Storms

The curtains bulge forwardStorms

Waving and flicking like snakes tongues

Dark

A pit with no end beyond the shattered window

Sharp

quivering arrows

from an invisible bow

flash past

come nearer

but never hit

Cold

like sharp teeth biting at your will

The wind

An invisible net

thrusting at the haggard rubble and curtains.

The Grave

I found it beneath the little statue with the freshly turned soil. How had I not seen it before?
Looking down into the grave I saw my undead child and the rage within me burst yellow, blazingly bright and a howl of hate tore from my throat and shook the earth.

It was a rage of hate and smite. It was a rage that would destroy anything to blame with no conscience and all the malice to be painted with as much blood as possible, as much pain that could be crushed from wet bone.
Fuck I have vivid dreams.

Slide the Key

Slide the keyKey

into the slot

Cruel memories

I forgot

Inside I slowly

gently rot

Slide the key

into the slot.

 

So long a silence

stains my fears

I remember to forget

all my years

Try to cry

no more tears

So long a silence

stains my fears.

 

Shadows follow

where I lead

In your blood

I see the greed

On your flesh

I’ll slowly feed

Shadows follow

where I lead.

 

Will it be

for me to see?

Is it you

who are free?

I was going to try

but then I knew why.

To continue on would be a lie.

Knowing the answer before you start

numbs, kills, defeats the heart.

It wasn’t hard

for me to become

cold and strong.

My Verdict

Faces on the lace.Verdict

Masks for the outside world.

Change

eyes and nose,

mustache.

It’s all so simple

all so difficult

when I can’t control my small world.

That’s everything to me

when they have control

of all I hold dear

and their hold is pain.

It rips through my heart

my eyes seep salt water.

My mouth wrinkles

crinkles in disgust.

Frustration in deep hidden corners.

Bursts in pain

chokes in crying.

All so complicated.

All so simple

when the lace of lies

is drawn back.

My calm

tender heart exposed

for so few to see

for so few to see

when it crinkles and jerks

in hurt

in angry sobs of crying.

For yes,

I do love

and I do hate

and I do live

unhappily

in my sorrowful fate.

The Disciple

I watch.

I see.

Catechumen sitting on the stairs

strange and distant.

Confusion between his cradling hands

his head the babe.

The mind cradled in the child.

*

He’s sitting on the answer.

The stairs.

Eternal

Ephemeral

Up

Down

Spiraling no end

Each ending abruptly

a scale on a snake

Each step a piece of life

and so it goes on.

A feather floats

Silently

Haphazardly

Creating it’s own geometry in the air

It’s own geometry waltzing.

Distant music.

Shallow hum of people.

Laughter, shouts

Distant

All texture the air quite pleasantly.

*

And still he thinks.

This catechumen

still pondering.

Me watching

like a teacher – no

a god.

Distant, quiet

respectful of his wandering.

Me, dressed in black.

Typical of a god of war,

no – destruction.

Leaning against a wall

drink in one hand,

cigarette in the other.

Simply observing.

*

I could give him the answer

but that would be too

convenient.

Too awesomely devastating.

I have had many masters:

music

television

time.

All sour and sweet

I have been a loyal disciple

to The God

to a god

to all gods

and still I find only one.

Only one to be true to.

*

I remain a disciple to myself.

The Disciple

New Age Warrior

Prays for peace and loveNew Age Warrior

Yearns for bloodshed and hate

*

Forever wanting the fight

as water forever wants the sea.

Trusts no-one but his own.

He walks through alone.

Wearing masks

behind which no-one will know

who lies.

*

A lost love did this to me.

I have become twisted and arrogant

I trust nothing and no-one.

Don’t trust even my own eyes.

Not even my own feelings.

I will feel something, anything

enjoy it for a moment

then cooly drown it

like I would a baby in a bath.

*

I live only for myself.

Enjoy.

George Powers

I’ve got George PowersStraight Razor

He’s bad.

So I keep him in the back.

In the dark passages of my brain.

He’s bad.

So it’s black where he lives.

Black and dirty and I don’t like it there.

So I don’t go there.

*

Sometimes George comes out.

To visit.

He’s bad so he doesn’t like the light.

So he doesn’t stay long.

He fantasizes about the dark

out here.

He likes to cut people.

It doesn’t matter how.

He likes to hurt people.

Midnight Horror!

Darkness closes in on allZombie

as the witching hour draws near.

Festering hands reach from the ground.

The night holds a profound fear.

*

From the graves of evil folk

rise the carcases of hell.

Their coffins also rotted weak

the corpses neither taste nor smell.

*

Searching for the air of blood

the cadavers shuffle round.

The night is in a silent flood

They don’t utter a single sound.

*

Cadavers there and everywhere

in their search for flesh.

They do not think of what is fair

for they are in a wicked mesh.