The Poetry Marathon

Eventide’s contrast to the world of day inevitable,

A setting as stereotypical as Winter’s baneful winds.

Woodlands masking the truest menace of death perpetual.

Serenity of the unmasked wild, forestry hiding the eventual.

The current flock, born for the sole purpose of our slaughter.

An abundance of fair; boyfriend, girlfriend, son and daughter.

Enquiries trouble, a conundrums of sinister delight.

Who shall it be? How will they depart tonight?

Behind door number one, the typical frolicking pair.

Out for a lake born tryst, in the lake not even a care.

Shall we stealthily accost them as they rise from the depths.

Harpoons to share, between youths beating breasts.

Behold, behind door number two, just one cabin down.

Within its sweet depths, the lonely lady and the camp clown.

A method of disposal begs further scrutiny and greater examination.

Perhaps ensnare and gradually introduce lurid exsanguination.

But these are all frivolities to yourself and, the exhilarated me.

For what truly electrifies, is behind the colourful door number three.

The prim; the proper, self-assured, strong, independent and astute.

If this were a script? That would be the potential survivor! How cute!

Veil of night is calling that individuals name, as Hollywood is so far away.

For reality has arrived in the shape of human suit wearing wolves today.

I recommend securing a handshake, draw in their confidence, make it swell.

And when they are not looking, decapitate with shovel, disembowel with trowel.

Night had wrought bloody adventure,

Indulged on enduring sight,

Tangible desires satiated,

Intangible impulses,

Created.

Additional was needed to lechery’s rising tides,

A maelstrom’s hand, coldly clenches me,

Accompanied by the Vortices of want,

An inadequate nourishment vexes,

Its promise of unfulfillment,

Compounds the need,

What is happening?

When shall it feed?

How to be free?

Lascivious offerings shall soon scream their benefaction,

Delight in form, sweet in taste, the ardour attractive

New afflictions of flesh ignited,

Her sweet body dully invited,

Subservient to my will,

She accepts my flesh,

No remorse in taste,

Our bodies peaking,

Climax reunited.

The song rings out, a sweet melody of violence laced with the unforgiving butchery.

Steel whistling throughout out the rank ally way air, shots matching the butchery.

Her strike pure, my sight obscured, as crimson smog clouds the atmosphere.

For I, the audience of one, applaud the spectacle macabre, revelling in butchery.

As scene and curtain fall, my mind grows complacent at episodic monotony.

I desire a new journey, a fresh course, avant-garde introducing butchery.

Remembrance of days past, seared ever in minds eye, as branded upon living skin.

Of a frenzied scream, her demented laugh, lost limbs, once welcoming my butchery.

Time is fleeting as reality rebounds; some have escaped the purposeful culling.

With claw of hand and tearing human dentition, I complete the marauding butchery.

‘Come one! Come all! Speak to me of other things!

Within this ally, kindly don’t dilly dally, see what Dyer-Bolique Brings!

Notice my coat, observe my hat, pondering on my offerings.

Within my whim, step on in, attend my theatre frightening!’

I turn to my torturous dove, ‘Dispense your love, fools are gathering!

The living undead, through plenty of dread, wondering at my blathering’s.

In awe they are, in stupor they seem, rapt in my entertainment and ramblings.

Easily grifted, my introduction gifted, as ring master and captivating King!

Dispatch my will, don’t spare any thrill, make the carnage dazzling!

For in my eye, I shall spy, the demise of the zombified younglings.

Please don’t hurry, I shall enjoy them scurry as searing whips rends limb and sings.

I shall watch, form vantage aloft, a fire escape and savour savagery’s sting!

Your transformation astonishes before my eyes,

For fealty’s hand given and now dotingly accepted,

I cannot conceive that I may truly ever regret it.

For how could I know that you are plotting my demise?

With slight of and, conniving glances, a rivalry soon reprised.

Such are things, cast as fog against sun, easily forgotten,

I have a gift for thee, my love once misbegotten.

A carnival of captured souls, ready for their demise!

For they once resided amongst the hollows of our domain,

Dishevelled and imploring our consideration and charity,

I parade them now, in front of you, waiting as lambs to be slain.

Raise up your armoured and loaded leg, dispatch with impunity’s bane,

Dispense your ammunition, present your decimation, destroy society.

Become My Phoenix, imbued with the shared wickedness profane!

Destruction and Rebirth, a song rendering Death’s domineering canter still,

Eternity that once was his arena, crumbles in the wake of unsanctified design.

Abjections within purgatory fail on the majesty of my work’s symphony and kill.

Terrified, the cries of mortality that diminish against my ascending crescendo divine.

Humbled shall be the hosts of heaven, and the dregs the of lowly hells in her will!

Beauty is now in the guise of her hybrid body, shaped on purity of flesh and machination.

Elation of her humanoid limbs, amalgamated rifle as both crutch and replacement leg.

Cleaved arm now restored to glory; its whispered venom shall dispense my unholy creation.

Omnipotence resides within its cry, silently calling to be allowed to feed, pity shall beg.

Mercy shall not cast its dice, Justice will not intercede, non-spared our indignation.

Integrity destroyed against the fervour of her Urumi appendage.

Neither innocence nor temperance safe from my degradation.

Go now child, dispatch my FLAME.

‘Subjugation of your body and soul,

Welcomed with gracious heart, at the hands of my carnal desire,

Your will dully accepted in delight, With gratitude’s regard, and absence of mind,

New limbs I shall impart, via force of nature, and calculated dementia,

You shall be articulated this night.’

Oh, a missing right leg, left as stigmatized stump, grinning with keloids mirth,

Soon repaired by swift scalpel stroke, and mechanics of a Winchesters girth.

What’s that you say? A missing arm, once severed at my behest.

Yes, it was discarded, in the larder breaded and barded,

I ate it with feverish pickled herring and beer!

Have no fear, the doctor is here!

As night approaches, and lightening encroaches, you will be made kind of whole tonight.

So, sit back, enjoy it! Don’t plead or attempt to spoil it, won’t sting a bit.

Your scars were ridden, your body to do as bidden as the moon hides its light.

Galvanization is coming, Victor my becoming, as the electric storm wields its might!

I draw on the intoxication and arousal, tempted by oblivion,

My darkened self, swells, merging with the possibilities of forever.

Her body, my temple of indulgence and brazen passion,

Our unity ordained by the baptism and blood born of purposes nether.

My desires soon met, her body displayed upon an altar of forever,

Her submittance complete, content to accept the ferocity of my passion,

Our fixate upon lusts savage form, absolute as souls entwined in disastrous nether,

My dominance of the lady’s entity nearing its most pure form of oblivion.

Her supple and damaged physique, receives my rewards of violent passion,

Our dance macabre endures the desires of flesh spawned of evil and nether,

My martyrdom of her faux innocence continues its ascent to obtain oblivion.

I segmented her limbs once, a culling to serve only my rancid ardour forever.

We have begun the newest discovery of flesh.

We have endured the climax of twinning passion.

We have seen the void and revelled in its eternity.

Oblivion.

Forever.

Passion

The nether

Dragons Tithe

An Acolytes tithe, throat teeming and hands bound tight

Within this holy and sanctified crypt, sacrificial.

The wanton sow brimming with savoury’s delight,

For with in my potentiality, we feast on her tonight!

‘A consort’s tribute received with resurging adoration!

For such sweet suffering, could be painted on blank canvas!

Durations of which, relevant on her last view and exsanguination!

It continues struggle’s upturned pendulum, true pirouettes of relevance!

You have done well this night, my flighted aberration!’

With inspired license I commence my artistic homage.

Drawing swift and deep of this writhing aesthetic,

Revelling in the gaze of veracities haemorrhaging carnage,

Simpering quells, resistance once deemed pathetic,

My chalice is full, lifeforce of the oblation, my art theatrics.

‘Join me hence, my half-dismembered plaything,

Sup of her essence and join me in the banquet!

Absorb a creature’s life, hasten the deadening,

Abound in my mercy of Nosferatu’s dragon, my becoming!

You cater to my darkest inclinations,

proud and thoughtful in unholy intent.

Perhaps on sinful lust serve ferocity’s menace?

A different course of action may pay penance,

exsanguination as vampiric essence spent?

You cater to my darkest inclinations.

Perhaps united by natures electric divinations,

powered by skies spectre and bodies dismemberment?

Force of mother earth could birth a hulking menace.

You forget memories soul and blades consensus,

Upon savagery’s beauty and steel’s resentment.

You cater to my darkest inclinations.

Thoughts of loved ones renewed from hell’s nations,

Once more given licence to occupy living continents.

Devouring our victims flesh with relish and menace.

The undertaking proposed utterly tremendous,

my appetite is a flame, our becoming truly transcendent!

You cater to my darkest inclinations, however,

Where to begin this burgeoning menace?