This house is like an old radio,
Damaged beyond repair,
Beaten and broken,
Like so many familial bonds,
The parts no longer fit well together,
She re-assembled it all wrong.
Domestic censor,
Domestic tyrant,
Some channels are allowed to play loud,
While others are set to mute,
All goodwill is static,
Treacherous broadcasts play the whole day.
If you happen to tune in,
It’s a one-way radio here.
Get me to the emergency room,
There’s venom in my veins,
It courses,
Seething with every heartbeat,
Bubbling,
Effervescent,
The venom is in my blood,
And my blood is the venom.
Cut me with your dirty looks and superfluous words,
Blood will spurt out,
Taking to the air like a lunging beast,
You’ll be drenched in hatred,
In bitterness,
In mania,
The venom will take hold,
And you’ll become as me.
Bleeding, but enduring.
Rancorous, but grounded.
A Human, but a monster.
Hark!
Fall to your bloodstained knees,
Hear these words as you toil,
The clergy of oppression has spoken,
Protestant,
Catholic,
Or otherwise,
Seal your minds and follow our words.
God loves you,
Rationality is heresy,
Creativity is unholy,
Ideas are unhealthy,
Lovers are adulterous,
Progressives are witches,
Repeat after your clergy,
God loves you.
God cherishes you,
Bigotry is a strong faith,
Prejudice is your only shield,
Works of art are false idols,
Butchers of men are crusaders,
Your asinine resolve is stagnation,
Repeat after your clergy,
God cherishes you.
Worship your so-called god freely,
Revel in the regime,
And repeat after me,
Amen?
My life,
Hardship, always for me.
Gratitude, always for another.
Restriction, always for me.
Freedom, always for another.
Obscurity, always for me.
Fame, always for another.
Envy, always for me.
Love, always for another.
Unsightliness, always for me.
Life, always for another.
That thing there?
That fetid and putrid thing there?
That stinking sack of necrosis?
That rotting monstrosity?
That musty cadaverous creature?
That insult to the senses?
You want to know about it?
That’s one of the writing dead.
See how it feebly grips the quill,
Rotting hands writing reams of scripture,
In this sacred crypt-cum-factory,
Soul-less eyes barely keeping track.
We constructed this abominations from our dead,
As hopeless in death as in life.
You see them now?
Rows upon rows of scribbling cadavers,
At oaken desks built from coffins,
Rotting in harmony with one another,
Decomposing guts spilling to the floor,
Skin decaying and yellow,
Scratching parchment in concert.
What do they write?
Further death sentences of course!
A most unholy charge,
Perfect for these unholy beasts,
Devoid of mind and soul,
Bereft of emotion and morality,
Without hope or aspiration.
I hate this one in particular,
This disgusting shell of a life,
I loathe its dead adoring face,
I despise its silver locks,
I abhor its stunted form,
I knew it in life,
It once called me Father…
I once built a wickerman.
It was on the advice of a friend.
Or perhaps a foe.
I built it with blood and sweat,
Wood and charcoal,
Hopes and dreams.
A twisted focal point for my humanity.
I threw my whole self into it.
My hopes for the future.
My confidence.
My wanderlust.
My compassion.
My faith in humanity.
All laden with wood and rope,
Awaiting the hellfire,
Of my wickerman.
I unleashed the flames.
My hopes went up first,
Burning into melancholy.
My confidence followed suit,
I became an ember of my former self.
My wanderlust became smoke,
As if wishing to escape.
My compassion melted to slag,
Turning my heart to hatred.
My faith in humanity erupted last,
Turning to ash,
Like the world around me.
My wickerman burns furiously,
And my soul with it.
My humanity seeps away,
Like clouds of smoke.
I am human no more.
The wickerman is ash.
We’re a family of lost souls now.
She caught us in her web,
The abhorrent Family Spider.
Ambush sprung,
Venomous words whispered,
Bearing fangs made of strife.
Sitting in her web,
Believing it to be home.
She caught us,
She controls us.
Father was the first to fall,
He fell for the Family Spiders toxic charms.
She whispered in his ear,
Now he belongs to her,
Body and soul.
Her poison turns him against his own.
He stands by her above all.
He willingly sits in her web.
The evil and perfidious arachnid.
My siblings were next of course.
Both of them,
Completely innocent and naive,
Forced away by the Family Spider.
Supplanted by her own spawn.
Her words even turned Father against them,
Venomous and spiteful lies.
They were thrown out,
Lost souls out in the cold.
So it seems I’m next.
I try to be vigilant.
Keep my head down.
Fear for my life.
I know the Family Spider is around somewhere.
Weaving further articulations for her web.
I see my father seething,
I hear my siblings sobbing.
All because of her.
We’re a family of lost souls now.
WorldofHarley 