Witch Totem

I once dreamed of a forest,
A place I was drawn to wander,
There was a sweet perfume of witchcraft,
A fantasy,
Or a nightmare,
It was hard to tell,

Ghostly groves,
And dead branches charred by mana,
A godless arboretum,
A land bereft of deities,
Even the sun seemed timid,
Overcast through the gnarled boughs,

A witch resides here,
Or so i’ve heard,
And I believe the tales,
I spy her totems,
Omens to intruders like me,
Mandrake and hemlock,

Bones of vermin,
And dead sticks,
Affixed with aged catgut,
Into a crooked symbol,
Icons of her sorcery,
They hum with ancient words,

The sun flees,
The trees grow silent,
The atmosphere closes ranks,
I felt a cold hand on my shoulder,
And gelid breath upon my ear.

Doom Ballad

Do you hear the drums?
As the stars fall,
Tracing streaks into the blue,
Pounding down with hate and conviction,
The skies and earth ignite in concert,

A symphony of our end,
Percussive beats of destruction,
Brassy cracks of red lightning,
The choirs of agonised wailing join in,
The woodwinds of lives ending,

I know not what crime the globe is convicted,
But I see the sentence,
An astral genocide,
It approaches,
Wreathed in fire and stardust,

Pluto smirks.

Davey Oldbones

Ever heard of Davey Oldbones?
An emaciated killer for hire,
A bounty hunter without peer,
His true name lost to the winds,
He stalks the fringes of society,
Of numberless dimensions,

A revenant,
A harbinger of the end,
He knows no mercy,
His heart and flesh rotted decades ago,
Humanity purged from his bones,
Simply an instrument of Lady Death,

Doom comes in style,
Clad in obsidian trenchcoat,
With blood-red trimmings,
Haggard face hidden behind a gasmask,
Emotions shielded from view,
And adorned with a regal top hat,

So feel free to flee,
When you hear the rasping breath,
And his skeletal hand upon your shoulder,
You will know fear,
And soon thereafter,
You will know the dark.

Reminiscing On Previous Madness: The Fourth Delusion

Hello there inmates!

I hope that you’re all having a crazy (and safe) day. Things have been trucking along here at the asylum much as they have done for the last few weeks. Quarantine seems to have been going fairly well so far. Or at least as well as can be hoped for. This routine has really helped me, and the support of each and every one of you has also been a boost. Me and my other personalities bow to all of your kindness. Thank you.

As for todays post, I thought i’d do another one of my reminiscence lists. Apologies to anybody who had hoped for a volume of the Harlequins writing music today, that’ll be next week. I’ve not posted one of these since january, so I felt it was time. For anybody who’s not so much in the know, these posts highlight some of my older poems that have been lost in the archives of the asylum. They don’t get much notice anymore. I suppose it’s a tad self-indulgent, but it seemed like a good idea to me.

I’ll provide links of course, so here we go!

Swords – A poem speaking of the vices and virtues of blades.
Bandits Jig – A solemn dance at the gallows.
The Wickerman – A poem about burning away ones humanity.
Bodybag – A trip into death.
Grinning Moon – A speculation at what the moon is hiding from us.
King Of Scythes – A fantastical tale of a dead monarch.
Knight Of The Brine – You sank my battleship. Well, not this one.
Imp – A comedic look at a devilish denizen.
Book Of Nightmares – A ritual a day keeps the writing block away.
Nonsensical – The clue is in the name.

So there we go! So there are some of the previous horrors that i’ve unleashed on this blog. I tried to vary them as much as I could. It’d mean a lot if any of you would check them out. They all mean a lot to me, the little devils.

Oh, and I know it’s butchering a dead horse by now, but if you like what I do here at the asylum, please consider supporting me over at the Ko-Fi page! Thanks as always!

So that’s it for today. Got some more poems set up and done ready for the next couple days. Keep an eye out for those. Thank you once again.

Until next time, have a very crazy day inmates!

Cultist

I’m a cult of one,
An acolyte of the written word,
Cloaked in a dressing gown robe,
I sit at this altar,
This writing desk,
My sacrificial pen in my clutches,

I begin the ritual,
My bloodshot mind’s eye,
Calls to dark places,
This page is the sacrifice,
To the voices between worlds,
The leaden weight of baneful gods,

By the end,
I am all sweat and aches,
The ritual is complete,
The words are on the damned page,
Creative aether,
Madness in letters.

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.

Man-At-Arms

He stands,
At the gates of society,
In the biting storm,
Unhindered,
More sturdy than any wall,

Adorned in gothic plate,
A companion of countless campaigns,
He had no time for a family,
For he was called to war,
More imposing than any bastion,

He is decorated,
Both in medals,
And in brutal scars,
Trophies of crusades both fair and foul,
More watchful than any optics,

He lives to vanquish vandals,
And to protect innocent souls,
Even as his body fails him,
We all salute thee,
The mighty man-at-arms.

Reminiscing On Previous Madness: A Third Dose of Lunacy

Hello there inmates!

So, it’s been yet another long while since I made a post like this. Once in 2014 and once in 2017. Oh my word!

But I felt that with a whole “new year, new me” mentality, I would display some of my older works. I realise it can be a slight pain to explore the archives here at the asylum. So I felt I could display some of my favourites from my past poetry and dark fiction. I believe I’ve said it before but I do fear it’s somewhat self-indulgent, so apologies for that!

Poetry

The Master Thief – A slightly satirical look at capitalism.
The Stranger – A silly little poem about wandering at night.
I’m Not Atlas – A poem about not feeling strong enough.
Cannibal Heart – A dark poem about a cannibal, or perhaps a lover.
Video Games – Simply applying video games and puns to life.
A bloody legacy – Part 1 of a “trilogy” of sorts.
Festival Of Blood – Part 2.
Cerberus – Part 3.
The Painted Man – A story of a man shaped by society.

Fiction

Bob – The monster hunter Ryan Sargent talks about his ‘partner’.
Seeing through the lies – Ryan Sargent talks about a past experience.
The Asylum Mythos: The Hag-Man – A bizarre inmate speaks.
The Asylum Mythos: The Pint-Sized Cult – The Hag-Man tells a horrific story.

So there we go! Quite a variety there eh? I hope some of you find something you like among all of that mess. Every piece of writing I create is important to me, so I’d appreciate it immensely if you would let me know what you think.

I am currently hard at work on some new poems and scribblings. In fact, I do expect to have one done within the next day or so. Also, I’m attempting to begin a new project soon, related to serial killers and criminology, combined with supernatural elements. That was actually why I included the Ryan Sargent stories. It’s all related you know! Thank you all for your time my darling fellow inmates!

Have a very crazy day!

Manhunter

Death is my lord,
I am his reaper,
And his scythe,
My blade is his,
I am the Manhunter,

This long coat hides a herald of death,
He pays in cold coin,
And I pay in cold dead eyes,
Those whose time has come,
Those whom have his icy hand upon their shoulder,

My life was already taken,
Eons ago,
A bloody wedding gown and an empty crib,
Death made a joke that day,
I couldn’t help but chuckle,

I am the Manhunter,
Nothing personal,
Just business,
The cycle of life,
Even monsters must eat,

Do you feel his gelid breath?

Life is a Chimera

I am a monster,
My life is a monster,
It’s an abomination,
A terrible abhorrent thing,
Crafted by unseen hands.

It’s made up of countless parts,
Taken and pried from all over,
Stolen and dug up,
Created and fashioned,
Built and summoned.

The skin is scaly and furry both,
Parts of this beast are grim,
While others are joyful,
Run your hand across its form,
And you will feel all of lifes challenges and opportunities.

There are fangs of bittersweet love,
Talons of rage unyielding,
Tentacles of greed,
Reptilian eyes of malicious intent,
A forked tongue of deceit.

Soft fur of contentment,
Muscles of physical potential,
A mane of experience,
A pulsing heart of childhood memories,
A sirens voice.

Like a puzzle of mismatched pieces,
Forced together,
A chimera,
A beast of many elements,
A creature built by each of us.

My life is a creature,
All of our lives are creatures.