By Moonlight Sonata

Her hand was cold and wet in mine. I strained to pull her free. The moisture on our skin fought the tenuous grasp of our extremities. Her legs had disappeared in the sodden soil. The earth sucked on her limbs, slavering for the rest. In the darkness only the sliver of moon lit her pale skin. Its light failed in her eyes, drowned in the black pool guarded by the fierce blue ring, thinning with the growth of her fear. The weight of the earth wore my spirit down as hours seemed to pass. Sweat crept down my arm in rivulets, defying the chill breeze. Exhaustion would soon crush me. My grip would slip. She was sinking. I could see the clarity surge up into her eyes. She knew. Her grey lips opened and closed yet I heard no words; a fish pulled from the water. The rain came down in a torrent. She was down to her waist. The hole was spreading outward. The soil's toothless gums chewed on my feet. She had given up on trying to speak. She didn't need to. Despair was all that was left to understand in her eyes. The words were washed away, pulled under by the current. The descent quickened with the fall of the rain. Her shoulders were under. My knees met the muddy surface. As her chin felt the earth's touch, her eyes were vacant and her face turned to pallid marble. She let go of me and went under, leaving behind brief bubbles of air that burst under raindrops. 
The sun broke through the clouds, searing through them until only the blue of her eyes remained. The soil hardened around my legs, locking me in place as I stood watching the dirt transform through the hand that had held her. In that position I remained, unable to move. "She was taking me as well," I thought as my eyes closed. 
When I woke, the wind was blasting me. That which the soil had not swallowed was covered in sand and dirt. I could still see my hand grasping at the air in front of me. Her bubbles left circles on top of the soil wherein she lay. My eyes closed once more, and could not open. There I was, a prisoner in arenite skin. In darkness. Loss and sorrow flooded my thoughts. I wanted to be broken, smashed into little pieces and pulverised until nothing remained. Instead the wind eroded me. Whittling away at my sediment at a geological pace. The years shaved away at my layers until only the core was exposed. By then I had forgotten the struggle with the elements. Her face was nothing but the shift of the top soil through the seasons. With time the meaning and desperation of that night slipped from my mind's grasp. I had become a part of the forces I had fought. Where hope had once fueled the futility of my rebellion, I now crumbled and scattered in the wind that which was left of me, that which I never possessed, was lost.

The Show

As the shadows lengthen on our street, and the sounds of industry are drowned
The turning of the cogs slow, and weary muscles ease 
The foreman releases us for the evening, to rebel within the constraints of fleeting freedom

As we walk the trail to our homes, we catch a glimpse of the sun's descent
And as that red fringe dissolves in the ocean, a silence falls over every one
A chilling stir is felt, unspoken, as the purple glow lingers
A current pulling at our core 
An ebb towards the edge of the horizon
Recognition of this eternal show reflecting in each of our eyes

As the day's end gathers strength, to pull the veil of night over the shifting canvas above,
the sun builds its fury elsewhere, to break a new day and rise once more

For the hour glass is tipped 
And the sand flows to the shore

The Skinless Man

The skinless man didn't make a scene. In fact the skinless man didn't draw attention. The skinless man seemed almost serene. That's why the skinless man is worth a mention.

The skinless man first looked at me on the bus. Well, stared. But that wasn't his fault. You see, the skinless man had no lids on his eyes. So staring was all he had.
He was sitting at the front of the empty bus when he turned his head and spotted me. Calmly he stood up and made his way towards my seat. Despite his obvious health problems, he positively strode down the isle. I wasn't scared, or even nervous. Because apart from his exposed muscles and tendons gleaming in the morning sun, he seemed like a nice enough chap.
"May I have your skin?" he asked, or so I assumed as it was impossible to make out a word the skinless, lipless, lidless man had to say.
"What for mister?"
"Oh nothing peculiar. I only wish to wear it. If you don't mind."
The skinless man was painfully polite despite his obvious blood loss. 
"Why sure mister. I'll have it off in a jiffy," I said as it seemed like the right thing to do, especially considering how polite I imagined him to be.
"I always carry my pocket knife. Well, uh... right here in my pocket in fact!"
He would have smiled at that I was sure, had he only had lips and cheeks at his disposal.
The lipless, cheekless man stood in what I assumed was awe as I plunged the two-inch blade into my neck. It seemed like as good a place as any to start. The pain was indescribable, but I didn't want the skinless man to feel bad so I cut and cut right down my side until I reached my toes without as much as a squeek. Then I came back up, back down and back up the other side until I made it all the way round to the first cut.
The skin fought against me as I pulled at it but it eventually gave in and peeled off. The blood was something fierce, but it wasn't every day you got the chance to give a skinless man a lump of skin. So who was I to complain?
"There you go mister," I said, handing the speechless man my cut-up skin.
He didn't say a word, or so I imagined. He simply started pulling my skin over his bloody bones and meat. Just like putting on a shirt.
The skin wasn't quite enough to cover his entire body but he kind of made it work by pulling it tight and stretching my skin to its limits, and in some places putting up with a couple of tears.
I'll be honest, he looked worse than before. But what can you say to a skinless man who was putting on your skin? He seemed positively content with the outcome. 
"Hey that's a great look!" I said. "Who knew you looked so good in a boy's skin!"
That made the skinned man burst with laughter. My bloody lips almost tore with the force of his joy. I felt like saying, "Hey take it easy with those!", but thought better of it. "They're his lips now," I reminded myself. "You can't blame him for using them, now can you?"
It was strange looking at the man of former skinless fame. He had my face after all. That's how people recognised me. Wasn't it? I wondered if people would recognise him. 
Watching him made me feel sick after a while. Completely skinless or completely skinned. Was that right? I think that's the same thing. Maybe. Anyway, either way is ok but in the middle was horrifying. At least he was happy, or appeared to be, considering he was smiling through a skinless boy's previous bloody attire.
Relief was what I felt when he got off at the next stop. For I couldn't close my eyes to avoid the gruesome sight. I was skinless you see. I only had staring. Because that's the nature of things when you're skinless and lidless, waiting to bleed out on the bus.

meat

rear
rend
sunder 
cut 
from life in one
breathe in void
swallow filth
mutate to fit
tear from spilling wombs 
inject
brand
reject
sear
repeat

fledgeling flames forsake fetal futures
fucked and flayed formaldehyde freaks
thalidomide-faced abominations,
the meat

riven asunder
cut from one
tossed into void
swallowed
a perfect fit 
torn apart
mutated
to feed the flame
burnt in fear
piece of meat
rear
repeat
sear
repeat

36193

Tide bleeds toward the shore
Ravens stab at flesh
Beaks of steel in grey
Depraved unity
Torn from nests 
Unfeeling hands
Machine instinct 
on display
on display
Fueling matricide in stark morrows
Vengeance for fallen brothers 
Unfettered brutality 
Fallacy of nature 
A distant play
For all to see 
For all to see 

Chaos pulls discordant 
ends 

Crunchy Jelly

A thick ebb of darkness swallows the sun. 

A blaze of life smolders in an endless vat of black oil. 

Acrid smoke swirls in circles 

Rising as it spirals into the feral claws of a blood sky 

Bleeding itself to death onto the living. 

Life reduced to existence 

in futility. 

Mindless savagery 

Of beasts and lower beings cloaked in flesh 

Tearing and rending brothers and sisters. 

Instinct betrayed by the souls of those left to see.

No end.

  

A selfless heap of decay takes pity 

on the wicked wasteful hell-forged wind 

which wounds the weak, 

the weather-worn weary 

who whimper and wither 

in collective solitude. 

Reaped by the grim.

A scythe swings with merciless efficiency to separate the self 

and return the severed to the soulless. 

There is no sanity to be found. 

No word to be spoken. 

No glint in dead eyes. 

Only hate machines manufacturing nothing. 

Cold steel and a death grip. 

Acres of flesh and bone. 

The first and last solidarity 

Of the living now passed.