Posts Tagged ‘monsters’

He comes,
In blood red overcoat and fedora,
The ultimate vampire,
A count of the night,
Now a leashed hellhound,
The charge of Sir Hellsing,
And subject to her majesty,
Hunting his own kind,
By bullet or blood magic,
The things that go bump in the dark,
Get bumped right back,
Even in the most inky of nights,
He comes.

We all have a drake wrapped about us,
Like a scaled shawl,
The regal emerald of opulence,
It speaks poisonous globules into your ear,
Greed and want and thievery,
A forked tongue caressing your lobe,
It wants you to take,
And take again,

Despite what the lizard whispers,
You mustn’t covet all,
You can’t possess the world,
You don’t own that treasure,
Or that heart,
You can’t count the worlds coins,
Don’t heed the hissing of the green dragon,
Just be your pure self.

As I sit here,
Reclined in my own squalor,
The good townsfolk pass by,
They call me an abomination,
A troll under the bridge,
An insult to decorum,

They call me mutant,
It is true I’m misbegotten,
Birth was not kind to me,
Inflicting this contorted form upon me,
Certainly no gift,
This repugnant chimera of a body,

I linger only in the dark places,
Mother nature,
I know that she loves me not,
The flower petals said so,
This story has no happy ending,
I was never meant to be.

While walking these stone alleyways,
Those blank faces drifting by,
They’re all fighting demons you can’t see,
Beasts the likes of which you’d never imagine,
Shadow critters,
Ghouls and wraiths,
Dragging them down like gravity,
Clawed appendages slumped over shoulders,
A spiteful piggyback,
Suffering may lead some to appear surly,
Cruel even,
The world eats away at us all,
You too have your demons,
So don’t judge,

Together we’re winning the war.

This night feels off,
The moon wears a foggy veil,
As if hiding from the bogeyman,
And I sympathise,
A macabre creature does indeed stir,

There’s something in the graveyard,
And though it resembles a cadaver,
It is very much not a corpse,
Pale and emaciated,
Hunched over with unhinged motion,

It’s chewing on something,
Grave dirt,
Old pine,

The sounds are vile,
The slurp of viscera and crack of bone,
The lowlight offers a horrific silhouette,
I gasp and hold back a retch,
Twin hungry orbs lock with my eyes.

A continuation of ‘Night Malady’.

The city wears its funeral pall,
I still remain here in solitude,
Shaking in the moonlight slivering betwixt timbers,
Hearing the city breathing its last,
Only to be consumed by fang and claw,

There is blood on the cobbles,
I can smell it now,
For my blight has altered something,
The fever is rising,
And my pulse quickens in concert,

Only a sweaty and sporadic sleep do I receive,
My dreams grow frenetic,
I find myself in a boreal glade,
Running on all fours in hunger,
Before tearing the jugular from the doe,

Something in me has changed,
I see it in the grimy mirror,
A bestial shift of my features,
Hair more plentiful than my memory claims,
Canines seeming too long,

The howls outside feel less grisly,
More the call of kin,
I’m drawn to join their prayer each night,
I see now this malady is a gift,
This domestic cell won’t deny me for long.

The city grows unwell,
A pall of malady and madness has arisen,
A plague like no other,
The sane can only retreat to their homes,
But it’s unclear who is more sick,

This hovel has become my oubliette,
I’ve not seen the sky in days,
Boarded windows and painted crosses,
I haunt it in gasps and coughs,
My own blood turning imposter,

Those left outside still congregate,
I hear their confessions at night,
Voices once familiar have grown bestial,
Tongues more canine than human,
And I quake in my bedlinens,

They have changed,
I catch glimpses through my window,
The light of torches and clang of rusty blades,
Wolven howls and frenzied hunts concluding,
I suffocate my lantern in terror,

This malady cannot be natural,
An alien cold takes over,
My own mind grows muddied,
My dreams are the pageant of old gods,
Am I too to succumb?

I find myself brought to waking,
Not by the grievance of the sun,
But by pressure and a presence,
While the rooms scent becomes sulphur,
An unsettling presence,
Pushing down on my ribs like a boulder,
Not enough to terminally suffocate,
But enough to torture all the same,
A petite form on my chest with the intangible weight of hell,

I am held in a form of wakeful stasis,
Forced to lock eyes with this imp,
Twin orbs of magma and malice,
It grins at its own cruel game,
Hissing in tongues,
Guffawing at each breath I strain outward,
This is no night terror I tell you,
No hallucination,
But a very real and very spiteful nightly ritual,

By a demon of sleep.

Men before the mast,
Harken to me as bosun,
We give those crags a wide berth,
We are in treacherous waters,
Have ye not heard the tales?
Here be monsters,
A foul song haunts these reefs,
Feminine wiles on the wind,
Soft hands I’ve heard before,

Look not starboard lads,
Listen not to that tune,
Those fair forms are lies of flesh,
Those lips do not long for you,
Your loins be telling you false,
No pleasure will be found o’er there,
Only a dance of blood and sharks teeth,
As surely as the fog cresting the waves,
That song will be the end of ye.

Life can be a market street,
Neon and sin in equal measure,
Glitzy lights mask the horrors behind,
Roads teeming with snake oil salesmen,
Moral vampires hiding in alleyways,
Vulturine hounds slavering for hours of your life,
You need to keep your chequebook shut and turn away,
Despite their honeyed words,
They do not mean well,

They are artists of heartbreak,
Painting red skies and earthquakes,
Architects of every inferno under the sun,
You need to be strong,
Permit no chink in your plate mail,
No hint of manipulation,
These ghouls would take you into their rotten fold,
Don’t let them stain your blood,
Be incorruptible.