Posts Tagged ‘Blood’

To most who look,
Poetry looks a glorious act,
A noble act,
But it’s a lie,
It is butchery,

I hack and cleave,
Words into prime cuts,
Punctuation into mince,
It is a foul process,
The table glistens with grease and crimson,

Exsanguinate the prose,
And remove narrative viscera,
Carve a strip of exposition there,
And rend from it superfluous fat,
My pen thirsts for more,

Boiling bones of expression,
Reducing them to grist for future ventures,
Everything is red,
The grisly work is done,
For the punters to love and hate,

Caked in blood and gore,
Of projects discarded,
I am no writer,
No poet,
I am a butcher.

A continuation of ‘Festival Of Blood‘.

I was a bad man in life,
A nightmare in a mask,
Bringing luscious bloody release to innocents,
Before my festival of gore was cut short by firing squad,
But I’m back,
I claws my way out of hell,

But something followed me,
Something wants to drag me back,
Drag me back with fang and claw,
This infernal dread has a name,
Cerberus,
A real bad doggy,

A mass of muscle and maw,
Dark as the night,
And far more foreboding,
Three canine heads of such freakishness,
A trichotomy of insatiable mouths,
Slavering with the essence of hell-fire,

I am prey now,
A target for this unholy behemoth,
This guard dog of the underworld,
Its eyes seethe with crimson voracity,
It will hunt me for all eternity,
I can only flee,

I was a serial killer,
An apex predator,
But now me and my soul are just panicky prey.

Cerberus

He’s coming for me,
Even the storm outside does not cloak his steps,
Mr. Ash,
The frigid wind tries to hold him back in vain,
The rain whispers “flee”,
Each stroke of lightning is a plea of “run!”,

My attempts at going underground failed,
My thieving insult to him will be repaid in blood,
I glance out of the window fearfully,
I see him nearing even in the black,
It’s like staring into evil itself,
It’s like looking at the apocalypse in slow motion,

A demon,
A God,
Or something altogether more alien,
Long spindly limbs,
Pale and hairless,
He is dressed literally to kill,

His emaciated limbs bear barbarous claws,
Claws that have ended lives since time began,
And perhaps even before,
His mad eyes are wide open,
His grin filled with murderous intent,
He’s coming for me,

His form appeared at my door,
That grin still glistening,
Despite the horror that was about to ensue,
His rangy form must nearly crouch,
But I still feel like a frightened child,
The monster under the bed is real,

Even the bravest slink in terror,
And fear the name of Mr. Ash,
Even the maddest see reason,
And fear the name of Mr. Ash,
Even as my body is torn limb from limb,
The storm continues unabated.

MrAsh

My candles breathed their last,
I decided to take a walk with the full moon,
A dark shape crossed my path,
An unnerving smirk upon its countenance,
Disconcerting yet darkly welcoming,
Fangs glistening like daggers in the moonlight.

A mad grin,
An infectious grin,
Piercing eyes,
Unblinking eyes,
An obfuscated form,
Even more obscure intentions.

He greeted me warmly,
Every sentence punctuated with a giggle,
He explained his way of life,
To laugh was to live,
All else was misery he said,
Life and death were simply gags.

His laughter spoke to me,
Like friendly advice I could not ignore,
Each cackle was a poem,
Every chuckle a sonnet,
Each chortle was a well-formed argument,
It told me of things wonderful and unseen.

His laughter seduced me,
It revitalized me like a shot of adrenaline,
Like a lifestyle I’d shamefully missed
His guffawing opened a gateway,
An expression of joy in three syllables,
Ha. Ha. Ha.

I almost joined him in his nocturnal comedy,
But then I saw the corpse crumpled behind him,
A bloody beam carved across her face.

His grin vanished…

LaughMan

The clowns are here,
Playing in the nuclear winter,
Cracking jokes to corpses,
Juggling in acid rain,

Rotting balloon animal.

Waltzing in a firestorm,
Bowing to inaudible applause,
Giggling as the meteors descend,

Cannibal candyfloss.

We are the clowns at the end,
The only ones left.

Clowns

I never saw what killed me.
Never saw what turned me into a specter.
It may have been a bullet to the brain,
Scattering my skull.
It may have been a blade to the gut,
Spilling my insides.
It even may have been a garotte to my throat,
Silencing my breath.

Personal or otherwise,
It doesn’t really matter now,
I’m dead.
Plainly and categorically dead.
I end up in the same place.
The bodybag,
My very own ferry over the Styx.

My very own ferryman too,
A handsome oarsman in a high visibility robe.
Followed by an orchestra of sirens,
And a ultramarine light show.
It’s a dramatic journey.
I bled out hours ago.

The bodybag fulfills its purpose.
It has taken my safely over the Styx.
It has protected me from the burning rapids.
We reach our destination,
Together.
The morgue,
Also known as the underworld.

 

Bodybag

Cannheart

This was an easy meal,
One little swipe of a blade,
She fell like a lead balloon,
Utterly feeble,
Utterly pathetic,
Utterly delectable.
Oh, i have been so hungry since the last one.

Hello, remember me?
Your humanity?

Cannibal they call me.
Viperous monster and pitiable freak.
Man-eater and defiler.
They must be right,
I can’t deny humanity is one hell of a meal.
I’ve never loved anyone who wasn’t to become a morsel.

This one is different…
This one is perfect…

A delicious bloody sauce keeps the meat succulent.
The ribcage splits easily enough,
Revealing that most enticing of meats,
The beating center of my meal,
The epicenter of love,
She hardly needs it anymore.

Yes, she does!
This girl loved someone…
She may have even loved you…

I take my prize in my bloody hands,
Raise it to my face,
It’s still beating rebelliously.
My fangs ready to pounce.
My demonic eyes set on the beautiful beating bounty.
Saliva drooping like vines.

Stop!
What are you doing?!
You loved this girl!

I pause,
Almost against my own will.
I can’t bring myself to feast on this comestible.
What have i done?
What have i been doing?
I knew this heart.
I loved this heart.
No…

You remember now?
Before you became this monster…
You did love her…
She loved you…
She was your cannibal heart.

Ghostclown

Dead clown cries faintly
Even as friends raise a toast
One day they will know

Every night he stares
His friends innocent children
Balloon sculpture blade

Guiltless blood all shed
Lonely ghost has new public
Deathlike crowd applaud

Dead clown seeks more friends
Balloon cutter hunts more broods
All fear the dead clown

Bloodcircus

Drip drip,
Drip goes the blood,
Drip drip,
Drip goes the gore,
Drip drip,
Victim beaten,
Drip drip,
Victim impaired,
Drip drip,
Tournefoux grinning,
Drip drip,
Blades whirring,
Drip drip,
Only audience corpses,
Drip drip,
Battlefield a bloody circus,
Drip drip,
Tournefoux cackling,
Drip drip,
Serving his master,
Drip drip,
Clown advances,
Drip drip,
Victim weeping,
Drip drip,
Blades singing,
Drip drip,
Tournefoux strikes,
Drip drip,
Victim eviscerated,
Drip drip,
Bloody fireworks,
Drip drip,
Tournefoux triumphant,
Drip drip,
Tournefoux gleeful,
Drip drip,
Tournefoux insane.

Tournefoux

It has been quite some time since I wrote about Ryan Sargent. Far too long in my opinion. Ryan has been hunting demons recently, or more specifically, a particular kind of demon.

“Demons are one of the most fascinating beings I’ve ever hunted. Demons are one of the most mysterious beings I’ve ever hunted. Demons are one of the most dangerous beings I’ve ever hunted. I could never claim to enjoy doing what i do, indeed it feels more like a duty to humanity, but i can’t help but find these evil, savage creatures very intriguing. During my career (if it can be called as such) i have followed in the wake of 4 demons. Each one was as unique as a us humans can be. Each one totally different from the next, their powers, their appearances, their dispositions, even down to the reasons that it came to our world.

Picture the archetypal demon from lore. Picture the red skin, bestial features, ram-like horns and affinity for fire. Well, throw that image out of your head. These things are nothing like that. I tell you, the church couldn’t be more wrong. The fantasy writers couldn’t be further from the truth. I’ve seen a demon that resembled a swirling mass of cogs with red blazing eyes. I’ve faced a demon that looked more akin to a fish than a devil, though just as cruel. I’ve myself banished a demon that resembled a mouse with a snake for a tail. You see, they are as varied as they are dangerous.

They are all certainly evil, there’s no doubting that. Few denizens of the supernatural have quite the same body count as these monsters. They kill for pride, they kill for greed, they most certainly kill for wrath. They are pure-bred killing machines, from what I’ve seen. Some are more subtle perhaps, but they are all capable of horrendous slaughter.

But how do they come to our world?

That varies really. They claw their way from Hell to our world and then either possess a human or travel through some kind of occult portal. The second option there obviously requires inside help, so to speak. Well, demons are able to travel around our world in some kind of spirit form. Like a ghost, you know. But there is another way. A lesser known method to enter the mortal world. They still use humans, but in a far more hideous manner.

The demons that adopt this method are possibly the worst of the worst. The damned among the damned. I call them the “Thirsters”.

Unlike ‘normal’ demons, these fiends are more animalistic. They don’t think like a sentient being, they are beasts. Nothing more. So how do these things get into our world? Surely they would too primitive to possess someone. They’re certainly not subtle enough to trick someone into building them a gateway. No, the actual method Thirsters use is far more primitive and violent. It still curdles my blood to this day.

Bob told me it was actually some kind of curse. The idea of a cursed demon is bizarre really. I thought they were already supposed to be cursed, hence why they were in Hell. Probably Bob being a trickster again, trying to scare me.

They simply tear their way into our world. They too, travel to our world from Hell and then slink around our atmosphere in some kind of spirit form. They then identify a worthy “host”. Now from what i can tell, this host has to be someone who is either very agitated at a given moment or is naturally hot-blooded. The demon then spiritually enters the hosts body and quite literally rips itself out, in a physical form. You see, they use human bodies and blood as their portals. I think an obsession with pain and blood is what has driven them to this depraved method. It’s the only reason that makes sense.

I have witnessed it myself unfortunately. Quite recently, in fact. I had tracked down a depraved cultist that was trying to grow his flock to a warehouse down in the grey district. He had been grooming local tramps and hobos. Truly, the depths this freak would plumb were unknowable. Once inside the warehouse he began some kind of disgusting ritual, involving copious amounts of blood and a goat. I’d rather not repeat how it went. The cultist repeated what i assume was a name: Rigtos. He must of repeated the name at least 30 times before something began to happen. The man began to convulse horribly, blood streaming from his nose and eyes. Then in a sickeningly display, a crimson bladed fist burst forth from the mans chest. Followed by more claws, pulling the chest opening further apart. Then suddenly the body was ripped clean in two, a monstrous dog-like beast crawled forth. It let out a bestial roar and leaped clear out of the roof. This was an archetypal Thirster. A true monster.

For the record, that thing did get away. It was long gone before i could even get out of my hiding spot.

So there you have it. My very simple account of a class of demon that poses a very true threat to society. A very real threat to our families, our friends and our homes. These creatures are true monsters, completely devoid of anything even remotely reminiscent of feelings or remorse. One has to wonder what Hell could of created such an abomination.”

From the desk of Ryan Sargent.