Manic Mayhem 1

Manic Mayhem is poetry for the modern reader. Its dark and sometimes very descriptive, yet fictional, accounts of the depth of human depravity and the unrelenting need for self gratification with no regards for others, draw you into a playground where only the demons from your nightmares dare to play.

Lady Andariel, also known as, Andariel: The Maiden of Anguish, brings to the page some of the most diabolically psychotic imagery that the mind of a bipolar manic depressive can produce. Though she is also known in the poetic community for her words of love and romance, her darker side is where she tends to reside most frequently.

In Manic Mayhem the reader will be drawn in with brilliant and very adult content, not meant for everyone. But for those with a secret penchant for the most vile and demoralizing lines of fictional horror, Manic Mayhem will bring the ultimate gratification.

"...Casually, carefully he mapped out her daily itinerary; every move she made he recorded in delicate detail, he would repeatedly peruse it all, committing each step to the steel trap of his memory.

He would not take her until everything had been arranged in complete perfection. She would be his ultimate satisfaction. To him and him alone she would beg to give her submission.

He gently caressed himself, crafting in his head the first time he would touch her soft, supple skin. How he would gingerly wake her from the drugged sleep and wait ever so diligently until the fear of her predicament set in..."

(From: The Crystal Coffin )

"...Thoughts jumping on the tracks of trains that have already passed. Broken into a million pieces of forever never lasts.

Joining in the revelry of the midnight noose around my neck as memories mingle with the terrible ache bursting from these gelatinous bubbles inside my labored chest.

Bring the winds and call the storm, make use of the pestilence never born! Call the raging sea to me...

... and let me drown.

Turn me inside out...

...Or...

Upside down..."

(From: Epitaph )

"...On a cold floor of stone

She wisped the beautiful shawl on her shoulders

Off to hang it with grace

Made from the finest of human fibers

Hair formed into a gorgeous lace.

Beautiful could not describe her

Dark...this dark... is difficult to pen

Her eyes, deep pools of black lies

Surveyed her formidable den...

( From: Mama )