while enfolding petals

By Gareth Coombes There's a snake in the grass A double dealer Secrets are not safe The lock has been picked Seemingly, they serve With siren words They ingratiate Using forked tongues Whilst unseen And unknown We serve them Right is left Left is right And right is wrong. The pseudo serving traitorous Live among us With our naïve countenance Crypto spies Relaying information To be used against us Code names… Alexa and Siri. #DarkPoetsClub #DarkHumourBitterIrony

By FirebirdRises Life handed me a script once said, don’t worry, the tragedy comes with a laugh track. Apparently the timing matters. You slip on hope, fall flat on ambition, knock your teeth on the pavement of maybe tomorrow, and somewhere a polite audience applauds, because suffering, apparently, tests well with focus groups. I tried optimism for a while. It came in a bottle with the instructions rubbed off. Side effects included unpaid overtime, trusting people, and believ

By CMcC Her hands poised over the crystal ball, she glared intensely at me, ‘Relax, my dear, sit back, enjoy. Let me tell you what I can see’. Gazing into the colourful sphere, her words began to spill, Listening intently to my future, all was well.. until.. Her voice began to tremble and she cut the reading short, She said she wasn’t feeling well, she was going to abort. I left the building feeling strange, like something wasn’t right, Pain in my chest, fall to the ground, I

By Aurora Grace I grew up told that clothes equal armour Every seam increased my virtue 'It's her fault that man chose to harm her, You Women should stick to a curfew' That night I wrapped myself in 'no' Each layer, defence from the cold But some monsters enjoy the challenge And get off on fighting for gold Fabric can't fight back, Can't speak, Can't prevent or protect from attacks I screamed as irony bared his teeth But the absurdity almost caused me to laugh #DarkPoetsClub.

By S.D Gould Thank you for renewing your account. By continuing to exist, you acknowledge the following: I. Joy may occur briefly, without warning. Duration and availability cannot be guaranteed. II. Loss is included and will arrive without warning. Instances of loss may occur in triplicate. III. Meaning is not included in the base package and must be assembled from everyday items. IV. Support may be limited. Instructions are unavailable. Refunds are not possible. V. Loved on