Tag Archives: demented

Mad Mary Lennox

I still remember the world
From the eyes of a child
Slowly those feelings
Were clouded by what I know now—
I still remember the sun
Always warm on my back
Somehow it seems colder now…

~*~

You were the tears I could never release.

I am imprisoned for centuries in an impenetrable ribcage, feeling the lemongrass harshly piercing my calloused feet but never allowing my deprived senses to take in their ethereal fragrance, holding blossoms by their fragile throats and quietly wishing for their efflorescent scarlet to return and splash colour on my filthy grey dress again, and forevermore shackled and watching the suspended horizon; but a mere intangible memory playing tricks on my open lips.

It was beautifully haunting. My demented secret garden.

You alone held the key to the concealed gates. That particular key was crudely carved from roses and bones, finely forged of romance and blood, chiseled from my consumed heart and threaded with my vulnerable veins, but akin to the overflowing ocean of the tears trapped within my tired, pondering eyes, you released me not.

But will I despair? Never. I shall merely smile at your vicious cruelty and wait for patience with all the grace and forgiveness the pallid moon has adorned me with. I’ll peacefully sleep on my bed of fallen feathers and butterfly ashes, and I shall awake again the next day, my marred body still glimmering in a breathtaking fairy tale iridescence, to tend to my own share of bruised paradise and to sing my laments to the ardent stars in the missing sky once more.

Because this exquisite garden shares my every pain, my solitary desire, my one secret, and not simply the very secrecy itself. This sanctuary is mine to hold in eternal memoriam, and in an infinite someday, these silver chains will rust off and unfetter, as the reckless revolution of this damned planet will halt and reverse, away from the sun. And when that happens, you will find yourself starving for sweet freedom and clawing at the iron bars haplessly, forever banished in my grotesque heaven, where all the scathing thorns bear your broken name and all the flowers wilt at the very despicable thought of your nonexistent soul.

And you shall weep. And I, finally, along with you.

~*~

Where has my heart gone?
Trapped in the eyes of a stranger
Oh, I, I want to go back to
Believing in everything
I still remember.

Leave a comment

Filed under Prose

Incompetence

I’m just another ire fathom left to be relentlessly haunted

Parturient resolution before optimism goes beyond demented

Classic then archaic, brash before karma shows face value

As once again, assurance suspends and is left with odd virtues.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

Operating Room #66

A celebrated man amongst the gurneys
They can fix me proper with a bit of luck
The doctors and the nurses, they adore me so
Which is really quite alarming
‘Cause I’m such an awful fuck…

~*~

His ineptitude was not a gaffe to be forgiven easily. The masked surgeons and the bloodied nurses were merciless and beleaguering; they turned on the blinding light of the dysfunctional surgical lamp, its constantly flickering bulbs enough to induce a bad weather migraine and an epilepsy episode, and shone it onto their latest test subject’s (although the hospital employees never say it aloud, it’s simply an unspoken given, and thus they usually refer to them as a very sugarcoated ”patient”) visage, contorted into a subdued emptiness. Without any further ado about nothing, they began, rather unceremoniously, to proceed with the operation (or ”experimental treatment”, if one wished to continue to be politically correct, however pointless it may be at such a situation), lashing at the hollowly-staring patient with rusty scalpels, shoving non-disinfected blunt hypodermic needles that pricked his rubbery pockmarked skin, siphoning various fluids and effluvium off his rapidly shriveling body, lathering liberal amounts of unnamed substances that had varying reactions, more positive than negative, severing veins, limbs, organs, muscle, and epedermis, tapering lines of intravenous antibiotics, saline, venomous liquids, and various medicines and panacea that should never be ingested, and hacking away at his dismembered body, which already looked like a twisted asylum head case’s demented jigsaw puzzle to begin with.

All the while, a nameless tall silhouette leered over the discordant operation, supervising and watching taciturn by an elevated lightless corner, obscured rather fitfully by the pure vantablack shadows which seemed to conglomerate around it like clinging needy pets, overlooking everything in smug amusement like some form of a fallen god figure in his throne, not quite palpable, not quite corporeal. The harassed and scurrying employees were his to denounce, condemn, and order around, and though the hospital employees’ actions were that of someone who pretended that the ever-surveillant silhouette did not, in fact, exist, they still kept their distance safe and respectful. Since they were all also terribly frightened of the heavy comeuppance that may be penalised to them if they come off as impertinent and failed to give devotion to their superiors, yet they dared not risk anything else extravagant, their heads merely jerk into a twitchy bow, mayhap a sign of a subconscious nervous tic or that of involuntary worship, whenever they happen to face that specific elevated lightless corner.

Halfway through sewing both their guinea pig’s (the more they worked, the more unkindly they become, the final stage of derogatory term being bag of bones, left to the rubbish bins) lungs and left kidney together with used fishing strings (solely for experimental purposes only, the procedure did absolutely nothing for benefit nor treatment), the patient, who was originally lethargic and apathetic and remained so the entire time, did the strangest thing, out of the blue. It was so abrupt and sudden, a change in the circadian rhythm, a derailment of the train tracks, a break from the usual cycle, so much so that unsureness and hesitation immediately enveloped the room like a milky opalescent fog. The patient’s action was nothing like the professional surgeons nor constrained nurses, and not even the omniscient godlike silhouette, had ever seen before. Sensing that he had caught everyone’s attention, the patient, making motions for the first time since the start of the operation, blinked both swollen eyelids gingerly (one socket was missing an eyeball), and tilted its barely attached head slowly, in a pompously suspenseful manner, to show them a fuller glimpse what his disfigured face was doing.

The effect was instantaneous and devastating. It caused bloodshot eyes to widen momentarily, jostled volatile gasps of shock from the disturbed nurses, and made everyone react in some way or manner. Some could only stare in horror, frozen to the spot and absentmindedly muttering undecipherable incantations, others swayed slightly as if shot with tranquilliser, gripping their knuckles white against nearby solid surfaces to steady themselves, and one even backed up against the wall and slid downwards into a faint, collapsing on the grimy linoleum floor, next to where the patient’s missing eyeball apparently rolled onto. It was so appalling that it even made the usually-unperturbed tall silhouette flinch, as if touched by the most potent muriatic acid (which, as a matter of fact they did have, but in storage), and instantly it recoiled and drew away from the scene of the crime, a tortured sibilant hiss accidentally escaping through its grimy gritted teeth as it did so.

The unknown silhouette’s poisonous reaction was the final breaking point. For a singular moment, the place grew was mollified, growing uncomfortably quiet. Everyone was petrified in an almost tableaux position, nasty accusing looks and roving uneasy glares tossed around with bated breaths, as if taunting each other to act. The silhouette, appeasing of his sagacious error, merely stood guard and watched its subordinates to see how they would react, kicking aside a tendrilled shadow that wrapped itself affectionately around its leg. An eternity and an aeon passed. When no one twitched even a muscle, it seemed as if everyone was finally calmed into a gregarious rationality. But then, as the scene was only just beginning to thaw, the person who fainted also thawed with them. She stirred slightly, opened her eyes groggily to see a severed, mangled one gazing back at her, and opened her mouth to scream.

The fragile glass of silence shattered. The operating room was thrown into pandemonium in a split-second, cacophony of high-pitched shrieks amongst disgusting sounds of ripping fabric, perhaps of the soiled unreplaced bandages or the thin discoloured gurney itself, harried feet stampeding to the nearest emergency exit, sickening crunches of fractured fingers and broken bones as brogues and pennyloafers trampled carelessly on those who got caught in their own feet and tripped, quailing whimpers and quivering murmurs of those who were unlucky enough to be casualties and collateral damage (one of whom stepped on the continuously troublesome eyeball and slipped on it with an unpleasant squelch and a deadened thud), as the susurrus disembodied voice overpoweringly rose above it all, inhuman dissemination getting increasingly stentorian and piercing through eardrums, its sound like coalescing amalgam of tireless radio static, screeching microphone feedback, and unclipped fingernails dragged down a chalkboard, snarling at everyone to return to composure and finish the procedure.

But no one listened. No one obeyed. No one stopped to care. Not even the catatonic patient. He simply laid there, supine, bemused, watching the madness with his remaining glossed-over eye, his remaining members, positioned like a gruesome present, on a wicker basket dripping with glimmering scarlet blood, his mangled body still strapped with chafed leather belts to the bare freezing metal bedframe, not showing any acknowledgement of seeing the fiasco, not attempting to release himself from the constraints, not changing nor moving all the chaos. He just continued to smile.

~*~

I gave you blood, blood
Gallons of the stuff
I gave you all that you can drink
And it will never be enough
I gave you blood, blood, blood..
I’m the kind of human wreckage that you love!

Leave a comment

Filed under Prose

Welcome to the Vmbralvm Asylvm

In a cramped room of killers and crimson rust

Empty eyes staring, livid faces mistaken

Creatures haunted by the voices of the gory past

No longer humans, but shambolic souls broken

.

Toxicity, poison, venom, and archaic lies

Whispered, hissed, purred ever so sullenly

Despicable madness and hapless cries

Ringing out, crying, screaming for me

.

Frail squalid hands constantly reaching

Against the tenebrific void of the cells

Cautionary tales desperately begging

To get them out of this version of Hell

.

What is white? What is black?

The lines of love and purity start to crack

Moral compasses spin wildly and weather vanes fly

Veering off in directions that no one dares try

.

Possession, an illness, a disease to society

A plague that should be contained, that’s all they’re perceived

White demons with no wings and halo forcing them a cure

The fallen ones, injections and magic tricks are all they endure

.

Decaying skins and bleached bones exposed so bare

Scarred minds so torn and arcane thoughts so rare

Tongues so sharp yet clockwork hearts so dull

Their reality and universe ever so null

.

Immortal sins, did it taste so good?

Seeing humans as their toys and corruption as their food?

They didn’t know, what else can they blame

Only the friction in their sanity that started the flames

.

Trying to save what they’ve left behind

Traded their senses to peddle endless thoughts unkind

They used to be on thrones, indestructible kings

But their exacerbated ail, only anarchy did it bring

.

Just how soon would they ever know

If not for their pedantic, neurotic minds?

Did they reap what they sow?

Have they lost what they should find?

.

They come here for payment, their chains clanking harsh

For their final judgement, crimes written on stars

Isolation, reclusion, they’re just simply thrown away

Hoping for when they can see the light of the day

.

Now say goodbye to the world that shunned you off

Now you’re part of us misfits that even God has scoffed

The dystopic asylum is demented, no soul here alive anymore

No more than pierrots, jokers, and harlequins with chasmic cores.

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized