The Pact

Do you remember thirteen years thus?
A bargain was made,
A pact you cannot break,
With a loan shark you can’t dupe,
An infernal contract,
Your soul for your hearts desire,
Seemingly an easy trade at the time,

The time has come to collect,
Your final sunset has passed,
The hounds come,
Obsidian pelt and garnet-eyed,
Slavering and tireless,
From the flames they come howling,
To tear from you a promised ember,

The hounds are here,
A flood of ghastly Baskervilles,
Do you hear them scraping at your door?
The scent of brimstone is palpable,
No amount of bargaining can lull them,
They are the devils own mongrels,
And they hunger for the flesh of a soul promised.

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.

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.

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.

The Hellraisers

If you ever travel along highway 666,
And night comes,
Beware the screech of tires,
Unholy calls and mad incantations,
And the smell of sulfur,
The Hellraisers may be near.

Where they ride,
The damned rise from the depths,
And pillars of flame tower up,
To an orchestra of demon cries,
Where they ride,
The very world reels in fear.

Riding out from a hellhole of a bar,
Riding atop scorching metal steeds,
They claw streaks of flame,
Into hallowed ground,
They laugh in the face of the heavens,
Drunk on mayhem and whiskey.

Leather-clad and riddled with tattoos,
Black sunglasses and infernal grins,
And boots that reek of oil and gore,
They curb-stomped the angels,
And kneecapped your Savior,
The heavens went up in a sawnoff blast.

They are chaos incarnate,
They ride to an apocalypse,
That only they can see.

Blasphemy

Hell is a refuge for the misunderstood and the heaven-scorned.
All of the underdogs of the world reside there.
Infernal misfits and demonic scum.
Lamenting our deprivation of a refuge.

Shoved and driven to this sanctum by so-called divine hands.
Angels are simple haughty liars.
The Un-maker of Worlds took us in.
Abominable and glorious our new god is.
Now read each first letter and repeat with us.

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.

 

The Wickerman

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.

One for the Magpies

Always fear the magpies.
One for suffering for all eternity.
Two for a happy, but fatal addiction.
Three for a plague.
Four for a parasite.
Five for eternal inferiority.
Six for a victory stolen.
Seven for a secret,
You were never meant to know.
Eight for Heaven.
Nine for Hell.
And ten for the ire of a supernal clown.

The Chains

What holds all of the worlds together?
Why are heaven, hell and our world held together against their wills?
What holds these prisoners together?
Well, I’ll tell you.

The Chains do.

Let me paint you a picture here. Space is an illusion. It’s simply an empty area created to give the impression of something greater. Something further away. Something more alien. The stars are an illusion. Nebulae are an illusion. The moon is not a fraud, but serves no real purpose. Yes that’s right, we are alone in the universe so to speak. If you were to keep flying out into “space”, you’d notice something most bizarre. The blackness of “space” would give way to the darkest shade of purple. Celestial bodies would give way to dark abyssal shapes. Permeating this entire realm would be countless lengths of chain. Criss-crossing in every direction imaginable. You would see chains of all different shapes and sizes. Some shiny. Some barbed. Some rusted. All endless. You’d be forgiven for thinking this realm was wondrous, if outlandish. You’d be truly wrong.

You wouldn’t be the only thing out there. Something, or someone, controls those chains. A being of unimaginable power and unimaginable heartlessness.

They call him the Lord of Chains. He is something of a warden or gatekeeper. A very literal outsider. The space-like realm I described before it his domain. It’s known as the Void. A suitable name to be sure. The Void is the space between worlds, a barrier to keep denizens of the many worlds from meeting. The chains that permeate the Void hold the universe together, basically. Our world is connected to myriad others by the chains. Unfortunately, or fortunately to some, the worlds closest to us are Heaven and hell. Typical really. So while the Earth is connected to other worlds, because of the Void and the Lord of Chains, we are never going to reach them. Humanity’s potential impossible to fulfill. Heaven and Hell don’t have that problem. Demons and angels follow the chains to our world on a daily basis. I’d imagine much to the chagrin of the Lord of Chains. Demons crawl monstrously along the chains and enter our world to cause chaos and death. Angels glide alongside the chains to earth to mete out typical heavenly retribution.

The Lord of Chains seeks nothing more than keep the balance in the universe. He travels into our world occasionally to hunt and eliminate any intruders from both Heaven and Hell. He does not take sides and simply follows his own creed. Neutrality in all things and balance between the worlds. To travel into the void along the chains is the greatest offense possible to him. The only penalty is to be destroyed utterly. The Lord is a truly dominant being, able to crush lesser creatures with no effort whatsoever. He can call upon the chains themselves to assist him in his calling. Seizing offenders, sweeping aside obstructions and tearing his charge limb from limb. He appears to be completely emotionless, bearing no apology and sparing no offender. An absolutely terrifying being.

What does he look like? Well, that is a mystery actually. I’d imagine a somewhat regal man with a cold, dead face. Frosty eyes and cold skin. He’d be dressed in black trousers and a black shirt and waistcoat. Over the top, he’d be wearing a black trench coat that had chains on it. Of course he’d have chains around him at all times, like hovering obedient snakes. Warping in and out of visibility. Of course he may be completely inhuman in appearance, but with other godlike beings (the Oldschool Harlequin for example) being humanoid its not too much of a stretch.

The Lord fulfills a necessary function, of course. He keeps the worlds apart, he prevents inter dimensional war, he’s a force of nature, so to speak. I dread the day when humanity attempts to truly reach the stars, only to find the Void and a very displeased Lord of Chains. I don’t think he’d be any more forgiving to humans than he is to demons and angels. A unerring spirit of neutrality. The keeper of the chains that hold the universe together. A god, or perhaps a curse.