Poetry
In the sanctuary of a dream, Brought forth by the night, bliss filled surrealism is such an enchanting sight, But when you close your eyes and drift off to sleep, It's not always a welcoming realm that awaits you When you've counted all the sheep, sometimes
Poetry
I like to compare my mind to a vast old antique shop, At first glance is captivating hard to resist and bound to leave you shocked, But if you overstay your welcome and remain here after Hours, Your bewilderment will surely turn to horror, At the tick of a grandfather
Poetry
I've never felt more lonely than when I'm in a crowded room, The only place I ever feel seen is when I'm alone with you, Not a word needs to be spoken for you to make me feel heard, To everyone on this planet
Poetry
Don't save my soul, Don't trap my mind, Shoot my heart, Let me die, Take my hand, Drag me down, Burn my corpse, Fley my skin, Feel my suffering, Dig my grave, Throw me in, Fill the hole, Pat the dirt, Say goodbye, I still breathe,
Poetry
Mother nature creates magnificent things, But nothing compares to the bliss that fog brings, It's like catching a glimpse of an angel's wings, Or the heavenly whisper of angelic harp strings, When fog descends on a world so impure, A veil shrouds the evil that'
Poetry
The thoughts in my mind are deranged and sadistic, The gore and the horror is unsettlingly artistic, The voices speak in tongues, Perplexing and cryptic, The depictions in my head are disturbing, Ritualistic, My dreams are engrossing, Depraved and twisted, I find them fascinating and thrilling, Gruesomely addictive, Part of
Poetry
A photo captures a thousands things that your eyes cannot replicate, And even though we cannot see, Cameras don't hallucinate, So when I see the man in black, But my phone does not compare, I know my eyes are deceiving me and he's not really there.
Poetry
At night the time Will tick too fast, But you're too tired to notice, Minuets, Hours, Days have passed, But in dreams it's only moments, Time will tell, The sun shall rise, But even though it's morning time, You don't open your
Poetry
Remember your meetings, control your temper, Steady your breathing, You're looking quite slender, Your face has been pale, You never eat dinner, Every time I see you you're thinner and thinner, Remember your therapy appointment i said, Your eyes become dimmer as you bow your head,
Poetry
Whenever you look my direction I worry about my imperfections, I turn to face the broken window and stumble upon my reflection, I see a girl craving attention, A ghost or a superstition, A projection of my infliction, A silhouette of my addiction.
Poetry
As the darkness descends on the world of despair, The apocalypse looms, And ash fills the air, The sky turns crimson and the ground starts to shake, Chilling winds whisper that the devil is awake, Buildings crumble Engulfed in flames, As chaos and destruction play wicked games, Distant screams echo,
News
This is The Unbound Heretic, a brand new site by Con Duiler that's just getting started. Things will be up and running here shortly, but you can subscribe in the meantime if you'd like to stay up to date and receive emails when new content is