Evil can rest behind a smiling face,
An amicable face,
Even a handsome face,
Charisma is the tool of a monster,
Just as a blade or garotte,
Yet more savage,
More cutting,
That was Ted,
Too many souls taken in by a friendly smirk,
A mask hiding thoughts of violation and murder,
Sugared words upon a serpents tongue,
Caught too late,
Highlighting the fell reality,
That fiends hide in plain sight,
Psychopathy cloaked in friendship,
That was Ted.
What turns a man into a demon?
What is it that breeds evil?
Is it a grim childhood?
The fists of the father,
Is it the occult?
A macabre interest too young,
Is it the narcotics?
That fun white powder,
An amalgamation of all these facets?
Whatsoever the cause,
This foul creature was unleashed,
A stalker in the night,
Dreaming of Disneyland,
Mutilating and violating all the way,
Thirteen souls claimed in red and screams,
By a devil wearing a human costume,
This horned beast was finally caught,
Brought low by his own arrogance.
Have you seen that man?
Stood plentifully bestrewn in crimson petals,
Within a garden of fresh corpses,
A crusader amongst broken innocents,
He’s a killer like any other,
But sanctioned by those lofty spires,
A good holy soldier,
In place of prayer,
He commits to flagellation,
Pain weaving betwixt discipline,
He hears voices in the dark,
They come from dusty books,
A tome that claims divinity,
A higher morality touted in its pages,
What began as a good and humble life,
Was dismantled piecemeal by fear and hate,
Xenophobia and bigotry written as commandments,
Seeing jihads in all directions,
Knives at the windows,
The sermons were twisted to command,
And so he strikes.
There’s a fine line between justice and crime,
And some walk that line haphazardly,
They choose not to defer to authority,
And take matters into their own hands,
Vengeance rarely looks like a courtroom,
And it is never a portrait,
More often it is spent cartridges in an alley,
Bullet and hammer and blade,
These are the tools of the vigilante,
These are the judge and jury,
And the will behind them is the executioner.
Ofttimes we confer our lives to men of medicine,
Hippocratic Samaritans,
Truly worthy of our trust,
Yet once this trust was broken,
Reduced to residue in a syringe,
By a foul miscreation of fate,
On the island kingdom he resided,
A creature with eyeglasses and a kindly gaze,
This monster in a white coat,
Human anthrax,
Where he practiced,
The neediest of us fell,
Where he called,
Toxins invaded innocent bloodstreams,
Grandads and grandmas,
Taken by foul chemical artifice,
They needed him,
And yet he slaughtered them,
Casually he spoke in the sound of needles,
Smiled kindly with venom behind teeth,
Aged though these victims were,
They could still have had decades,
But with him they had minutes.
That grin,
Oh that grimace,
Wielded by that walking corpse,
Clad in leather and chain,
It hungers to tear asunder meat,
Meat that still struggles,
Those lips still drip with cruelty,
Salivating,
Salivating,
Desiccated flesh splitting in a curve,
Joy formed with painful contortion,
Each bronzed tooth telling a tale of murder,
Poems of crime upon each breath,
A scarred tongue dancing on graves behind,
This is a maw of evil,
This grin,
It’s an avatar of death,
And it’s directed at you.
An evil man,
He took them,
Innocent souls,
From the harsh streets they knew,
To a harshness they couldn’t imagine,
Down to the basement,
Down with the misery,
Down to the dark,
Down with the rats and dogfood,
Down to the torture and desecration,
Over the airwaves,
I heard no devils laughing,
But god found it all very amusing,
I heard him chuckle from his throne,
Yet there was no funny side.
I’m trying to hide,
Though this wardrobe be a paltry citadel,
Subsequent to this ambush on a frigid moonlight night,
A gathering reduced to a bloodbath,
Human bodies hewed to mulch by terrible implement,
I know that blade thirsts for more,
Insatiably it took my friends,
I still hear the drips,
He’s coming,
A hell sent juggernaut,
A boiler suit rendered crimson by lives cut short,
And that mask,
Oh lord that mask,
The face of a shinigami,
Bound by wire and bone,
A crooked grin with iron teeth,
I’m trying to hide,
But my gasping and perspiration scream out my location,
Those wooden stairs are a countdown,
Each foreboding step a stopwatch counting down,
A boot upon the landing is a deathknell,
The doors to my harborage shrill open,
That awful mask appears from the opacity,
That dripping brand of gore is raised,
Time stops.
I have travelled once again within my torpor,
Across these plains of arid texture,
To a roost dripping with gaunt atmosphere,
Lived in by only dust and rodents,
This was a haven for a monster once,
A foul nosferatu,
A menace long slain,
Yet death still echoes here in sleeps carousel,
This wallpaper whiffs of ichor and sawblades,
This leather furniture is of no bovine nature,
But something closer to home,
Something screaming in terror,
Cattle of a different kind,
Bloody wards of a killer already caught,
But in this dream world,
The grisly activities play over and over,
An old black and white film a touch too real,
A slideshow of past agony,
A tapestry painted by a nightmare shaped like a man,
Something that’ll force me out of rest sweating,
Sights which impel to flee to compos mentis.
Not so happy?
We have a fix for that,
Allow me to put on my apron,
Forgive the blood,
This is a messy procedure,
Your face shall become artwork,
A scalpel sculpture,
An ideal incision,
Ear to ear,
A grin born of cruor,
You’ll be the talk of the town,
No more sorrow,
No more tears,
Extracting that bad mood,
The agony just means it’s working,
Why are you screaming?
You look so happy now,
You won’t be laughing,
But you’ll be smiling until the end of days,
Even within your grave,
Now that grin shall never dissipate.
WorldofHarley 