(Many of these are works-in-progress that will be revisited!)


I Am The Snake
Take a bite out of the apple, Baby, they're really good for you!

I slide into your garden
And lurk behind the trees,
Watching each and every one of you,
As you laugh and joke and tease.

So happy are you all,
In this evergreen Eden,
Living life to the full,
And enjoying your freedom.

But it's a freedom so white,
So plain and without depth.
No layers to your happiness,
Just a superficial mess.

I'll offer shade to your party,
Some truth, some lies, some sting.
A dash of black to drain away
The joy from everything.

A single touch from me
And you're caught within my grasp.
My venom surges through your veins
Like the poison of an Asp.

Take a bite out of the apple,
They're really good for you!
I'm offering this fruit to take,
So decide what you're gonna do.

Take this apple from my hands,
Bite the tender skin.
Then let me lead you from the garden
Into a world of Sin.

 © Copyright Cory Eadson, 2012 

Whatever Happened To...?

Am I a shadow or a man?
A whisper in the night?
A black hole or a star?
A legend on a plight?

Do you know who I am,
Better than I know myself?
Do you have all the answers,
To help prise me from this Hell?

Do I live on when I'm not there,
On your lips or in your dreams?
Or do I not exist at all,
Once I leave you life-stream?

Am I as noble as you say I am,
Or am I just a fraud?
Am I bitter, weak, and empty,
Or 'The Evil OverLord'?

Does my make-up make me,
Or just help to create me?
Black pits around my bright blue eyes -
Do they reveal the fake me?

Do I really choose to just wear black,
Or has black chosen to wear me?
Will I ever find true happiness,
Or drown in melancholy?

Questions all, but answers none,
As vacant as a dying sun
That once burned brighter than the rest
But now is fading into the past...

Will they speak my name in years to come,
Discussing my life story?
Or will they sit beside a fire,
Asking, "Whatever happened to Cory?"

© Copyright Cory Eadson, 2012 


The Pain I Feel Makes Me Love You Even More
You Be The Rose, I'll Be The Shade

Sprawled out in the sun
Like a pretty little coffin
(With dainty purple roses
Painted on the sides),
You wait for me to dig a hole
Six foot deep and six foot wide,
Where we can lie forever -
As the rest of the world goes by.

But my fingers can't grace
Your furnished, well-kept surface -
Death just out of reach,
My willing burial denied.
I ache from trying to touch you -
A futile attempt at an impossible connection.
And yet somewhere in this shade of grey,
Must lurk an answer to my pain.
Indeed, I shan't rest until I've stolen
All the colour from your eyes,
Like you stole the love from my heart.

I can't let you go alone -
To lie, solitary, my Purple Rose,
Without this Black Shade to veil you.
And I can't let you make me cry,
Because beneath my make-up
Is nothing, nothing at all.

There's only one way
To drive this Shadow from my soul -
Me and you together,
Buried, and whole.
© Copyright Cory Eadson, 2012  

A Cry For Help
Talk minus action
Always equals nothing.
Save your words for Hell,
Where they might lose their sting.

Is Love so hard to feel,
Or is it just like Hate?
Are they both the same,
Drawn to us by Fate?

I think I'm in trouble,
Trying to work this out.
Spinning me, perplexed -
What's it all about?

Can I live without you
Beside me all the way?
Or will the colour you gave me
Turn a shade of grey?

I don't know what to do,
Don't know how to cope.
I'm riding a wave of confusion,
Lost, and without hope.

No way back from this,
I am a slave to myself.
Resigned to fading away...
Yes, save your words for Hell...
Copyright Cory Eadson 2012


A Coffin Couldn't Hold Me

Struck down before my prime,
Dragged out from the shadows.
Bound in chains of silver
And hung at the gallows.

They said that went I died
Rivers ran red with blood,
And mighty forests burned -
Flames devouring the wood.

 Buried, six-feet under,
Inside a nameless tomb,
Waiting for salvation
To free me from this doom.

It came in virgin form,
A girl of sixteen years.
She opened up my grave
Unleashing one so feared.

The chains of silver break,
My fangs, they seize her neck.
I drink her gushing blood -
It runs down my bare chest.

Then I gaze up at the moon,
The only friend I have.
Always there to watch me,
To guide me on my path.

So I run through the night,
Naked, bloodstained, raging.
Searching, stalking, hunting
Those who tried to stop me.

The fools should have realised -
They should have come to see -
That there's not a coffin,
Out there that could hold me...

© Copyright Cory Eadson, 2012


Butterfly Girl

Identical, they were.
Straw hair and butterfly eyes,
And little crimson love-hearts pressed tightly
Together, hinting at equal smiles.

I prefer symmetry.
A purple bruise on the left eye of one,
A similar lump to the right eye of the other.

The love-hearts become bloodstains,
As smiles give way to grimaces.
Blotted patches of ugly red.
Too identical.

A cut from left cheek to lip
Creates ones’ twisted half-smile,
A permanent, joyless smirk.
Then my metal edge returns,
To the right cheek of the other.
Cuts deep, drags down.


But is it enough?

I lie them down, side by side,
Pressed together.
Left arm of one down,
Right arm of the other,
Attached by needle and thread.
The arms on the outside
(Right for Left Girl, and vice versa)
Stretched out adjacent at equal angles,
Nailed to the wood they (she) lie(s) upon.

Like bloody butterfly wings.

I smile at my creation,
Art inspired by nature.
My adorable, beautiful,
Butterfly Girl.



This field of lilies,
As white as winter snow,
Stretches on forever -
A pure, unbroken flow.

Hazily gleaming
Beneath a watchful Moon,
They are like freed spirits
Escaping Nature's womb.

Yet, not these lilies
Have I come here to admire,
But the lady who picks them,
Upon the midnight hour.

From my perch on high,
And clothed by the shadows,
I see her come bounding
Through the haunted meadow.

Raven hair so dark
Against the glowing bloom,
Lips like a scarlet heart,
Skin like a marble tomb.

She sinks to her knees
And gently plucks a flower.
The sweet scent of perfume
Seems to soothe and relax her.

The smile on her face
Outshines any moon or star.
Like a lily, just blossomed -
Dainty, elegant, and fair.

But the Night grows tired,
And the lady must return
To wherever it is she hides
When the great red Sun burns.

But return she will
On the following night,
To pick her chosen lilies,
Thus bringing me secret delight...

© Copyright Cory Eadson, 2012



Your eyes, they inspire me.
Round and brown like a pair of shining pennies,
As mystifying as a vacant tomb.

Suddenly you smile, and I am distracted
From those rings of glistening darkness.
Your face radiates such chilling warmth,
As rounded white headstones connect between scarlet lips.

Overcome by awe, I stutter,
And laughter echoes from your half-moon necropolis:
A tuneful lament from one lost soul to another.

As I try to absorb your bewitching beauty,
Nature intervenes with a gentle breeze.
So daintily your Autumn hair drifts,
Like lilies dancing for the dead.

Yes, it's true. You reek of perfection:
Every crafted surface, every flawless flourish
Like a coffin.
And I want to be buried in you forever.

© Copyright Cory Eadson, 2012


Can You See Me Now?
Life churns noisily around me
Like an unstoppable Vortex -
And I am trapped in the centre,
Ignored, Unwanted, Invisible.

Laughter springs joyously
From the mouths of my tormentors,
As they walk right over me
Like I'm a long-forgotten grave.

Shaking, simmering, seething
I can do nothing but wait
'til my mind blows and shatters,
And my eyes blaze Hellish red.

Give me a gun, give me a knife,
It's time for me to end your life.

I step out of the heart
And into the hurricane,
Disturbing the flow
That you have created.

Dead eyes gaze back at me -
A mass of unfeeling zombies
Trying to make some sort of sense
Of what I'm about to do.

I was never so bad,
Would never hurt anyone...
But you pushed me,
Shoved me over the edge.

I have a gun,
I have a knife.
It's time for me
To end your life.

Hell burns through my veins, and how!
Listen up people, can you see me now?

© Copyright Cory Eadson, 2012

Scarred But Still Standing

"Scarred But Still Standing" has pretty much become a motto for me. It's a way of saying, "Yes, I've suffered, but I'm still here. I haven't given up. I'm still alive, against all odds!".

Twisting, writhing rage
Burns like acid through it's veins,
And a stabbing agony in it's heart,
Gets worse each passing day.

Ev'ry insult taken,
Stings deep down inside.
Ev'ry kick or punch,
Brings bitter tears to its' eyes.

Born in cold October,
Destroyed, age 13 onwards.
Reborn five years later,
As a heartless, damaged monster.

Black becomes it's symbol,
'Evil' – an adopted name.
Never forgetting those who caused
Such thoughtless, searing pain.

But Time has healed much,
A new Era can begin.
I can smile once again:
“Scarred, but still standing.”

© Copyright Cory Eadson, 2012

Dark Things 1

Lying on a bed of black roses,
Arms crossed,
And pennies on my eyes,
I wait.
Wait for the pumpkin sun
To fade behind the skull moon.

Shadows grow longer
(Like the ones inside my mind)
And stretch to nothing -
Swallowed, eventually,
By the impenetrable darkness.

The Darkness, my one true friend -
Hiding, in that fathomless black,
All manner of secrets,
All manner of Things.
Things that creep around my bed,
Lurk in my closet,
Writhe in the furthest recesses of my mind...

Maybe They know
That we are the same.
Maybe They sense
That I am unafraid.

An abrupt stinging pain in my heart
Suddenly grows more fierce -
Like a talon squeezing
All the life out of me,
And In my agony, I am forced to wonder:
Do They want me to join them?
Copyright: Cory Eadson, 2012

Once Upon A Time...

Once upon a time,
In a land so far away,
Lived a gorgeous little beauty,
Who smiled every day.

She smiled as she sang,
She smiled as she ate.
She smiled as she ripped,
Her brother’s face off with a rake.

Never did her smile falter,
As blood gushed everywhere.
She was glad to see the bastard dead,
For he’d brought her to despair.

When she was put on trial,
She grinned the whole way through.
Asked if she thought she’d reoffend,
She said, “My Lord, I do!”

Death was her swift sentence,
By hanging, as it were.
She did her hair and make-up,
So her corpse would swing with verve.

And swing it did for minutes,
A cold but pretty stiff.
The guards were so aroused,
They thought they’d have a bit.

By now she was in Hell,
Burning for all time.
But the little bitch still smiled,
As the Devil said, “You’re mine!”

© Copyright Cory Eadson, 2012


A Poem Without The Letter 'e'

Your soul is a labyrinth
With all its’ twists and turns.
Corridors spiral out of control,
Branching out wildly:
As irrational as that driving warmth burning within.

Passion is my guiding light
Through your multifarious shafts,
As my mission draws to its' conclusion.
I know, soon, that our spirits will link
In harmony, blossoming....always.

© Copyright Cory Eadson, 2012

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