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...And the
the feeling
overwhelms me;
a tapping on my shoulder,
a gentle tap,
a gentle whisper,
I must go.
Feeling the voice
a comforting
tone
it's time must be time again,
my kissing breeze,
my Presence is needing me...
must finish my task,
my
hollowed soul,
the shrilling
cries
of angels massacred and raped;
filling my void
as darkness
breathes
heavy its whisper
and all of Hell
unfolds It's wings
of godless abandon,
my charnal slaughterhouse,
sweet
pungent death
I am a maggot
that feeds
on my own rotting limbs;
blissfully
in the comforting
presence
of my Lord of Flies,
and a shallow breeze.
(within
these enshrouded
walls
of darkness i pen
the jeremaid diction
of epithetic resolve;
breathed
to
me by intoning
whisper
from the one
that i know
only as
"the Presence". )
i would have gladly eaten the larvae of the blowfly,
off Your rotting smeared canvases of art,
if only You'd let
me get close enough.
i watch You from a distance
as i squat and tremble,
mesmerized and entranced by,
the gracefulness
of Your abomination dance.
i would gladly drink the sanguinary vile,
from Your rancid gallery of stems and pieces,
if only You'd let me get
closer.
You are the only evil that delivers,
havoc to my fetid and rotting members.
What a noble union of simple
needs,
Yours for hate and obliteration,
and mine to be fist-fucked with my own detached limbs.
i am the grass
that grows in the field
the green rich vegetation
i am the lambs nourishing gruel
i am the
maggot feces
i am the wolf that circles the field
back straight like a thief crouched
eyes disciplined in the grass
a
warrior of the shadows
i am the maggot feces
i am the shepherd
that stands on the hill
from quiver mighty arrows
are drawn
all but one fall to the ground
i am the maggot feces
sodden flesh seething;
imbruing the ensanguined
deluge
as hungry fingers
tremble and fray bleeding anent loud tension
of the horse hair bow
i am the maggot feces
i
am the wolf the arrow does not find
i am the pack that disembowel the shepherd and the herd
i am the rot of the carcasses
strewn throughout the grassy field
i am the sonorous egest of abandon
i am what death exudes with louting disdain.
i hang from hooks
because i enjoy the pain
scathed and extricated
i exult in my dementia
the smell of dusk
and
the marrow of torture
wakens me
from my torpid state
i am more than
an abhorrence
and malediction
i also
have
a romantic heart
that i keep in my special box
i feel love
for your soon to be
malodorous corpse
abra-cadaver?
such
sweet magic
mince chop puree
another inguinal region
of culinary delight
oooh i squeal
like a little school
girl
at the thought
of throwing you
in the pit
i am what I eat
and tonight
i'm going to be
everything
like you
i am the beast
that squats
at the end of your bed
and glares at you
while you're asleep.
an efflux of
drool
dances down
the slight of your mouth.
i salivate
with each breathe you take.
in whose image
have these
meat incased bones
been pressed and formed;
intwined with veins
and coated-
with such the sweetest flesh?
i
leave as the morning breaks,
as you stretch
to silence your alarm.
i will never hurt you.
you are my "special"
friend,
i just stare
entranced by the innocence
of your angelic face.
it calms me.
for you are
the closest
"thing"
I will EVER get....
i will make
Your veins
collapse
from the blood loss
You've sustained
as You suspend from
the hooks
that
i've made
from the bones
in Your legs.
You will weep
as i sew
together a mask
sheared
from tanned hide
that
once gave
expression
to Your meat wrapped
skull-
glaring at me with
Your bloodshot orbs
while i stitch
Your
face over My own.
Peek-A-Boo!
I can see your
reflection as I look
at Myself in the mirror!
And you thought
you
couldn't hang
around long enough
to see your truncate visage
on the body of Someone,
who quite frankly,
wears
it better than you.
I am the murder of crows
that invade your field.
Uprooting your ripening veins.
Thrashing at your moribund shell.
Your
scent completes the eventide air;
the nocturne of our carnel taboo.
I burn the image of this pentagram
across your
quivering thighs.
A reversed image of the pentacle
engraved on my heart.
Our private little nihilism
during tonights
black harvest.
Reaching nibbana
through my own moistening.
My breath stirring your wetness.
Your clitoris pulsating
with
antinomian chants.
Noshing and nibbling,
our whisper in the shadows,
cast by the moonlight against my tongue;
against
your labia and then to your mons.
Tremers and goose bumps
and fluttering flesh;
your tiny light hairs tingling
across
your stomach and up
through the sweat dew drawn
valley between your lissom breasts.
And finally...
I reach the
coarsing veins
in your pale creamy neck
and dig my fangs in.
Clenching my jaws till you writhe no more.
I lick
my blood soaked lips
and swallow
the thick gravy from your sex.
"Um, well I guess that's all for now kiddie's! The clown has to go back into the bodybag.
Toodles!"
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