By Alicia Ruiz-Yeganeh Let me hold my life with shaking hands. Please, trust me. I’ll cradle the thing, coo as it gurgles back. I’ll hold it up to the light and trace its hazy lines with stony fingers. Can’t it be mine? It should have been mine. I’ll take its hands and twirl it round and round, as my surroundings morph into the lilac woods, faster till I let go. It careens off like something I should wish on. I find it scrambled on the floor. I know what’s to follow. I chase

By Brandon W. Sample Final notice received Shadow has resigned No longer reflected Citing ethical issues Documents Behavioral irregularities Will not return Trying to rectify Promises made I will change Glancing into mirrors I try to confirm But they make no comment I stand before The brightest flame Yet it refuses to confirm. Still no sign No contact Contract voided I remain unaccompanied. #DarkPoetsClub #DarkHumourBitterIrony

By Tally Fox You were the best Best head Best left on read Best heartbreak Best heart fake Best dick Best John Wick Best puss killer Best soul filler Shiv Roy To your Tom High def CD-ROM You feel me Now you don’t Eject my CD It doesn’t play #DarkPoetsClub #DarkHumourBitterIrony

By Gabriel Knott-Fayle Here’s a joke about grief: It’s a Knock-Knock joke but the knock never comes. So you’re just forever stuck on the wrong side of a setup with a punchline that doesn’t make sense alone #DarkPoetsClub #DarkHumourBitterIrony

By Hannah Gathercole Your aroma was divine, that’s what people said. The women on your arm noses buried in your neck. Let them keep on thinking that you were fresh and vain. It's only polite for them to remember you this way. Our friendship was paramount, your soul fused to mine, and like glass, it cracked in half, a cruel bout of stolen time. They burned away your fragrance With industrial-strength scrubs, the reward for all my love is eye-watering suds. Let me retain your f

By Peter Sullivan Goya´s Black Paintings: a dark theatre for the slippery breech birth of everything abysmal. A cataclysm of faces writhing in thick impasto against a coven-black background. Then: the drowning dog. It looks like a small ship labouring up the steep curve of a towering wave, caught in a sudden squall under sheets of dirty rain. But then you make out the hopeful puzzle on the dog's face as it struggles to keep its head above the relentless tide. You would not th

By MH Calling you the love of my life never used to be a lie. Now that’s the only thing about you I can write. The pages I used to fill read like stand-up material. Well, at least I’m the one laughing now. #DarkPoetsClub #DarkHumourBitterIrony

By Jay Goldin giving up feels really good if you haven't then you should all that pointless longing gone leaving room for heedless fun good or bad kind, come what may you won't live forever anyway what's important is today throw off obligations, cares do what once you wouldn't have dared now that you're no longer scared if it kills you that's ok death will get us all one way or another, that's a fact bungee jump while smoking crack rockclimb with no safety gear guzzle absinth

By Billie Jama Step one: thoracic surgical intervention; Open chest cavity. Brace for impact. Step two: insert another person ~ Roughly, carelessly ~ Obsession in silk, Lips fluent in heartache, Kisses falling like moths Around a flame They know will finish them. Note: they will not fit neatly. This is normal. Ignore the protruding edges. Ignore the venom laced so sweetly You’ll call it taste. Step three: wait. Devotion stitches itself into scars, The architecture of tissue a

By Simona Volpe It was a dark and stormy night But she wanted to meet me at the cemetery I went there: the graves in the churchyard were ghastly. In the light of the full moon. A shiver ran down my spine. She was waiting for me among the tombstones. “Darling, you like kinky places!” In response, she took my hand. "How cold you are! But now I'll warm you up!" She whispered in my ear: "Do you want to lie in the grave with me?" We slipped into a family vault. "Kiss me," she told

By Harry Humber I can’t quite name the shape of coming dread, watching those missiles stitching through the sky overhead. They moved with a calm that felt almost rehearsed, as if someone, somewhere, had scheduled the worst. A woman said softly, I hope I was kind. A man wept, I tried—just not all of the time. Someone knelt down, not pleading—just still, as if taking a moment to choose what to feel. One voice behind me said, Life went too fast. Another just whispered, I thought

By Nadia Beckett He ate only kale And he ran every mile With a look of aggressive Organic fed guile He avoided the sugar The gluten, the fun And tanned using spray Not the heat of the sun He lived for a century Lonely and lean The healthiest corpse A morgue’s ever seen While his friends Who loved junk food And whiskey and vice Died decades ago Which was actually nice They missed all the wars And the rising of seas While he sat in his chair Sipping herbal ice teas He was flawl

By Julie Shackman Negotiating silver seas, To rob, destroy and plunder, A ship of black and crimson red, Called the Deadly Thunder. She would strike such terror, Into hearts of men, And was captained by a fearsome soul, Ruthless Johnny Wren. Then one evening, As the Deadly Thunder powdered home, Wren saw sparkles, In amongst the salty, champagne foam. But the looming pirate ship, Had a great surprise, Instead of zircon diamonds, Was a pair of bright green eyes. Johnny Wren wa

By Suki DeRange Heart full of soul, soul full of napalm, mouth full of rocks, rocks full of a mixture of laundry detergent and baby laxatives. nose full of blood, blood full of iron, iron full of hormones, moans full of longing, oesophagus full of cum, stomach full of plonk, plonk full of tanins, tanins full of antioxydants, good for the skin, skin full of grime, grime full of public transportation, public transportation full of oily-eyed strangers, strangers full of fears &

By John Metcalfe We gathered where the candle smoke hung trapped in fetid air, The ceiling bowed beneath the years and things we dare not say, The room was thick with old consent and disciplined despair, Grief took a seat and waited to be recognised as there. Item one: Optimism. It vanished from the slate, No hand rose to plead its cause; no voice could show support. Item Two: The vicar’s smile, worn thin by fractured faith, A brittle brown parchment of piety over heavenly do

By Sean Chard Tear my poems to shreds, set fire to them, dance on their ashes. Make them into pulp-balls, pea-shoot them at your loved ones, fold them into origami jumping frogs. Line a litter tray with them, let your cats shit on them, let them purr. Bend them into a wedge to stop a table from rocking, cut yourself on their paper’s edge, blame the paper, blame me, blame the poems. Staple them together, pick the staple open with your nails, remove it, feel satisfied. Soak the

By Katherine Garrison Blood money, the bloodier the better/purple Gatorade/xxxl portions/overdone burgers with or without cheese/getting fucked by micropenises with big dick energy. if you have a micropenis and are offended, that’s directed at you. if you have a micropenis and aren’t offended, don’t be too proud, or it describes you too/getting fingered by sleazelords who like underaged girls/the dead/people who are dying/oppressive religions with god complexes/oil fields/how

By Pete Cranmer I’m not too good at love songs Allow me to explain I’m really crap at diphthongs And it’s plain that you’re insane. I tried to write you this one It’s turned out rather lame. I miss you very often. I must improve my aim. #DarkPoetsClub #DarkHumourBitterIrony

By Rhonda Yates Step 1: Assume the world will misunderstand you. Step 2: Stomp your hooves. Loudly. Often. Step 3: Accumulate possessions. Do not question why. Step 4: Offend someone with your stubborn honesty. Apologize if convenient. Step 5: Nap through most crises. Observe chaos from a safe distance. Step 6: When life offers bitter irony, chew it slowly. Digest it grudgingly. Step 7: Repeat steps 1–6 until bored or hungry. Optional: Smile. For effect. It confuses people. W

By Mary Mulholland Somehow the rose-haired tarantula comes to mind, how she lives alone, hides her fangs – but don't we all? Docile, despite all her legs, until he swaggers up, taps away, his irresistible belly-dance. She falls every time. Taps hers in response. They dance, mate, thirty seconds, it's over for him – unless he gets out superfast. Her eyes in the clouds, she digs in, not seeing. And isn't that how it goes? Each time I sabotage it, when what I really want to say