Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Tortured Muse: A personal poem by Sabrina Samone

By Sabrina Samone
Copyrights © Tortured Muse, 2005

I rarely share my poetry because most then, realize how morbid I can be. Even attempting to write something romantic, usually ends tragically and dark, but after reading a few poems recently I felt I wanted to share my fictional side, hope you enjoy.


She’s one of the daughters of the God of the sea,

Being murdered by you,

You fool.

She came to help

But you stone the already battered soul.

That cat even knows,

But you,

You, just go on with your flow.



Or open your soul’s eyes

See the corpse before you


Rotting flesh

Symphonies of a thousand composers,

                                                                   oozing like pus out of her veins.

The paint of countless artists,

                                                  boils on her skin.

A dramatist tears,

                            flows from her eyes as black as tar,

                                                                                         with the stench of Hades.

Your sins are with her


Now rape her body with your eyes

See her radiant,

                           No care,

                                           Beauty, you think undeserving


Fierce control,

Independent and wise


Continue choosing your illusions

Scares dressed in lace so you can feel okay,

Never seeing how the scars grow,

Never seeing how powerful you re to her as well.




Hammer her head,


So that her brains drip off her body,

                                                            like the thoughts of a writer,

                                                                                                             onto his sheets.

That you fool

Was the last daughter

 Of the Great God of the sea

Your inspiration,


Your muse if you will.


She could walk your soul to the gates of Satan’s door

Rattle your brain

until your thoughts are no longer yours.


Lost dreams

Fantasies never fulfilled,

Empty marriages and empty carriages,

A rotting womb and barren tombs

Rejoice for death

Remorse a birth

A blank stare into the abyss

A never ending reach

For the next process

Can be

And still you tempt.


Only gifts

She longs to give.

Inspired dreams yet dreamt.

A thousand songs yet sung.

Countless realities,




Endless midnight readings.

Never ending green landscapes,

seen in deserts.

Waterfalls seen in a metropolis.

Fragmented bodies,


To a tapestry that never ends.


Only when gone will you know

She had been your muse,

With cold

  Blood                                                                                                            (?)  by  Italian artist Deaz

From your hands.                                                                   
Ofcourse I believe you should come away with your own meaning, but have had  so many friends think it was just a blood and gore poem, its really meant to symbolize what it means to your inner muse, when you don't follow your dreams and heart.

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