Tag Archives: horror

The Cadaver’s Requiem

the abyss is your wornout teeth

creaking and gnashing at four in

the morning—deathly eves whisper

in alluringly sweeter nevermores

as your mind draws a point blank

chalky and arid, the rewind is set to

fit the blame and delirium quite sure...

lights dragging the diabolical taste

of cancer and firelight away to hell

as it burns for the hearts of infidels

though carry not the cursed hurt nor

wretched inferno that only means to

submerge its sharp, bleeding claws

deep down into your tender sternum

to slowly pick your entrails apart as it

would a grand and delectable banquet;

cerise mucilage trickles in between the

crook of your damned eternal frown,

moulding your seething madness into

a scream of inscrutable evisceration.

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

Slaughterhouse Lust

Oh, how I crave to dare and distort

Flesh and curled veins embellish the hurt

Fingernails, friction, furled fire and ice

Horrors entombing, a mouthful of lies

.

Teethmarks left stale on shredded skin

A scarlet line stitch for scarlet-lured sins

Glinting dangerously close to livid steel tip

A throat once so sweet, now no longer sings

.

I am the intruder to your rationality

A romance without leisure nor apricity

I am ambrosia for the cunning and vulgar

Lock me in an embrace, I am built of barbed wires

.

You are the impostor with augmented pleas

Lethargic limerence, sometimes innocence kills

Fabricated humiliation left to the blowflies

Your hubris your downfall, your last breath a sigh

.

So crash and collide, a staccato of apologies

Left with the bullets, fired gunshot of notoriety

Puncture my lungs and just leave me to gasp

Amputate my useless limbs as you did to my useless heart

.

Oh, how I crave to deceive and disgrace

The enamel of my bones, your final resting place

You dine with the serpents, you rest with the wolves

Desecration was our only means to disguise the corrupted truth.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

I’ve Got All This Blood On My Hands (And None In My Body)

Stay out of the light or the photograph that I gave you
You can say a prayer if you need to
Or just get in line and I’ll grieve you
Can I meet you, alone, another night and I’ll see you
Another night and I’ll be you
Some other way to continue, to hide my face…

~*~

I wanna turn your insides to white (say it ain’t so)

So it looks good on my bedroom walls (black, blonde, red)

My heart’s been bleached by the tidal waves (so wash me out)

I wonder if it had any colour at all (maybe not)

.

(So they say that the switchblade is better than the sense)

Well then, let’s see how you look in basketcase drag

(So they say that all this praying won’t make you a saint)

Well then, let’s see how you look when it goes bad

.

It’s not profound or romantic (it’s a mechanical interlude)

And I’m tired of (waiting for) all the infinite eulogies

(And they all put words in my mouth that) make me feel sick

Babe, I just wanted to sever a vein (but you made it plural)

.

(The incineration of another night, the gunshots rang clear

The townspeople screamed as a body fell out of a windowsill

Sirens wailed and ambulances crashed to the beat of my heart

Screaming “fucking save me!”, but it was all a nightmare thrill)

.

‘Cause Magdalene’s desecrated (and her scripture womb) now ain’t sacred

‘Cause all your best friends will only get together when somebody starts to die

‘Cause you can have your fucking funeral but still end up running late for it

(‘Cause you might) say grace all you want and still throw up (pure lies)

.

(Say it ain’t so) I wanna turn your insides inside out

(Black, blonde, red) And end up drunk on your bedroom walls

(So wash me out) My heart’s been drowned off by the tidal waves

(Maybe not) I wonder if it meant anything to you at all.

~*~

And we’ll all dance alone to the tune of your death
We’ll love again, we’ll laugh again
And it’s better off this way
And never again, and never again
They gave us two shots to the back of the head
And we’re all dead now…

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

Occhiata

Rarer still, the crest of tides

The phantom women dance and bide

Where laughter speaks in ocean waves

And cold mindless solitary graves

Midnight shadows fended and staved

.

Quieter still, the fall of tides

The phantom women sleep and hide

Where sorrow cries in ocean waves

And moonlit fields of dreamless naves

Midnight shadows that can’t be saved.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

Circus Of The Unseen

“The circus arrives without warning. No announcements precede it. It is simply there, when yesterday it was not. The black sign, painted in white letters that hangs upon the gate, reads: Opens at Nightfall. Closes at dawn.” ~The Night Circus; Erin Morgernstern

~*~

worms through a corpse

chill wind past the silence

borne of blood and bones

cold distorted innocence

.

of faded starlight, heaven above

inferno below, hell hath no love

scarlet disenchantment perilous

lavender everglade, clement recluse

.

gabardine stained, crosses blue

concatenated catacomb, retaliate

viscera neglected, exhume anew

quinidine necrosis still separate

.

febrile fever, pray for saints

tortured nightmares desecrate

astern deliria, cataleptic taint

cradle unbeating hearts in fate

.

essences of alluded calamities

incensed wraiths roam auguries

oculists resurrect mortal citadels

as nondescript massacres dwell

.

shadows unseen, a circus of assailants

creed of asylum undulating sycophants

dim realms long perished to divination

leaving only churchyards in conflagration.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

Wedding Hells

A quiet hush descends

From the church halls and it wends

And it wends, and it wends

And it bends beyond the bells

Of the bells with their clamour

And the clangour and their fervour

Like the fervour of the crux

Hid in every sacred pews

But the pews with their kneeling

And their ever-silent praying

It grows louder—oh what terror!

Oh, what draconian, pure horror!

For the altar—yes—the altar

Though as empty as can be

‘Tis not as empty as should be

Can you see? Can you see?

Can you see the weeping plea?

Oh, the ever-crying plea

Falling free, calling me—

Calling out beyond the sea

Calling out so helplessly

Begging me, can you see?

Can you see the melancholy—

Of my forgotten bride-to-be?

Leave a comment

Filed under Fixed Poetry, Poetry

The Last Victim

We are the walking dead
Swallow the lies we’re fed
Uncover your eyes, uncover your eyes
Uncover the truth and you’ll realize
We’re hanging by a thread
We are the walking dead…

~*~

I was convinced of myself, at first.

Before mercy turned to failure and hell begged over to madness, everything seemed to be quite rational. Perfectly-planned. Dare I even say, elegantly beautiful. The conceived scenario played out in my head like an unraveling film spiel, woven into a viscid, intricate web and ensnaring naive hearts, and the sharp, unexpected twist and blunted violent stab of that final ending made the jagged suspense, the heart-wrenching thrill, the never-ending mystery and uncertainty, every slighted emotion thrown out and ravaged by the starving sharks, all of it…made everything worth it.

But now all I have is murder in my tongue, lies over my eyes, and your blood on my hands.

How did it all come to this?

Everything looks so red, even after I thoroughly scrubbed myself clean of the transgression. I made sure to meticulously tidy everything up. White walls, white floor, white bleached palms, white light pouring over the windows, a whiteness so pure and bright it’s fucking blinding, but the red obstinately stays. And it stains. On the white walls, on the white floor, on my chafed shaky hands, all over the room’s white-blanched windows like a sinner’s stained glass art, that redness so dark and demented that I can’t even clearly discern anymore where the colour ends and the shadows begin.

I have no excuse. I have no absolution from the crime I’ve committed. I cannot be pardoned, cannot be forgiven, and I’ll never forgive myself for what I’ve done. I know I deserve a punishment of nothing less than death. But I didn’t know it would come to this. I didn’t know what I was doing.

But I’m not sorry. And if I had to do it again, I would. Without any hesitations. Without thinking twice.

Without thinking about it all.

God forgive me.

~*~

Can anything bring us back to life?
Will anything make us right?
Can anything bring us back to life?
I’m willing to make us right?
‘Cause the further that we’re falling apart
The more that it breaks my heart…

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

Erbsünde

Facile strokes and dismembered veneration

Severed applause for a predicated generation

Amid disparate provenance lay foreboding whim

Of dissonance and elegance—prays original sin

.

Wandering aspirations brought upon the knell

Ornate devilry waltzing on a dormant clandestine hell

Banished to fields precarious as forbidden valleys

Austere as poor man’s blood smeared upon rich tapestries

.

From the agitated archangels that dare to implore

Comes resentment refracted and arrogance adored

And heartbeats resonating within a derelict mortuary

Sinners and serpents alike singing for a purgatory

.

And when raging disquiet permeates the idyllic tempest

Of naphthalene rivers and lunary souls brought in behest

Cries the sanctuary of heaven—weeping for paradise lost

For Eden is the tempting muse and vestal morality the cost

.

Intransigence weeps the treachery, torn with abated melancholy

A disheartening performance acted out in entablateured cemeteries

When masqueraded stagnation blooms from impassioned stones

Original sin reposes triumphant, perennial solitude on a devastated throne.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

The Vale

From beneath the vale where ghouls adore

What lay beyond euphonious sounds of terror

The skins that writhe, the pestilence feeds

Yet a place so mythic, souls dare not bleed

.

Might thine fearful mind be born and torn?

Might these hands exist only to pray?

Might thine fearful mind be born and shorn?

Might this heart pulsate only today?

.

From beneath the vale where sinners sleep

What lay beyond such calm rather deep

The skins that writhe, the persistence needs

In a place so mythic, souls dare not bleed

.

Might thine fearful eyes seek only the truth?

And yet the blindness be overcome?

Might thine fearful lips speak only the truth?

And yet bitter falsehood be undergone?

.

From beneath the vale where I may scale

What lay beyond deathly silence pale

The skins that writhe, my persephone heeds

Thee to that place so mythic, souls dare not bleed.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

In The Presence of Perdition

“And it is from this world of darkness
Which come the evil, destructive forces of man’s nature.”

~*~

Come one, come all, to the audience of the deceased

Have a taste of the pleasure that your rotting tongue missed

Sit before the actors regurgitating lines in vaudeville sarcasm

And your skin is stitched directly to the burning emblem

So curse all the horrors and scream at the fainthearted

A minor threat, a copycat’s tragic death, bloodshot gazes averted

Give out the two-faced masks that conceal the grotesque

For that flimsy veil of deception that only ire savages protect

So hold your breath and shut your lungs, there’s no other place for the living

Break your grasp and lose control on the mausoleum graves we’re dancing

I’m built for blame and bland on sins, severed eyes won’t see the true vision of hell

And I can’t be saved by devotees and war-bent crimes they preach on the chapel

But don’t worry, I’ll still clap along to the act until my blistered hands catch on fire

Dante’s inferno is just a burlesque caricature compared to this hellish life that even the devil desires.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry