Once were dinners a deux, you see,
Was it only a few months, or a century?
Once were schools abuzz with kids,
Teachers agog to see what they did,
Once were universities,
Alive with youthful dreams, indeed,
Once were pubs with beers.
Once were football here,
These are viral times, my dears,
Once were bushfires too,
A horror story for me and you,
Yes, Stephen King wrote this year,
Once were Oz fun times, not fears.

Her eyes blossom like a fresh pink bud in the sweet spring

She slinks from her casket like a black cat becoming resident of the shadows

Her fangs emerge gleaming like white sand belonging to paradise

She is ready to feed

One day I decided to upload my consciousness to a virtual reality.
During the process, there was a disturbance in the broadcast and my consciousness was synced;
I was then opened to possibilities both physical and virtual,
I broadcast myself across the species of earth.
I watched my bodies die countless times, I killed even more.

My heart is
a haunted house
made up of many rooms.
Some are filled with books
and antiques from another time
while others are filled
with shadows and demons.
I locked those doors long ago
and threw away the key.

You’d think that after
All this time I’ve spent typing,
That I could spell “the”.

Brain gets going way
Faster than my hands and then
Teh the lights go BANG! out.

I’m in a horror
Movie and I can’t break free, can’t stop
This train of thought from

Moving onward, but
Then my dreaded enemy
Appears on teh screen.

Teh red squiggly line,
Object of my nightmares, bane
Of my existence.

I’m forced to stop, move
Teh cursor away from teh
Train, draining seconds.

Must catch up with my
Brain, must… I must… I’m losing
Steam… then another

Teh.

I was reading a book about him, because I got lost in his maze.

The glimpse of rotten skulls, broken joints and stolen eyeballs got me agape.

I heard the trees scream loud and dance blind in the darkness to the raging wind.

Even though no, yet he seems to stand akimbo ahead the freaked me In his black hoody cloak that made him darker than the darkness that engulfed the scene.

Who again will rescue my soul from the grip of he who purloin my healthy mind?

He was a familiar sight in my nightmares for years rewind.

If I break loose tonight, next time, the reaper will still come to grasp my ****.

head space occupied by stray phantoms
which once had a soul
now merely abstract beings
lost spirits who found shelter
in the depths of my mind
forged a lonely home
deep in the trenches of my memory
buried their secrets
in the hollow of my chest
like an adhesive that can’t be removed
and in there they live on
their legacy preserved
their existence immortal

Abandonment
Such a harsh
Crüe and usual way to start
A life
To begin your life almost ******
In the same manner as
Che guavaira  
Had dried
Through torture.
Not the begging or end for a baby
Much less a
Grown human.  
Sad really.

caustic ways to pilfer life
the sordid use of imagination

season of the sickened mind
grotesque subliminal permeation

reaching onward to spectral hands
the lure of purgatory settles in