From this being I conjure mysterious games
Like I can’t read your signs as I’m switching from lanes
I’m blinded, insulted, and completely confused
How could I ever let my good intentions feel used up and abused?
I’ve held out my hand, lent you my ears, even gave you a shoulder
My radiation was warm and open-hearted, but your heart kept getting colder
The closer I bring myself, the more often I am hurt
Expectations of a bond, has only brought my conscious to highly alert
Of your games you’ve been playing, and crushing my pride
For once just be selfless, just open up your eyes
they emerge from deep wooded neighborhood fringe into breadth
of lawn and limb.
teen dreamers with black magick lip gloss and minions, their
wayward boyfriends in the street pink cloud,
stoned on bitchcraft and hawking bile, they
wipe then smile then carry on
in the house,
is a child. gig. death with a younger grip.
the kid thrills on carnage,
on murder videogames and murder tv-shows and murder music.
he is a youthful demon conduit.
with televised bucket slime ceremonials.
this is the video age.
the modern dead dream-age of a holy we. these
daughters of delphi watching our kids.
tending to them.
popcorn smell, the palace of teeth.
the pretty girls with drugs,
and snacks and time and fun dead things.
the demon version is grave and cruel.
the angel version is adventure-door and vision.
at the cliff jumping. it was fun.
Eyes wide open, glancing around
Deserted, dark, pitch-black hallway.
Scar on her left eye
asymmetrical bangs, reminder of the past.
Petite hands reaching the glass knob.
pale white paint peeling off...
SHE. HAS. RETURN
We tried our best to make this horror inspired poem...
The prehensile snout of a Tapir
is posturally renowned,
but I am no caricaturist
unless I required Rhinoplasty
Neither am I an
Air Force Major or a Fireman,
never having shot or doused in anger
never clanged quid pro quo,
I am a wordsmith, without a necessarily dangerous course,
a wedgeless door stop this side of juxtaposition,
trying for a profile,
riding on a buzz,
to think so few images
could conjure so much verdure
The venomous black ink
Until she reaches her prey
The burning red ember
As her victim is drawn to her warmth
The Shadow Of The Night
And her casualty swarms to her allure
A trifecta binds, seeking
The flesh and the bone
A host and a home
A willing sacrifice
Falling victim to her charm
Silently striding to his own demise
He succumbs completely
She devours wholly
The elements are in order
The black magic witch is born