The Embrace

It started in a nightclub,
All cigarette smoke and booze fetor,
An alluring dress perhaps too short,
A dance here,
A brush of the hand there,
One too many spirits led you here,

To this dank alley,
With him,
Tonights paramour,
Through beer goggles,
He appeared a prince charming,
But in truth he is a lord of the night,

Under this bright moon,
So begins the embrace,
But not with loving lips,
With feral fangs,
Momentary pain,
And then cold ecstasy,

Your body goes icy,
As this blasphemous magic takes you,
Your vitality drains away,
You die,
But you don’t,
A change comes over you,

You shall never see the daylight again,
The sun shall be your enemy,
Your not-so grim reaper,
You are damned to this new unlife,
One of the kindred,
A vampire.

Monument Of Gore

A continuation of ‘Cerberus‘.

I was in hell,
I climbed out,
Through the barbed wire,
And viridian flames,
My charred body endures,
Even as strips of flesh yield,

That thrice-headed horror,
It hunted me here,
But it neglected the fact,
A prey cornered is vicious,
I dismembered it in glee,
I wear its teeth as trophies,

I don the cracked mask once more,
I am once more the apex,
I’m back,
They’ll suffer for their transgression,
Daring to end my imbrued crusade,
I’ll punish them all,

I hear the cattle call,
With their cell phones and banter,
Anathema to my senses,
My killer instinct,
It sends bolts down my spine,
Let’s punish the world,

Never was affluent in life,
So lets try unlife,
The world is my stage again,
My carnival of gore and chaos,
My charnel house,
My festival of blood,

My bloody legacy is renewed,
I’ll sit atop the corpses,
Of the whole world,
A holy throne,
Even the reaper shall bow to me,
Caked in the grisly glory,

Of my monument of gore.

Butchery

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.

Cerberus

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.

Mr. Ash

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.

The Laughing Man

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…

Clowns At The End

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.

Bodybag

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.

 

Cannibal Heart

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.

Ghost Of A Clown

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