Cries ring out around the room.
Beg me once more. I will not stoop.
The shelter is crumbling. Walls turning pink.
Windows fogging up, the gas has leaked.
Trembling hands reach, no satisfaction is given.
The argyle rug we live on is frayed. Rat bones
pile in the corners.

Starvation came and went.

Matted hair is stretched with the fingers.
Plucking and prodding. Dirtied face,
green as the curtains. Pressing deeper
into the walls. The next course is served.

A dead dream, warts, rotted meat.

The others fight for the meat. I rip a
piece of the dream. Bring a finger
to the lips and shush. The dream stops
screaming. Blue skies and honeyed words
capture. Fading into the carpet, resting
my head on the bones. A scratch strikes
the entrance. Silence. Screech. Hiss.
Silence. We open the door, then close it.

It is not an exit after all.

The girl to my left, blinks at me.
I tell her no, not yet. I will wait
for the exit. She blinks once more.
We just have to wait for it. Glazed
eyes meet mine. She crumbles.

The next course has been served.

words minds hearts rendered useless
is the silence of horror the deepest silence?
so frighteningt the force with which life destroys itself
is complexity unbearable unstable fragile?
one cannot yet hear the silence of death
in the loud noise of a world collapsing

Cornelius,
Cornelius,
I’m tired,
Want to sleep.

Cornelius,
Cornelius,
Stop laughing,
As I weep.

Stop hiding,
In the corner.
Stop lurking,
Like a creep.

The only way,
To rid of you,
The only way,
To sleep.
I’ll draw you,
‘Till the crack of dawn,
To satisfy your needs.

As he was flushing the toilet, he felt a tap on his shoulder, "you shouldnt have eaten my brother" said the chicken behind him as he was beheaded.

I’m rocking back and forth against the hull of my loneliness,
Stuck in knowing it’s goodbye
But not being able to say I love you
or I’m sorry.
I’m crying with joy and longing as I lie in the love and conversation around me,
Wishing it were mine.
I’ve been high so long my heart rate stopped going down with the sun.
Going over it all all over again all the time.
I feel like a child again, terrified by the the dark, the wind, the eyes of men.
I’m breaking down in the line at the gas station.
Looking out the glass wall at a Lovecraftian highway,
Flickering florescent lights like the ones from The Exorcist.
On my way to a cavernous husk of a family dinner,
Most of them gone now.
Just me, my mother, and my widowed, bereaved, great aunt.
There’s a stupid old cardboard cutout of a mascot next to me grinning too widely, holding up its product.
I scream and tear it’s head off it’s body
In my mind.
I have work on Monday.
This is life.

I've had this
sharp piece of bark
between my throat
the back side and the front.
It would close my throat
if I sang.

I had to sing.

I would feel my throat
closing
feel it hurt
make myself
believe that it would be fine.

I had to be fine.

I wonder how people yell
do their throats not close up?
I hear my mom yelling
over the phone
a different kind of sickness.
She's unhappy with a life
she is not living.

She's living here.

With me. But her rage
shot through continents
found it's way back where her mind lives.
That's a sickness.
Your mind and body being in different places.

Sickness is living here.

I can't tell her about
how my throat closes
how loudness
isn't possible for me.
For I must have swallowed
every tooth pick
to feel the abrasions in my throat.

I swallowed every toothpick.

I let myself swallow further.
Let that bark fall farther in to my stomach.
Wake at night when it hurts,
when it begs to wake.
Let myself be hurt.
I don't tell her how I close.

I close my eyes.

I dream that I am living elsewhere.
I am sick. My mind is living where my body
is not. I am dreaming
of a world where
I can be sick.

It's not Christmas without Santa
Or without the jingle bells
But, in the darkness there's another
Taking children down to hell

Yin and Yang, a balance
There is darkness and there's light
Santa on the left side
And Krampus on the right

Parents watch your children
If they're on the naughty list
Because Krampus is out hunting
And these children are not missed

A myth, or dark reality
A monster from below
Did Johnny just go missing?
Or was he taken down below?

Jingle Bells, both have them
One is joyous, one is not
Santa lives where it is colder
Krampus lives where it is not

Bad children do not fear him
But soon enough, he'll find them out
With dark hair, claws and cloven hooves
They'll learn what he's about

He doesn't have a favorite
He'll take girls as well as boys
He doesn't mind the screaming
In fact, non one hears the noise

So, if a child disappears
And no one seems to care
You'll know he was a bad one
And that Krampus, well, was there

Posive
Oh you're gonna feel that
Be positive on all things
Hard to be when they
Sawed off your **** legs
Where'll you run to now?

Who whispers through walls,
As icy tones
Coat the air of halls?

Shards of death
Taughten their grip
Bare white teeth
And heavy breath

Swallow the night
By twelve o'clock
Whilst those unmarked
Lay out of sight

one person said: "peace is nothing but illusion
all I want is retribution"
[from "Pure Power" by Zardonic]
that's something I can identify with, which is why
I decided to write this heap of lines
————————————————————————————————
on a shooting range in a boondock la[ɛ]nd
with gloves pU̲t on; sta[ɛ]nd
in front of an autocratic ruler chained
by his hands to two moola safes'
[greed]
handles looking way
like an old-fangled car directing wheel
[steering wheel]
have this die-hard fool restrained
so that he, more or less, is still
I'm not a scho[ɑ]lar who can wave
around a degree in the medics field
but it's obvi this high-hat dO̲U̲chebag's plagued
with megalomania in a neglected condition
but there's a dreadfully effectual treatment
and he'll get it like villains
quite a gruesome fate
is looming upon this power-befuddled ****
like darkened clouds that, beyo[ɑ]nd a doubt, are soon to rain
["dark end"]
like waveriders, he's go[ʌ]nna serve
["surf"]
as a punchbag for I'm in quite a mood to raze
gonna wI̲nd up as nada short
of a ****** loon today
like Battinson, clepe me Vengeance
but I'm more something like the Zorro-looking caped
anti-autocratic vigila[ɛ]nte
from the Norsefire-ruled UK
[V from "V For Vendetta"]
meets someone whose work field's tormenting
like victimizers who pertain
to LE in one tsar-sized off-putting state
[law enforcement]
you know, the one that's go[ɑ]t a putrid trait
of always posing as a side you shouldn't blame (it's all the West!)
now, let's go back to the foul autocrat
————————————————————————————————
like a snotty boss that you disdain
I give this f#cking no[ɑ]b a cool g'day
by douching him from a bo[ɑ]ttle full of straight-
-fro[ʌ]m-a-cooler H2O; just a fE̲w secs break
for him, & once it's U̲p, I ****** this base
creature fro[ʌ]m a stE̲wpot great
with **[ɑ]t-a## noodles aimed into this hU̲mbug's stupid face
[the "hang noodles on the ears" expression]
pepper it with some ground 7-po[ɑ]t to boost the taste
feel how I, like a husband who betrayed
his devoted, yet testy, wife, get rudely gazed
at, racked, beda[ɛ]mned (by who?)
by food-lacking men from Africla[ɛ]nd
[Africa]
ask him: "is the provided food okay?"
zero gratitU̲de displayed
all that comes from this swine's bazoo's complaint
but it's nO̲[ɑ]t that I'm surprised
a classic pro[ɑ]sperous gobshite
repeat the tactic priorly applied
using a bucket full of maroon red paint
[autocrats have blood on their hands, hence "maroon red paint"]
like that music producer famed for dull future bass
I put on his viscous head a **** bucket
[Marshmello]
whereafter pick a wedge up & drum it
[golf wedge]
and, like a heap, I barely get started
[worn-out car]
like an unprepped passenger on an insane car ride
with no seat restraints applied
he's about to have a way hard time
I'm a cosmetic surgeon that operates part-time
fix his blamed jawline in just twain sharp swipes
with a steel bat, then yield some keen slaps
that meet his kneecaps until the knees snap
like the Baba Yaga hitman detached
from his peaceful life by someone ge[ɪ]tting him mad
[John Wick]
get his nails removed
which is pretty much the same that you do
when you repaper a room
[wall nails]
having perforated his fingertips
I get 'em plastered
a few minutes later, I rip them things
off sim. to wax strips
he gets his phA̲[eɪ]lanxes smitten with
a freaking ratchet
[rathet wrench]
pro[ɑ]b'ly, he regrets that his bo[ɑ]dy's still not dead
pick U̲p a pistol, set a drum-like clip in, get
it cocked, then shoot lead around his silhouette
till the clip has zero ammunition left
seems like this once co[ɑ]cky piece of dreck
has gotten his khaki chinos wet
but if I've go[ɑ]t him in a sweat
like a summer jo[ɑ]gger being dressed
in venthole-deficient threads
for this brash dude, there's bad news
like me when I write some sick bloodshed
sadly for him, I've not finished yet (uh-uh)
like a runner who's go[ɑ]t some distance left
to complete, & it's not as dark as things can get
'cause, like the heroine o[ʌ]f M. Streep in "Death
Becomes Her" after falling fro[ʌ]m that string of steps
I've got a somewhat twisted head
[that staircase fall scene with Madeline Ashton]
so consider this as an insult-to-inju[—]ry sesh
————————————————————————————————
grab a brace of scissors
for garden mainte[—]nance; Richard
****** Trager's here ta
get his skills of surgery trained; begin ta
amputate this creature's half-dilapidated fingers
operate at leisure getting 'em disarticulated I̲nto
twenty eight **** pieces
and cauterizing the remains with illuminated cI̲gars
fling into his piggish face some tissues
and some pain relievers
tell this nazissistic patient: "hE̲A̲l up"
["****" in the sense of being "severely intolerant or dictatorial"]
let him relax for eighteen minutes
over the spa[ɛ]n of whI̲ch I put on play "La Chica
Rockabilly" & some other ro[ɑ]ckabilly
jams to make the whole vibe a mite less grisly
like an NA brown bear that is gravely injured
["mightless grizzly"; North American]
(as, in fact, this tragic-fated bleeder)
whereafter spray him with a
["wither"]
can of gas & make his dicta—torial a## go ablaze akin ta
a straw-fabricated figure
during gala days at the late of winter
[Maslenitsa effigy]
telling this piece of trash: "in case you wI̲[ɪ]nd up
in somewhat of Hades, give a
warm shalom to the infamous ******"
consider this autocratic **** a sugar daddy's skirt
'cause he's gotten what he was asking for
————————————————————————————————
oh, & one thing more to say: the
nullified, like ruler's presiding terms, dictator
was known among some as "toilet sprayer"
like a scuttered urinator