The Dark World of Lupo Nero

Lupo Nero By Lupo Nero, 19th Aug 2013 | Follow this author | RSS Feed
Posted in Wikinut>Writing>Poetry

The man. The angel. The demon. The light. The dark.
The grey.

This is his what he felt, did, and witnessed

Angel Dust

There was a certain scent to the ocean today,
un-imaginable winds hovered over it.

My angel walked through the poisoned sands.
She gently placed her hands on my stomach
to feel my heart beat…

As striking as lightning.
My heart was explosive,
shrapnel that lay splattered in the pit of my torso
instantly: formed into a single super-cardial-mass

Pathetic ghost of a being I was.
Wearing emotion on my forehead…
my sleeve could not possibly hold the weight.

She was the jewel in the sky:
Almost untouchable.
A cosmic beauty that I desired to feel,
so white and pure was this wonder.

(Why would she want a rotten creature like you?)

Her eyes saw “Lion-Heart” under the shadows,
I was transparent in her perception.

Ingenious perfection- we would make grey.
(Get to the good part)

Tongue touching was in perfect harmony,
body collision in perfect motion,
the peak was Everest-ial.

I was in deep waters, softly rippling the tide
Smears of angelic fluid on my upper lip,
grains of angel dust on my lower abdominal:
evidence of angelic satisfaction.

Oh, sweet angel,
you are the destroyer of my self-defiance,
you fire light into the dusk,
and un-sheath the daggers burned into my forearm.

I sold my soul to the angel
at the expense of her


Mind vs Heart

Every molecule in my cardiac capacity
exerts itself for a regenerated venture at
this abysmal amorous bond.

Every doubt in my nous,
burdens me angst for a possible
fall into a depressive swamp.

what to do?
take time?
are we blind?

or just so in tune
with one another
we don’t see
signs of a
long torture.

take time?
what to do?
test the water?

our souls
can make love
but our minds
stay clear of
each other.




I want this forever: right here-
no more lines to cross.
breaking, and rottining skull-
fragments, scattered on
my empty bed,
come to me now
perfect love.
I am done with
the past follies,
take to me-
there is noth-
ing else but you
-I am addicted to this
unusual cardiac drum-


Daggers to the stomach,
cold drips of shaking anxiety,
soul hidden by the dark blood of a "bright future”

This eternal life is homicide,
the unforgiving cardiac is burning.
Embers die to fall but cant.

Sitting in a cell, dark creatures tempting,
darkness is my foundation,
the escape is the key to salvation.

The key holder is the wind that never stops blowing,
the destruction of this disease
like the ghost of an angel you weep.

I wish to cry,
but your cold soul has frozen my ducts.
I wish to kill, but my lonely heart can’t find a blade.
I wish to die, but my key will never let me.

No escape, No spirit,
Dark soul, Dark Child.

Dear illusion, I love you so:
you are the air that I dare to breathe,
the air that left me for dead.

The next soul you torture shall see my scars on your body:
for none will see my scars, I am but a rotting corpse.

Like a wolf without a pack;
you hear my howls in the calm of the night,
but none to listen.

Yet the wind hears me, the almighty spirit will reward me.
(For what?)

No. The almighty will not hear me, because I was a c---roach in the dark far too long.
Being stepped on, there is spit on my spine.

You see, I’ve grown to love darkness,
the shadow engulfed me.

It was your disgusting beauty that first showed me
the true meaning of:

They scoff, they mock, I disregard any belief,
but my own.

No escape, No spirit,
Dark soul, Dark Child.

As you celebrate in orgy and wine,
I sit in my dark cell reminiscing.

I sit here just spilling blood on paper,
as if it was: I had no use to life.

For life is like a candle filled with virgin blood.
It burns till the wax is spilt on the table.
The table burns with the house.

I die…
to see a sunset,
I live to kill a mocking demon.

For a demon is better than I.
A demon has chosen and accepted his fate.

I sit in this dark room alone with: no choice, no place, no reason,
but you.

You are my reason…
You are my faith…
You are my eternal being…
You are my everything.

But like the Romans you are blind to the reason,
you are a jester dressed in a gown of adultery,
a fool of all types, but all the matter…
better than I.

I am rotting in my dark prison just waiting for the chance,
to carve my name into
your heart.

My blade is too dull…
My tears are too dry…
My soul is too heavy.

“Lion-heart”, they say.
I say, I am the “lonely wolves howl”

Heartless but never blind.
Confronting myself has been a blessing.

I met myself when I was older and found that you are a lie
Be calm, be still, this does not anger me…

Your disgusting beauty is what made you so delicious.
The lust of your ways is what made you Hitler.

(But who are you to dictate me!)
You are everything.

Voices in my head are a paradox…
my alter self tells me, “kill, kill!”

Death? I say to myself…
Why must I kill to gain sunshine?

"Alter ego,
you are a demon, you are the murderer,
it is you that killed me.”

I used to be so well rounded,
now I thrust spears at any sense of companionship

My soul is… elsewhere…
I pray, it’s in heaven.

When I die, I beg, not to wake up in this hole.
This dark rotting hole.

The smell of smoke and bad milk,
of dried up rice and stale potatoes.

To live in a place where my soul is already unlocked…
OH! What a wonderful ending.

“No!” the demon says. “No!”
“You will always be mine.”
Dark spirit it was not you that put me here!
You will not be my gate keeper!

Wait... She...
She is my gatekeeper… She can brighten this tortured soul…

“No!” (The demon says) “No!”
Yes! you evil b------. Yes…

The demon laughs.

“ Don’t you see, I have already taken her?
She is gone and forever mine.
For what you thought was eternal was not,
she is just an illusion,
a fake.

She was my weapon of mass destruction
and it worked you hopeful, desperate fool!

Never to be like water again she is like the gasoline in your car
Black, toxic, and disgusting.

She was never real, she was imagined.”

What a wonderful dream I had for her:

A life of exploration and wonders,
a sea of boots knocking,
so loud this knocking would be!

It would disrupt the earth to its core
sending shockwaves into the ocean.

I would call her name for miles on end,
and no matter how far she may be:
she would answer.


Long live the words that spoke of

Being the three purposes
to eternal life.

The paper is a butchers apron,
the price of this plague since
the fetal stages
is a wretched

The crease of this masterpiece,
is bent by the might of
a great One.

The pages will not quickly change,
like a flip-book.

They will turn themselves
with grace, and effortless

For true power is within.


I found the scripts of
man-made religion,
and my bon-
fire was quite nice.

Shoulders in the air,
waving my hands
to the absence of hellish

Pure heavenly flashes
sneak through the
hole in my lonely

It give me tasts of hope,

just enough to move.

This is not enlightenment.

This is the facts, raw, and uncut.

Take it or leave it
like facing the truth
was the "easy" answer.

Of course not.

It's a long dirt road,
with sadistic highlanders,
and false prophets.

Preaching "prosperity"
as if
wealth was important.

As if the pain in our lives,
didn't shape spiritual growth,
and love fed it blessed

We must look above,
but listen for the
difference in
our hearts.

Give your
life, and
take your

Dead Roses

My love is like a black, black smoke,
that smothers the air of my cold December;
my love is a deafning sound,
that I pray to not remember.

So foul; art thou, my burning rash,
so shallow in love I tread;
and I wll drown in your waters, my dear,
till the lagoon engulfs me.

Till I gasp for breathe, my dear,
and the clouds shine wi' the moon:
I will die from thee love still, my dear,
while the wolves o'death shall run.

And foul a wheel, you must have turned
foul a wheel, that caused me to burn,
incinerate my soul again, my love
tho'it were enflaming as fire.


There is no such thing as "happy love",
only moments of sweet emotion,
and thrills of lust.

Impulsive actions based on
the warmth of
butterfly-ed nerves.

Heated sensual passions
resulting from seductive
touch, and rushes of blood.

Not love, silly swan.

It is the heart-bleeding
tears. The wet-ness of a
pillow, from the nights,
one subtracted two.

In additon, you can light the
keys to it's ignition, but it isn't
a burning engine, but a
wild stallion painfully
running its course
to find that perfect steed.

It is...
broken frames, and shattered
vowels. Swollen ducts,
and ruptured bowels.

It truely is pain...

Don't let anyone ever tell you,
love is sweet, and kind.

Pain is love's
journey, when
troubled souls intertwine.

Liquid Swords

Meandering to her coffin-
with a slight smirk,
I ashed my cigarette on her disfigured ruins.

I vowed to never hate you-
beauty has a devilish voice when it approaches me
at midnight, wearing a pale gown reavealing
its cloudy figure.

Obsession is the demise of my psyche,
-and she knows it...

Well she knew, before I smothered her
intoxicated breath of brew, and
bright fruit.

Always knowing I was the hungry wolf,
waiting for her to award me a trophy
-for this Long, painful hunt.
I know now pretty lady,

When your casket falls six feet below
this rotten apple tree
my ashes will run with the wind,
and find a home- will come back acorpsed-
flesh peeling from your eyes-
-drip, drip, drip-

Vivid depection of the sound of
my bleeding wounds,
and internal death
is far worse than putting-
a shotgun to my head-

So perhaps, I'll do that instead...

I won't let the disgust of her demeanor linger in my heart,
and alter my mind, I will be


I am a quiet, cold creature
with ink on my fingerips,
I manifest a bold feature

My pen is a liquid sword
"En garde!"

I desire to make you die by the stroke of my-


These liquid swords infuse invincibility
-they saved me



Poetry, Poetry And Rhyme, Poetry For The Heart And Soul, Poetry For The Soul, Poetry For The Soul And Heart, Poetry Is A Natural Gift, Poetry On Love, Poetry With Meaning

Meet the author

author avatar Lupo Nero
I am nineteen and in school for creative writing in entertainment. I believe writing should have no limits or standards, and the true essence of my poetry is the freedom of imagination

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author avatar Rathnashikamani
21st Aug 2013 (#)

"Dear illusion, I love you so:
you are the air that I dare to breathe,
the air that left me for dead.

The next soul you torture shall see my scars on your body:
for none will see my scars, I am but a rotting corpse."

There is great vehemence in your words.

Your poetry is strongly emotional, with intense feelings and passionate expressions.

Keep it up.

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author avatar Lupo Nero
21st Aug 2013 (#)

Thanks so much!

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