Torture Rack

I have a torture chamber of my own making,
It rests within a cranial centre,
Containing all manner of devious racks and thumb screws,
My skull is the iron maiden it rests within,
Rusted spikes implied by self-esteem,
Nicking and piercing at cruel intervals,

I cannot escape this chamber,
It’s in my head,
I am tied soundly upon this breaking wheel,
Cracking my own limbs and jaw,
I can only scream internally though,
This torture is for me only,

In their masochistic inquisition,
My thoughts crank up the restriction upon this rack,
Foul ichor oozing from my gullet,
In the form of “I’m okay!”,
Lies brought forth through torture,
Cries for help in vile pools on the floor.

Dissecting A Demon

I slew this demon,
By my own rageful hand,
Within the swamp of a stuporous night,
To study its vile anatomy,
Work out why devils play the way they do,

This scalpel shall cut hotter,
Than any inferno of hell,
Such is my conviction,
I feel the arcana swirl about this cadaver,
This is the one,

As I make my initial incision,
A cloying ooze of sins drips out,
Infantile shrieks as it hits the floor,
Why continue to bear such filth?
I bottle it up for further inquisition,

Prepare the rib-spreader,
Let’s see this things core,
Stinking heat emanates like breath,
Yet only a void hides behind ribs,
These beings have no heart,

Saw the skull past the jagged horns,
Expose the mind of evil,
How does devilry conduct its plans?
The neurons pass only sick ideas betwixt,
It holds naught but the stench of malice,

So what have we learned?
Devils will always be devils,
Evil will always be evil,
It is intrinsic to their souls being,
It is proven,
If you witness malevolence within a man,
Just remember it is root and stem.

Baba Yaga

Listen here children,
Have you heard the tales?
Folklore of these trees,
That you wander amongst,
The trees that whisper one name,
A witch that lives here,
An ambiguous figure,

Baba Yaga,

You shall hear her approach child,
As chicken legs upon underbrush,
Her weathered hut astride,
Leaves shiver at her arrival,
Ferocious in her features,
Wielding a pestle,
And accompanied by a sorcerous mortar,

Greet her warmly child,
She can turn from helpful guide,
To child eater posthaste,
Don’t be rude child,
Wield your pleases and thank yous thick and fast,
She may impart such divine knowledge,
Or you may never leave her woods.

Hellscape

When asked to describe my dreams,
To understand my nightly process,
I flip a coin,
To judge which dreamland I last inhabited,
The misty nirvana of colour and vividity,
Or the dread hellscape,

The latter often wins,
Indeed it is the more trod upon,
A grey and harsh wasteland,
With gargantuan twisted spires of charcoal,
Echoes of an inferno,
A haven of abominations,

A dappled waste by any other measure,
The wind is a sad accordion,
Piercing cries always from great distance,
Aural mirages,
A perennial eclipse,
The crying stars are merely wisps,

Here I find my monsters,
Here I breed their evil,
Unfathomable muses that they are,
My quill is my baton to subdue them,
Their horror becomes my ink,
To carve my art into parchment,

Sometimes I bring the things back…

When I awake,
I gaze glossy-eyed out of my window,
As I tell my querier,
And I see a similar hellscape,
Replete with misery,
But perhaps more.

Daji

Daji was an evil woman,
Once a simple concubine,
With a beauty that erred on the line,
Between angelic and infernal,
Obsidian hair,
And femme fatale eyes,
Lips of jincan,
With a hidden craving for spawning torment,

Lover of a king,
Corruptor of a king,
A nation cracked,
As the state fell beneath one woman,
A barefoot farmer screamed,
His feet removed in morbid curiosity,
Peasants lamented,
When the paolao was ignited,

She and her king were overthrown,
By a people exhausted by torture,
Even their armies turned against the cruelty,
Execution was the minimum sentence,
Put to death by a new era,
By beheading or by pyre,
I am not entirely clear,
But evil cannot truly perish,

Now something altogether more ethereal,
A vulpine spirit,
Both in appearance,
And in temperament,
A nine-tailed fox,
The shrines were burned,
Erected by demented fox spirit cults,
But still her malice permeates,

Even to this day.

Wendigo

Among the great northern forests,
A being of folklore prowls,
All claws and antlers,
An emaciated spirit of famine,
Leathery skin strewn taut over elongated bones,
The very image of a corpse animated,
The pines whisper its name,
Wendigo,

Once a man,
During a cruel winter,
Driven mad by hunger,
Contorted into an abomination,
His mate and cubs became fodder,
But even such a massacre was not enough,
More meat,
Find more meat,

So many have fallen prey to its appetite,
And you may be next,
Sniff the air,
If you smell rot and decay,
You ought to flee posthaste,
The fallen leaves herald its coming,
More meat,
Never enough meat.

The Eclipse

There was an eclipse last night,
The atmosphere grew heavy,
I scanned it with bloodshot eyes,
And I grew fearful,
To witness such beauty being obscured,
By a shadow of such an evil thing,

Witching hour…

As the lunar goddess was enshrouded,
The voices began their furor,
Rageful claws bore down,
Driven insane by the night air,
Be they spectre or succubi?
I was not privy,

New dawn…

I awaken sore and beaten,
Crimson scratches down my back,
A bruise or four,
I leave the abode into daylight,
The sun has taken the sky,
And I grow fearful.

Reminiscing On Previous Madness: A Fifth Bolt Of Psychopathy

Hello there inmates!

It’s been a little while since I’ve done one of these posts hasn’t it? Here’s hoping that you’re all having a terrifically great day today and that your week is going just as well! It’s been much the same here at the asylum this previous week, unusually consistent you know? The same cannot be said for the weather though i’ll admit, it’s been very up and down here in the UK. Though, on the plus side, it’s remained reasonably warm. It just can’t make it’s mind up whether to tip it down or give us sunburns.

So, I decided to create a reminiscence post this week instead of a writing music post. It’s the 1st of July (already!) and this last year or so has seen some enormous changes for me, both in my personal life and in my writing. Every now and then, I like to look back at my older works and share them. I’ve previously created four of these posts in the past and I find it oddly therapeutic to look back and just think about how I felt when I wrote those pieces. It also gives older pieces some attention that they don’t seem to recieve so much anymore.

Links included as always, so here we go!

The world is an asylum – A twisted look at our world.
The Family Spider – Not all was well within the family once upon a time.
The Hymn Of The Inmates – A call to arms of the bizarre and eccentric!
Apostate – A short shot at religion.
Kabuto – An uplifting poem about the spirit of a warrior.
Monument of Gore – Part 4 of my “killer” poems.
The Bystander – What happens when someone stands by as evil is committed?
Train Of Thought – A fearful look at the thought process.
The Valkyrie – A final farewell to a friend.
Necronomicon – Lovecraft. What more needs to be said?

So there we go! Some of the works i’ve unleashed on the world both recently and quite far in the past. Each poem is important to me, so I like to share as much as possible. Please give these a gander friends, it would mean a lot to me.

As I mentioned earlier, i’ve created similar lists to this in the past. I thought I may as well include links to those as well. Haha!

Reminiscing On Previous Madness
Reminiscing On Previous Madness: A Second Maddening
Reminiscing On Previous Madness: A Third Dose of Lunacy
Reminiscing On Previous Madness: The Fourth Delusion

Oh and I know I seem to say this a lot, but if you like what I do here at the asylum, please consider supporting me over at the Ko-Fi page! Thanks as always! It’ll be back to writing music posts next week, I promise.

Until next week, have a very crazy day inmates!

A Lost Junkyard

I seem to have become lost,
In some kind of alien junkyard,
A menagerie of past industries,
Oxidation permeates this place,
Many dreams died here,

I find a pocketwatch,
It tells no time,
Every digit is thirteen,

I come across an automobile engine,
But it no longer combusts,
It only breathes vacuous rot and decay,

I find a thermometer,
But it remains cold,
The mercury has fled,

I pick up a toy soldier,
No longer among the honour guard,
His legs were eaten by a foe of rust,

I spy an old mirror,
It displays no human form,
The cracks generate glass monsters,

I may be very lost,
But i’m quite alright,
I’ll be fine,
My dreams are dead,
I too shall rust away.

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.