The Poetry Marathon

The Fall of the House of Cards

I watch on as Valkyrie fails, quivering as she laments in the cruelest of tasks given,

My unholy command for the blood of her untainted brother not forthcoming,

Resolution now guides my form, smirking in shadowed ecstasy,

I retrieve her dropped farming implement with steady hand,

The sickles hilt firm in my practiced and unforgiving palm,

Silently I move to end her undying, fraternal love,

For I grab Jon’s head with a menacing grip,

His widened eyes betraying realization,

A brisk stoke, a deluge of arterial spray,

A second stroke coats Valkyrie further,

The shrouded air cerise in hue,

A third severing silky sinew,

Forth ripping cartilage,

No fifth produced,

Rapid hand tugs,

Decapitation

Screams, cries, and a veritable cacophony of sound to greet me

For I am victorious and ecstatic at the true joy soon coming,

Now the Mistress of Macabre, Valkyrie is totally mine,

Subservient to my will in a game she introduced,

If fate were my ally, its smiles on favorably,

Her ensuing slavery no commencing,

The head of her brother gifted,

Booming shrieks retreating,

She whimpers as broken,

Her power depleted,

A victim self-made,

Now surrenders,

My  true power,

My iron will,

Her life

Mine!

The Croupiers Vintage

I stand stoic and ready,

unashamed or moved by Valkyrie’s command,

She set her cards at play,

the demise of discerned brethren, to be mortally harmed.

I do as instructed,

unwavering in grotesque purpose,

Dialing up my spirited friend,

my voice highly insistent.

He arrives by car at location given,

Reeking of apricot brandy,

I demand not to be driven,

I guide him inside to turn him into Chianti.

He stumbles at my behest,

The stairs his worst enemy,

Footing not best

Unaware of impending calamity.

Inquiries are introduced,

At sight of ancient wine press,

My intended victim seduced,

Ignorant at soon being put to rest.

I entice him closer,

Dear friend of old,

‘Never fear of getting sober,

Wine favors the bold’.

Shuffling on to impending doom,

His bright red face,

Soon to be utterly removed,

Welcome to his final resting place.

Where grapes be crushed,

His head peeks in,

A turn of the crank,

Murder is my mortal sin.

Slowly I churn,

His body goes numb,

For out of his ears,

Spurts the remainder of cranium.

Body convulses in surprising throes,

My dear friend Chris,

Out the press’s tap,

Your tainted blood flows.

My task now complete,

A friend extinguished,

I shall now greet,

Valkyrie with her contestant.

As chunks of jellied cerebrum,

Coat my bloodied hands,

Dearest Valkyrie,

Give up your brotherly cherub.

For it’s the angelic Jon,

You shall terminate,

Completely sever his throat,

With crimson hues he shall be innate.

Your choice of weapon creative must be,

A rusty instrument will work quite well,

Perhaps a farmer’s sickle,

Send the angelic boy to hell.

Hold’em Callous and Close

The challenge thrown at my feet,

acceptably met in delight,

The cold occupant of my blood drenched void,

screaming in silent elation,

Twin apposing souls to deliver sweet agony,

in the form of the others plight,

Cold psyche casting its devious intent to my beloved’s murderous provocation.

The flop

The beginning of our macabre game

A round preceding the expected in escalation.

The challenge wonderous in dark anticipation,

of the sublime killing to come,

Gambling of polluted souls,

concluding in the others in roaring dominance,

Mind cast and ready for the deliverance of innocent lives,

sorely to succumb,

Or dice soon to be cast against the other passions of our true disturbance.

The Turn

The opportunity to offer the unexpected

A round fitting of horrendous continuation in stakes

The challenge magnificent in completion,

finality bound in its termination,

What cold desires shall we reign on the other,

devoid of man’s consequences.

To relish the suffering in each other,

soon be dealt in tones of goaded exaltation.

The deck stacked with nausea inducing repercussions.

The River

If Valkyrie does indeed make it this far

A round with all on the line, or one last trick to ruin.

The Roulette of Artistic Rendition

My passion spent upon the ruins of her unadorned flesh,

Eyes willfully burning in the amber conflagration of utmost rage,

Her body the yielding witness to my emotionless onslaught,

Her destruction of that which I deemed innocent, fueling my ignition.

I had watched,

I had observed,

I circled,

I am one in vexation.

We reflected each other’s morbidity,

We sang the tune of bloodied evolution,

We danced at the sight of destructive retribution,

We created from the mold of our own brutalness,

We now shall complete the contest of our spiraling darkness.

She has watched,

She observed,

She circled me,

She is found wanting.

Our absence of that flavorless idea of mercy bound emotion,

Our malevolent and insatiable natures shall circle one another,

Our bodies and will soon be at spinning in grim unison,

Our lives cast at utter odds in the gambit for intended supremacy.

Her ire will come,

Her life now forfeit,

Her body to be broken,

Her existence ended,

Her body rendered,

Her essence revolving.

The Sanctified canvas

Propositions in quarry have been introduced by my Bathory,

Expressionless consternation the champion to silent seduction,

Tempted and moved at my prompts in the search sanguinity,

Her manipulation giving flight to the avid inanition.

By unwavering hand, the stage of prolonged murder constructed,

My Valkyrie’s suggestions heeded and come to fruition,

In the eyes of consecrated building the nun to be abducted,

Clear in thought and charged with unholy purpose driven.

I seek her proposed target,

A venerable one to be sure,

‘My conscious needing redemption dear mother,

For myself and possibly on behalf of another.’

She seats me among ever forlorn pews,

Their lonely occupation welcome news.

I convey my darkest sins upon her attentive habit,

Her wary face soon soaked in tear-stained realization,

‘Dearest sister if you resist it will be problematic.’

Soon to be a mannequin in pursuit of my love’s creation.

My gift to the one’s wickedness I so have developed,

Blissfully unare of my own gruesome intentions,

Ignorant I am not at the innocence of the holy zealot,

I offer the woman up uttering to Valkyrie benediction.

Sculpture in waiting

My Mistress of unlight commands pursuit of the brutal and profane,

Ever insipid in her own crimson distinguishability,

Clawing and demanding of my dark and tortured affections,

I will yield to that which you desire with presiding intrigue.

Inner self and commanding force molding you unwittingly to my will,

Your innermost desires to be met at the graciousness of my hand.

My Mistress of the shadow wishes dark desires fulfilled,

Impulses that will be thoroughly shaped into mine,

With subtle hand and masterful stroke will you be made anew,

Painted and commemorated in the images of wretched obscurity.

The imperious nature of myself yielding with slight of hand,

Every wish I shall acquiesce to your murderous intent.

My Mistress born on the scarlet wings of hellish inclination,

You shall want for nothing in accordance with my framework,

Mere clay to be shaped in accordance to my fire fueled Hadean craft,

A beautiful and terrible image modeled on my perceived subjugation.

With your permission obtained I set forth adoration,

Ever aware of my task at hand and the unknown bending of your will.

My Mistress created of a tumultuous relationship we savor and endure,

I shall become docile in your quest for the perfect victim,

One to be molded and statuesque in splendor,

Our love to be completed by my own bloodied artistic impression.

A Portrait in Portent

Our passions ever filled by the cruel fulfilment of primitive desire,

We bask in the glory of our own intellectual sadism,

Never perennial and lasting in its fleeting solace.

A new offering upon bloodied grandeur’s throne,

Presently to be proffered to my Valkyrie,

The individual a martyr to my void,

A sacrifice to her wanton macabre,

To suffer in extended bliss,

Subservient to my brush.

Stoic and bound in self,

Internally tormented,

Hapless against us,

Touched on canvas,

Immortalized.

A Ravenous Rond de Jambe

Our collective conscious sweetly plagued in agreement,

Her resolve at style over fleeting fatality,

Pleasant in the thoughts of which,

For now, the hunt commences,

A body torn asunder,

By one’s own hand,

A true Volta.

Now we attend to that which matters to the twin entity most,

The target to be laid low within the sanctity of his own surroundings,

An alpha predator in his own sovereign swan like wilderness,

To be brought to cavorting mortality at the whimsical hands of violent grace.

Now we move in separation as one animation of bloody intent,

A target marked upon his stage unrequited passions,

As if the would-be hunter awaited our call met,

A potent concoction of my own composition,

Soon to be administered during interlude,

We await his sole rendition.

Alone at last he begins his solitary turn,

Unaware of my concealed presence,

All it takes is a poisoned prick,

My angel dust purveying my spurn.

Now open suggestion his final dance,

For the Valkyrie approaches,

Testing his elasticity,

Stuck in the trance.

Now he contorts,

Now he suffers,

Now death comes.

Somber Samba

Rapturous bodies heave in the lust urgency of becoming one,

We were willing witnesses to the scene and grotesque masquerade,

The vision of our new unity brought to life as life was undone,

Phantoms of the rapacious demise before our collective conscious displayed.

Satisfaction retreats in the wake of our transient beings,

New flesh to be extracted to satiate the ever-growing desires,

The next whirl of the massacred lechery to must be found and unwilling,

One pirouette at this new camaraderie stoking my own fires.

The wheel shall ever turn in favor of the choice of execution,

My salacious Valkyrie shall bequeath our next target,

Her choice should be ever just in favor of the unjust expiration,

A heightened challenge to test our venery and testing object.

A new laceration in dance begins,

She will choose,

Blood driven step.

The Necrotizing Nocturne

Within our inner subterranean sanctum our victim lies.

Without the comfort afforded a man of stature such as he.

My Valkyrie observes on in stoic regard of that which we created,

The protagonist of our undisclosed retribution rouses in suspicion.

Pulses of uncontrollable tremor wrack the would-be leaders bound limbs.

Beginnings of sublime blood emanate from the ocular orifice’.

Within our own devoid existences, we revel in the carnage commenced.

Without the pleasure of anesthesia, the subject of our dark desires descends.

My Valkyrie continues her silent rapture as the scene continues to unfold.

The protagonist continues his exsanguination and at our murderous intent.

Pulses of never escalating in crimson ascent of madness inducting agony.

Beginnings of the euphoric finality that lies in tortured death begin.

Within our twinned souls, our hands meet, the labors or our torment bearing fruit.

Without the unrewarding reprieve, our victim writhes in terror.

My Valkyrie trembles and the sight unfolding in a theatrical display of gore.

The protagonist increases his cries in escalating crescendo of pain.

Pulses behind his eyes giving way to the satisfactory detonation of ocular discharge.

Beginnings of the overture in suffering that rings delectable to our ears.

Suffering not yet peaked.

Satisfaction commencing.

Twin souls becoming one.

The Merging of bodily Mayhem.