Cirque de la Lune Hour 12

Cirque de la Lune (Valkyrie)

Dyer-Bolique, your humour astounds me,
Words so bold and yet painfully dry,
Though I am not so deceived,
But I am intrigued,
And longing to make that clown cry.

We wait beneath the canopy of the trees,
Morose, hideously masked, noxious.

We wait for the inevitable, mismatched battle,
As the clown’s date rejects her potential mate.

Dyer-Bolique, diabolical in his deviant planning,
Meticulous in his over-abundance of supplies,
Has woken the sleeping dragon.

Bear trap and barbed wire, pulleys abound,
Mechanically minded he guides, ever attentive,
Always paying note to their troubled discourse’s climax.

Prim and proper leaves first, nose high in the air,
Disgusted by her blind date’s plain appearance,
She strides furiously into the trees.

Silent bait, for the clown will eventually follow,
Silent, but must be forever silenced,
The bear trap snaps…

Silence breaks into a raucous, short-lived scream,
Silence endures as my lover’s blade steals her head,
Send in the clowns, he comes, unable to accept reality.

Phone’s light guiding, he sees her, behind a stump,
Her head stands tall on a branch, summoning the fool,
Hurriedly he runs, trips, wire tightens about his ankle.

There the pendulum swings, hanging inverted,
Shocked as I approach, such a sight for sore eyes,
Bionic woman, he pleads for assistance, cries for help.

I push his form as it hangs by one leg, it swings again,
Implores and fights, I tilt my head nonchalantly,
Thrilled, impassive, detached, I flay with lash.

Cleaves clothes from flesh, and flesh from bone,
Another swift movement gnaws another welt,
As my Urumi rises for a third strike,
Dyer-Bolique grabs and clasps my wrist tight.

Into my hand the hilt is placed, machete ready, sharp,
Taking a step back, and drawing my strength,
And drive the blade down vertically.

One half of the clown slithers down,
Better a quick death than to drown.

A Notion that Slays Hour 11

A Notion That Slays (Valkyrie Kerry)

A climax permeated with crimson cognizance,
Welted marks from your teeth exquisitely endured,
Our bodies one, sordid notions of pain abound.

My head rests on you in the aftermath,
Romantic notions of the macabre dominate discourse,
Suggestions of a well-trodden path.

‘Let us consummate our desires on vacation,
By the lake sits an unofficial campsite,
The lecherous deceitfully attend, sexual elation,
And drinking their spirits to hell in the night.’

I run my hands over bare flesh, as your lips kiss me;
Cheek, throat, face and head.
My words cease in your amorous stifle,
And then I am passionately spread.

As your passion abates,
My thoughts I do relate,
On fuelling your brutal, destructive guile.

‘Techniques are known to be vast,
A plethora of tools used to smite,
Although the methods do not last,
There are plenty more victims in sight.’

An Ominous Observation hour 10

An Ominous Observation (Valkyrie)

Wild beast, rampant and voracious,
I observe as you storm through the debris.
Feasting with fang and claw,
Identifying a fatalistic flaw,
A plan hatches for this bird to be set free.

Time imperative, trust regained,
For the strategy to be realised,
I hide the tears for I know with certainty,
That a sorrowful consequence is our mutual demise.

Sleight of hand required,
Horror movies must inspire,
Brainstorming the tropes,
Mind filled with hopes,
For success to duly transpire.

Inspiration calls in night’s interim,
To sew together the colourful dead,
Stacked into the van,
Another ghastly plan,
A mural spread over the forest bed.

Carnival of Ghouls Hour 9

Carnival of Ghouls (Valkyrie)

Perplexed by the spectacle frightening,
The dreary masses experience enlightening,
Punishment for lives spent crying, self- entitling,
I step forth from the shadows with sharp senses heightening.

‘Roll up, roll up,’ my carnivalesque display to appease,
Your dreadful need for expressionistic debauchery,
Moonlit shimmers on leg’s rifle’s savagery,
Cowering minions losing their bravery.

‘Come see the man-made, human spectacle,
Form of woman fused with machine so delectable,’
With triumph in gait, so not to displease,
I raise my leg to the art so collectible.

Huddling in, panic awry,
My errant gaze catches up with your black, refined eye.
One move swift, the first round released,
A handful of ghouls join the deceased.

Greying concrete painted with crimson fuel,
Forces mice to run from the hawk,
Showtime for my body’s renewal,
My prey I start to stalk.

Lash of whip strikes,
Twitching bodies fall,
As if recently interred.
Lash of whip strikes,
Tearing flesh from the ghouls,
And breaking up the putrid herd.

Culling rife, for you to see,
Another blazing round,
Projectiles and whip,
Rocket from me,
Foxes to the hound.

Inhuman humanity,
Pouring debris,
Intestines and blood hand in hand.
Inhuman humanity,
Little is left of me,
As my destiny is carved in the sand.

Ode to the Living Dead Hour 8

Ode to the Living Dead (Valkyrie Kerry)

‘Dyer-Bolique, as dire as you are,
Cursed streets offer something far worse,
Vacant minds, absorbing smoked plants and wine,
Menacing, intolerant curse.’

You heed my meaning, agree with my terms,
Prepare me to fight, in the bleakest night,
Load my limb’s weapon, to crush the dirt worms,
Lash and Winchester to take flight.

To town we travel, after dark rabble,
Dissident ills, unified mind,
Packs travel shady, lonely back allies,
We circle prey, stalking behind.

Once entrenched in their hole with no way out,
The undead-alive wrestle and shout,
No one comes near, caught in their fear,
Offering us a safe route.

‘Dyer-Bolique, as dire as you are,
Put the fear of hell in these stiffs,
Vacant souls we must cleanse in fire,
Before they have time to put out their spliffs.’

Legacy’s Lash Hour 7

Legacy’s Lash (Valkyrie)

Amid life’s errant metamorphosis, I extend my lash,
Practising the bladed whip’s gait, I distend my lash.

You watch, titivated and stirred, by your warrior,
Wedged stance and motivated, you commend my lash.

Behind my bright eyes I plot your gruesome downfall,
All you witness is an artist’s kata, as I tend my lash.

Distracting you, my primary task, misdirected magician,
My intentions impervious, as I comprehend my lash.

Fidelity offered and devotion bequeathed, I ascend,
Depending on you as you fend for me, I transcend my lash.

Valkyrie Unbound Hour 6

Valkyrie Unbound (Valkyrie)

Flow of morphia abates, and the unbound does stand,
First time for a stranger, born callously to a new land.
Before the mirror I stretch, and absorb my new form,
A creature so profound that the vultures do swarm.

Sabbatical taken, but a new course this does warrant,
Reluctantly I scribe tales of immediate resignation,
Further surrendering your bleak will abhorrent,
A smug smirk and you post without hesitation.

Broken, monstrous psyche, driven to decisions naïve,
Broken, monstrous body, reflecting my spirit’s frayed weave.

Flow of morphia abates, and I take my clumsy stride,
Each stumble, forfeiture. Each fall, you defeat me,
My only Shangri-La: In your shadow I hide.
Perseverance, a necessity.

Broken, monstrous psyche, driven to the next liquidation,
Broken, monstrous body, reflecting new skill of extermination.

His possession,
His creature,
His plaything,
His weapon.

Lasciviousness (Valkyrie) hour 5

Lasciviousness (Valkyrie)

My body betrays me as I succumb to carnality,
Your touch renders all hope futile, oozing sensuality,
Driving into me, drenched with turgid salaciousness,
I surrender entirely to viciously intrusive licentiousness.

Tongue and hands accompany your lecherous symphony,
A masterpiece sordid with blood tarnished melody,
Ever meeting my lips through passion’s rhapsody,
Until I can no longer thwart the inevitable crescendo’s entropy.

I am your Venus de Milo, sculpted living art,
Prize possession to own and survey,
But my mind remains stealthy, not so my heart,
As its shadow still wishes to obey.

As we lay naked, imbibing stale residue,
I make my plea to his ear,
Prosthetics to give further loving to you,
My hand continues to flatter his gear.

A vampiric tribute hour 4

A Vampiric Tribute

A nightmarish canvas is flayed before me,
Her responses swift to my lover’s desire,
Preparing to sate blood and fantasy’s dichotomy,
She falls into the bonds of my unrepentant Dyer.

Tarpaulin shackled and dragged to the tomb,
She struggles and kicks like a rabid dog,
Chained and tormented under death’s loom,
Confused she twists and dances in the smog.

You draw from her suffering a wanton mirth,
You draw from your ring, a talon like shank,
You draw from her throat her life force’s worth,
You draw from my essence an evil so rank.

We feed on the outpour, crimson’s warm spice,
We feed on desire’s engorging, thrumming flow,
We feed on my terror of your tyrannical ice,
We feed on your adoration of my submission’s glow.

Feeding his Ego Hour 3

(Note Brett Dyer and I are writing in tandem, replying to each other)

Feeding His Ego (Valkyrie)

‘You feed from me within my dreams,
Notions of a Wallachian Count penetrating,
Moving on to more malevolent themes,
A thirst derived from fangs exsanguinating.’

Your lusty eyes lock on my shell, so hollow,
‘Underground groups seek online for domination,
A vampiric master to feed, worship and follow,
Mausoleum bound, grant her exsanguination,
And let her, in her own desire, wallow.’

Alluring offering, sacrifice to your fallen whim,
I continue my discourse, the penitent’s flow,
‘To penetrate adorn a sharpened, bladed ring.’
Feeding your ego, I watch your skin glow.

So, it is set, the upcoming scene,
And my body is safe from his ego supreme.

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