hiss

a throbbing pulse pumps and pounds at walls of flesh and blood, 
a sack of scaled beasts emerge in bile that bubbles and bursts,
spilling forth from the sallow nest and steaming in the winter dusk,  
to slither and soil the sons of us, a surreptitious schism is thus.

viscous heads hiss and spit as fangs announce their presence,
snakes and serpents sneer and curse the sins of their existence. 

the sailing soulless sense the heels
of the credulous spirit,
as forked tongues snipe and slaver 
slicing across the surface,
to taste the warmth of copper 
and slug the sweetest sauce,
a kiss from venomous servants, 
slaves without remorse.

Recyclable

A great deal it is owed
For a lifetime spent following
A path trodden bare
By countless feet walked to the bone

By the nose it was lured 
Oh the scent of success
An alluring fragrance of decadence 
The seduction of a waning spirit

The perfume once filled with promise
Turns to an onerous odour

This confident conformity culminates
In a cruel castration of the soul

The stench of death pervades the air
As bloody feet near the perversion
Realisation dialates the senses
Here it has found the vaunted dream

A body of lies
Carrion
Feeding the starving god

A fraction of debt is paid to Mother
A corrupted vessel drained of life
Beetles, worms and soil collect 
The scraps it left in dust

A deal it made at birth
Forgotten in its youth
Avoided in its middle age
Too late to regret its loins' fruit

All it has borrowed with blood
Can not be repaid 

The stinking rich

The wealthy corpse rots

Heart

I put my heart in a blender.

I fantasized about watching it shred,
And imagined the sight,
A brilliant red.

I thought better of that idea
And threw it on the street,
Where my feet kicked it about 
Like discarded red meat.

There my heart collected dirt. 
So I rolled it up in my shirt.

I decided a black heart wouldn't do
So I took it to a river 
For a good wash and shampoo.

The heart soon found its rightful colour.
After a thorough scrubbing it shone in the sun of summer.

But a newly-soaked heart is a slippery thing, 
And I soon saw it jump from my grasp 
To float with the river's current;
To escape its oppressor at last.

Now dying without my pump 
I went in search of that goddamn lump.

I scoured every heartless hole,
Every filthy corner, beneath every sole;
Before finding the stubborn organ in a muddy little puddle, 
Wallowing beneath the water's surface,
Begging to renew its natural purpose.

Afraid to see my heart escape once more, I moved it to a chest;
Secured the lock, tossed the key, and left it there to rest.

In my chest it shall remain, I hope,
Pumping blood to my peculiar brain.

Stone Queen

She was implacable. Behind those sealed lips she imprisoned potential. An unknowable future straining against the leash fixed on the tip of her tongue - a ball of naivety rolling up a hill towards an unseen cliff never to be traversed. 

The war could not be won, but the thought of even the most insignificant victories along the eternal path of battle inspired him to chip away at the stone queen. 

As a determined drop digs a hole through rock he would fight without relent, without dreams of self-preservation, and break himself against the immovable façade. He would inevitably sacrifice all, despite knowing the gains were minuscule.  He would gaze upon his coming demise, smile at the angel of death, raise his hammer for another blow, and stubbornly persist...

A heroic effort without fame would be worth it all the same, if upon her pallid lips a hairline crack would appear, and the dust that settled where her eyes should be produced a single tear.

The Wall

Defending the chosen,
Leading the blind,
Along a narrow street.

Straight and true,
With walls that won't let you stray.
Straight and true,
With walls that keep the damned at bay.

Stubborn stone built to defend against the vanguard of darkness without.
An eternal battle of the mind within.
A constant barrage of doubt.

The cracks are swiftly mended.
Behind our bricks we are defended.

Safe, secure, and saved

Demons climb the wall.
Many slip and many fall.
Higher and higher they dare,
Yet the structure towers, and scrapes the air.

Serving its noble cause, 
Brick and mortar touch the sky.
The impregnable fortress stands, 
A guardian of the sacred.

But the travellers can not see the road, 
For the walls block out the light.
They walk in the shadows and slowly 
They begin to lose their sight.

The wall is embraced for guidance.
The wall will lead them home. 
Outside the wall, the sun shines bright.
In its shadow, the shining fear an endless night.

Safe, secure... enslaved

Beneath

Buried in a shallow grave
Right beneath your feet
Through ice and snow
In earth below
A home is found
Safe. Unsound.

Devoid of all thought 
This mind is set free,
To roam in a dark 
Cell of liberty

Tommy: Executioner

Click here for Tommy

Tommy's cheeks were still wet but the crying had subsided. Crying doesn't help anyone and it certainly doesn't solve anything. He was staring at his bedroom wall and tracing the edge of his desk with his right index finger. Up and down in a steady rhythm. The feel of the solid oak calmed him. Smooth. Predictable. Constant. This calmness continued to grow as his mind slowed down and found space to breathe in the emptiness. The serenity evolved and a determined focus grew in its womb. The concentration began. 

The noose loosened its grip around his throat, unraveled itself and slid down Tommy's arm to find rest in his hands. The focus strengthened with the measured strokes of the lacquered oak. Tommy's hands gripped the rope and tied it around his executioner's neck. It tightened as coherent thought returned. "A nice, neat circle. A nice, tight loop." Tommy knew the idea would come. It always did. He could not predict how or when or why, only that it would; the moment the man in black died.

Tommy continued to watch, continued to wait. "That's one helluva neck you got there." He stood amongst them, the mob, calling for the hatch to open and the big man to break. A show of brutality to entertain the jaded horde. A death to appease them, but just enough for today. They always wanted more. A quick death to distract them from their own slow demise.

The executioner seemed to stare back as blankly as Tommy eyed his wall. The black mask obscured his features and his eyes were sheltered in the dark, but Tommy could sense their gaze, could feel the bite of their beam. As the crowd's voice grew louder, the rope pulled tighter, squeezing the muscular neck now glistening with sweat. The dead man's veins bulged and throbbed in a futile effort to stave off the inevitable. 

Tommy heard the front door open and close. Frightened footsteps faded outside, as another pair headed for his room. His refuge. His time was short. There was no escape unless the man in black fell.

The mob was restless now, but a creak from the stage hushed them as the hatch began to give way. The executioner did not flinch. His hands were clasped in front of him and the dark holes in his mask bore straight through Tommy. "Fall you murderous bastard," Tommy muttered under his breath.

The footsteps stopped abruptly right outside the bedroom door, then paused. Tommy could feel the foul presence behind the worthless barrier. "Leave me alone!" It's not long now. 

"Any last words?" a voice from the sea of people inquired. There was a lull as the crowd anticipated the reply. Beneath the dark cloth a mouth stirred to utter a final curse.

First employed to bring you death
A cold hand to pull the lever
An icy gaze to stare into the eyes of the damned
With a merciless axe I cleave and sever

To bury the axe is justice to thee
Wash your hands of blood
But I am not the harbinger
Nor am I the first

Who calls for the executioner's head?
What will quench your thirst?

"Kill him! Kill him!" the unfazed masses responded. Who are you? Tommy heard his bedroom door's knob turn just as the man in black's platform gave way. There was an audible crack and a boisterous cheer. The executioner's muscles spasmed in his last moments, before his lifeless body swung gently in the air. In the instant of the dead man's passing Tommy felt a spark of inspiration. The feeling he knew would come. An idea to ignite the fire. A way to escape this horrible prison. In time, justice will be done. Patience was the key.

The crowd slowly filtered out of the town square, satisfied with the day's entertainment. Tommy walked against the flow of people and approached the platform. He walked up the stairs and stood in front of the newly dead. Fascinated, he examined the brute. A lean, powerful body floated hopelessly while the sun beat down from the heavens. Filled with a fresh supply of courage, Tommy reached to remove the macabre mask. 

His door was opening. But he did not react. First I have to see his face.

Tommy grabbed at the black cloth and pulled it away from the giant head. It was slumped forward and looking down, so Tommy crouched and gazed up at the face of the dead man. The mask slipped from his grasp and disappeared down the hatch.

The bedroom door was wide open now and Tommy slowly turned his head. The same. The same dead eyes he saw were now full of life again, gleaming in the dark. The executioner stood in the shadows of the hallway for a moment before taking a step into the light. Now there was no doubt left for hope. Tommy looked up at the hulking man's face, and saw the same eyes staring back. 

The eyes that defies the soul
The eyes behind a dark hole
The eyes of the tormentor
The eyes my father stole