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Here In The BowerAnd ye shall toss and turn and squirm
Like a salamander afterbirth
And wallow in the mud blind and deaf
Like a mother sow's bastard reject
And ye'll find thyself shivering
Teeth clacking, toes rattling
Neck quivering, ribs trembling
Knees and shoulders inching ye onward
Organs grinding to stay warm
From the freezing bacterial swamp
Ye'll beg the cruel gods for a precipice
Some unseen plunge into jagged rocks
But they're not listening to yer moans
Yer vile tongue must taste it all
Only thy shoulders can hear thy screams
Vibrating downward into yer torso
Into a lightless chamber of empty space
The hopeless infinity of putrid earth
The ongoing continuity of breathing bile
The stinging in thine pores
The compressing pressure behind thine eyes
When does a stone reach its end
When shall it crack and crumble to pieces
This tartarus is just a sphere
Floating in some malevolent deity's ulcer
And ye are just undigested supper
Spiced in the elixir of immortality
This shall be thine prison
Language Arts on the HeartThat feeling of whimsiness
Where you flutter and spiral
Two worlds colliding isn’t a game
I speak genuinely and do not want
To ever feel that those emotions
Were never met
NecrocarnecopiaSuch guiltless and mindless apes
Passionless and empty jackanapes
Basking in their calamitous abattoir
With derisive ambition and peignoir
The fleshy surface of the bloodpool mire
Meat stock puppets made into a satire
Insane cancerous cannibals
Parentless and running around as animals
Raping each other's hearts out
Whilst wearing goat horns and pigs snout
What ghastly grinning sociopaths
Dead set on their carbuncle warpaths
The dusk is not a friendly welcome
And eventide is harmlessly so seldom
Gutless emotion arachnid pageantry
Heartbreak like poetically devoid sorcery
Fields of rotten clay covered with mold
Burn your fires like lighthouses in the underworld
I'll congratulate you on your graduation day
Yet mourn for your boar-tusk spear and ghost mask cabaret
The Cygnet Lord And His Reptus ReprisalOrchen infants gnawing and gnashing
Upon maggot-infested goblin ears
Dueling duergar smashing and clashing
Mightier combat drowns away war-fears
A fire-breathing hayman who shall try ensnare
The once astral, rustic, virgin shepherdess
Promising icicle tears in the winter's forswear
The broken brumous-eyed eyre princess
Swan-knights pledging oaths to their castle
The dungeon toad lyrist casting songlets
Upward to the mourning soul of a vassal
Noble squires following their ladies’ ringlets
The cauldron steel and heat birth a fleshy weapon
Growling witch’s seed now the future’s forebear
Of reptus stock, gilded spell, and cannibal’s venison
By broken virgin’s heart, he be the swan-king’s infare
Intersocial TortureTangled, bound up
I'm not the man I used to be
Wrapped up, inside
Screaming from an origin
Nails shot right into me
The tortured, mangled outcast
Nixy Fixy Gox NoxWicker wasp leaflessly imprisoned
Jagged boa semi-circle amethyst
Adamant sparrow whippoorwill twist
Vorticose songbird jailbreaks its own fragile nest
A biblioklept caught red-handed yet dispossessed
Dagger jagger wild anthem strategist
Feather weather wigwag wittol whew
This kind of rime requires tew
Ensconced Betwixt Shadows' AdieuHigh-armor'd knights all in blaze
Corsairs brooding violent Lyonnais
Doppelganger berserkergang blood rite
As a cross-swords marauder-blatherskite
The wretch entombed for deus ex machina
Necrozoic ensipathic, humanoid anima
Acrobatic phantasyst edgewise bespoken
Heliotrope guardsman under and broken
Echo never dimmer
Please be silent please be still
Numb god flesh
Crackled volcanic glass, murk-weather trill
Asphalt pantheon bloodstone hewn
By the emperor's boulder rune
Forgotten TomeForgotten Tome
Spinster's spinning spool
From the bottommost pool
To the heartless peeling lofts
Atrophied webb'd-brain be lost
Inside the distant maze
Outside the spidery haze
Blue jacket, broken spine
Vortices in vertigos unwind
Torn out pages, empty between the covers
Loneliest shortening left with my druthers
Drifting timelessly at sea
Soulless cage, blackened heart, forgotten tome
Spellbound in a fugue is where I roam
Underwater veil, beneath the sheet
Eyelids beneath crysalis, encrusted sleet
Godless peoples locked in a winter's night
Pickpocket prophets turn the cruelest sleight
The digger's ditch enwalled in a solo dance
The softest deathly hush is the duskly trance
Arms bound in this manner
Ageless eye-croft scanner
Is all that I dream a fictional race?
Nightmarish high-life minus the embrace
Creations Of The SoberA smirk crawls upon your face,
As the pretty bright blood leaks down your arm,
Part of you is whispering,
"what have I done..?"
But you can barely hear it over the demented laughter,
That is emerging from your throat.
Your whole body is shaking,
With fear or with excitement, still remains unknown,
You look down at the bodies around you,
Drowning within their own blood.
You clench your fist,
Digging your nails into your rough skin,
Until your royal blood starts to flow.
You begin to laugh louder,
Dragging your feet through the mixture of their blood,
You walk past them,
Leaving a murderous trail behind.
You simply pick up your weapon,
Licking off the remaining blood,
And tighten your grip around it,
Ready to attack,
Your best friend stands in the distance,
Eyes wide and mouth open,
He's too frightened to say a thing.
You flash a smile his way,
When you realize he's crying.
"T-Those w-were yo-ur f-friends.."
He trails off,
Silent tears rolling down his cheeks,
Jeff the KillerThere is a boy by the name of Jeff
Who likes to bring to others death.
His face is white like a snowy eve,
But no purity does his soul conceive.
His eyelids are missing for he burned them to black,
Black as his heart and his need to attack.
He'll forever smile with his carved in grin.
The only lifestyle he knows is sin.
His mind is frayed from insanity,
A concept that causes others to flee.
But he finds it beautiful and helps share his art
Of ripping his innocent victims apart.
He'll climb in your window in the dead of night.
There's no point in even trying to fight.
Hush now. No tears. Don't you dare make a peep.
It's time for you to go to sleep.
Home AloneSay something, I'm giving up on you.
I'm starting to believe every word was true.
I can hear the sound of the dial tone beeping
And I wonder if it's the sound of your lies sleeping.
The phone line is calling my nickname,
Asking me to scream in tune with its game.
I thought home was where I heard your heartbeat.
But this house is empty, desolate, bittersweet.
Don't say another word you don't mean,
For the poor paint caught envy, it's turning green.
Even the plaster is curdling with shame
At the sight of your face in a picture frame.
This house, it was ours, thick with false flowers.
I've been tearing up perfumed petals for hours.
This place is perfect for a funeral bride,
And I can attest that 'us' has died.
Just point to where I sign,
And I write it on the line of Divine.
Hush up before I stay here with you.
I need to find some oxygen, my soul is blue.
I'm not interested in dial tone morse.
You're past due on your bill of remorse.
Say nothing, I'm getting over you.
It's time I call up
Nothing MissingIf I said I missed you,
I'd be admitting that I breathed
On a time where seconds slipped free
When we were two halves wreathed.
But something can't be missed
If it never did exist.
That knife I will not twist
With my own remembering wrist.
There's nothing missing from my puzzle.
Those silent holes grow content
With the splatterart guzzle
I smear across the rent.
It's nice to live in a blindfold,
Carefully glued to be whole,
Listening to the tale I've told
Of well mannered dirt in a hole.
I leave no mossy stone turned,
For I need no compass to pave
The weary headstone of brave burned
On the chapped lips of your depraved grave.
Masque of the Black DreadMasque of the Black Dread
From Mask of the Red Death by Edgar Allen Poe
Far up yonder in the remotest reach
Of the vast sands of the Sahara
Where few if any men have ever walked
And nobody dared to dwell
There stood a castle of dark stone
Maybe obsidian or black quartz
And within the walls
The inhabitants, under the eye of the lord, Prince Faisal,
Partied throughout the night.
They raved and ranted for many nights
But neither came a soul to stop them,
Nor did anyone think to stop.
Then, one late night in October,
Maybe near All Hallows Eve,
He wore long gowns as black as the walls of the castle
And long flowing locks of dark brown hair
But most outstanding was his mask
A dark mask of somber features
Like no face seen anywhere in the world
Stranger still was that whoever looked upon this mask
Went finally, utterly mad
Faisal saw his guests descend
Into madness's depth
And demanded to know the identity of that mask
The guest spoke just one word
From Ulalume by Edgar Allen Poe
Far, far away
Where the eye cannot behold
There stretched a land of mystery
Now grown silent and old
Years ago when Bethmora was still young
The people danced, and sang and played
Life was good to all then
Nobody sighed in sorrow or dismay
One sullen night, a low wind blew in
Its air was hard and cold
So hard was it that not a soul would move
And it soon took its toll
By late December, hardly a soul was left upon the street
Those who felt it claimed they heard
A whisper, like the voice of Death
So until this time of which I spoke
Now Bethmora deserted lies
His Name Is Cackle~
His Name Is Cackle~
A new clown is headed to town~
Wearing not a smile, but a frown~
Fettered wrists, and his mouth stitched closed~
But why this is, not a soul knows~
That is until his bonds break~
And he's free from chain and shackle~
Nightmares wrought throughout his wake~
His name is Cackle~
Lovely Is The CheekA whole bunch of suicides
Filling up a pit
We’ll carve out the insides
And try to make it fit
All these bones are from the grind
Invisible man can’t get surgery
Unless the surgeon’s blind
Dungeon has open a butcher’s spree
Skin masks brew open wide
Psychopaths fly like swarming bullets
Hallways to the other side
Guess what they split ripcord pirouettes
It’s what’s comin’
Let’s not forget
Keep my chainsaw runnin’
And make it nice and wet
So when I put it in the bucket
Stronger the filth
IowaIf you visit Iowa,
you'll call her fields empty,
but she wasn't born that way.
A part of her was carved out
when she was ripped between Virginia
and the purple mountains of New Mexico.
Her gold hair, she tore it out when she realized
it didn't make her a princess.
She laid her locks strung along every road
leading somewhere else.
White hairs on her cheeks
are scars from winter.
Her hair darkens with the dampness
of summer rains.
The storms are never silent,
but neither is life when there's a tear
in your childhood where
a parent ought to be.
I've been flooded by Iowa's sorrow.
The only way I can distract her from her own voided landscape
is if I hate myself harder than she cries.
She just wants to fly
and I want to bus or train,
not because I fear death, but because
I want to take living slow.
It's the only way I ever feel.
From the air it's hard to watch Earth's hips move.
But Earth can't compare to the country.
That's my girl.
Full grown even when harvesting season's j
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