Posts Tagged ‘Dark’

I once began to make no sense,
My mind squirmed blissfully,
Kaleidoscopic thoughts,
And nonsensical images,
Such insane joy,

Or perhaps misery,

They tried to send me to the funny farm,
Pearly gates and high walls,
They came for me,
The demons in white coats,
Doctorates of deception,

Or perhaps altruism,

They came for me,
The voices told them i’m sure,
With a straitjacket dress in hand,
Fashion for the mad,
A gown to suit my luster,

Or perhaps my folly,

So they gave me candy,
Of myriad shape and shade,
Confectionary for the brainpan,
Citalopram comfit,
Sertraline confection,

Sweets of depression,

They want me to be mundane,
A productive little cog,
Now i’m off to the funny farm,
Cackling all the way.

Crying all the way.

The entity hungers,
Its realm shall be your eternal hell,
And it brought you here,
Into the fog,
Your agony is its lullaby,

The hooks call,
Dripping with thirst,
You will hang,
Left to die,
Over and over,

Its slaves will find you,
And take you screaming,
Through blade and chainsaw,
Club and disease,
You’ll feel the red glow,

You shall be grist,
For its tendrils,
Hook-like and quivering,
The fog god whispers,
And its servants obey,

Your suffering shall be its nourishment,
Even death is not an escape,
The entity hungers,

My friend,
Are your humours askew?
Brought on by gossiping rats,
And flea-bites of rumours,

Call the plague doctor,
In all his ostentatious regalia,
And his avian mask,
He will soothe your soul,

You are a sick being,

Your soul is covered in buboes,
You spit bile and pus,
Your actions reek of necrosis,
Of rot,

You are a sick fool,

He’ll quarantine you from the worlds hurts,
His mask shall shield him,
From your ireful infections,
With juniper and rose scent,

Your spirit requires healing,

With his cane he will show you,
The way to healing,
Ointments and tinctures,
Of calming words,

He’ll blood-let all of your fury,
And all your bad thoughts,
Will be for the leeches,
He will remedy your aura,

You will be better,
Your humours rebalanced,
Your humanity restored,
The plague will pass.

This facade I wear,
It’s the other me,
That alter-ego,
That character,
The Harlequin,

The top hat,
The long coat,
The mad cackling,
It’s not me,
It’s him,

Face-paint is all that separates us,
Remember the grin is painted on,
The laughter is false,
Costumes and masks,
It’s all a facade,
I’m just me,

A sad clown,
Impersonating a performer,
A showman,
I’m a misanthrope,
Playing at being a thespian,
An actor,

We are separate men,
Though we are one,
I’m no jester,
I’m not laughing,
I’m not smiling,
I’m not him,

I’m not alright.

A young boy was born,
Rosy-cheeked innocence,

A young boy was brought home,
By beaming suburban parents,

A young boy began to play,
Mud and toy soldiers,

A young boy became a student,
Shy and introverted,

A young boy was bullied,
Beaten to tears,

A young boy continued to play,
Dark rooms and razor blades,

A young boy cried for help,
No help came,

A young boy began to crack,
His innocence beginning to fade,

A decision was made,

A young boy became an active shooter,
Clad in trenchcoat,

No more tears,

A young boy was shot dead,
By a good guy with a gun,

He was just a young boy.

Literature is alchemy,
Writing is a form thaumaturgy,
The mind provides the alkahest,
The hands follow the formula,
The great fire,

The pen is my caduceus,
This desk is my still,
The page a crucible,
The ink is my aqua vitae,
The words are my magnesia,

I reduce the words to flux,
Tear up their humours,
Coagulate the phrases,
Acids and alkalis,
Feelings and thoughts,

Boil down the context,
Mercury gold and silver,
Nouns verbs and adjectives,
Distill the words,
To create a poetic potion,

This great work,
It could be my lapis philosophorum,
My philosophers stone.

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!

I often feel,
I’m surrounded by insects,
Moths specifically,

They flutter in office spaces,
Flitter sullenly about suburbs,
And drift carelessly along sidewalks,

They commune briefly,
Then fly on,
Towards their each own light,

We’re all moths you know,
We flutter about on frail wings,
Fragile aimless things,

We don’t even know we’re doing it,
We all have different wings,
Yet we all strive towards the same thing,

Towards a light,

At least we believe it’s the sun,
But as we draw closer,
The sun is peculiarly crypt-shaped.

These streets feed on the powerless,
The innocent girl needs saving,
She needs a hero,
A miscreant sought to mug her,
A comic book hero steps in,

He was a simple soul,
He liked comic books,
The release they obliged,
He was anemic yet kind,
He had known the role of the victim too long,

His room is a cathedral,
Albeit a messy one,
A monument to heroes and villains,
Of other worlds,
Legends in ink and colour,

Countless bibles to caped gods,
Titans in vivid costumes,
A host of impossible powers,
Strength unrivalled,
Paragons of virtue.

His idols,

Did he save her?
As it turns out,
The mugger did not fear his costume,
Two shots ring out,
A comic scrap fluttered away.

Atop my throne,
Flanked by steadfast smokestacks,
I often look to the skies,
The heavens,
Just visible through the neon pollution,
I admit I see only dollar signs,

I’m something of an industrialist,
Not exactly human,
The furnace within my ribs can only consume,
I auctioned off that old beating thing,
Ages ago,
Didn’t even get a good deal,

These iron hands may be cold,
But they work fast,
Because time is money,
Progress for it’s own sake,
All the green notes in my claws,
Create only more green in my eyes,

Humanity’s future lies on the profit margin,
Flight is wasted on the birds,
Beauty wasted upon angels,
Strength pointless in beasts,
These things should be ours,
Or mine,

Where’s the profit?
Where’s the progress?
The world can go down in flames,
Go under,
I’ll never notice,
I’ll be bathing in bullion.