"Young Man found Murdered in East End. Police believe that in the early hours of Tuesday morning a young man who hasn’t been named  was tragically killed. His body was found the following morning by his cleaning lady. There has been much speculation linking this latest death to the series of murders that has happened in the capital over the past two weeks."

The headline news at the moment, yes another ******. This time another man killed, the ever changing result at the moment is now two men and three young women. It seems the killer prefers severing the femoral artery of his victim, thus securing a fast and ****** end to their poor pathetic lives.

I read intently, the pure supposition by law enforcement officials that seems to me to be almost comical in nature. They bandy words like Serial Killer and Maniac across the pages of every news paper.
I smile, as I fold it in half, placing it neatly on the table next to my breakfast things, for I know that tonight another ****** will occur. First things first though, I have to go and earn my keep.

I work as an investment banker in the cities renown square mile. Yes I am one of those so called pariahs who is happy to receive the extortionate bonuses that the majority of Londoners and the rest of the country, I might add, are all so busy complaining about. I must concede to the fact that I totally deserve every penny I get but I suppose I would say that, wouldn’t I?

Pariah, yes that’s me pretty much to a tee.

Pariah: definition, outcast: somebody who is despised and avoided. Yes that sums me up perfectly even if I do say so myself. Of course most of my friends and colleagues would not be of that opinion at this moment in time but I do believe that they will come to this decision soon enough. As I have already stated, I have a crust to earn so I had better start to make a move, the rent won’t pay its self you know. I won’t bore you with the daily working life of an investment banker, the majority of you idiots wouldn’t understand me even if I did, so I will fast forward ten hours and once more speak to you from more comfortable surroundings, this time in the guise of a well frequented public ale house in the East end of London.

As my night progresses I see her across the now bustling and noisy lounge area and yes, she is something to behold. God has been very kind to this young lady. Her name is Petunia and a more than willing victim one will never meet. She is perfectly formed and voluptuous in every way you can imagine. Just what I am looking for on this lovely summers evening. Over the course of the evening the charm flourishes and Petunia and I laugh, chat and drink our way through it, getting even closer as the night closes in. This is working lovely, that flash of thigh as she rubs her leg along my own. The glint in her eyes tells me that this young woman has succumbed, hook line and sinker to my charms.

Not one of those to big myself up but this is of no surprise to me, as I do believe I have everything almost every woman would ever want. The looks, personality and money, with this in mind, she never stood a chance really. We leave the pub arm in arm, she looks a little unsteady due to the drink.

Come into my parlour said the spider to the fly and she is so prone to take that first step. Our destination, her flat just a stones throw away. My mind racing, excitement so enthused within my cool and calm exterior.

If you have been following the events of the last few weeks you will know that the past five Murders were all committed with a short sharp blade entering into the groin area. I am so aware of that silken metal that the steel presents to my leg. I feel it intently even through the leather sheath that is bound so securely below my trouser leg. I am so aroused at this moment in time.

Inside Petunia’s flat we waste no time getting close as I push my quarry back onto the divan. After the initial fumbling we are almost there. As we taste each others tongues my left hand reaches down to select my weapon from its casing. I feel its coldness in my hand, raising it to the desired position. All I have to do now is slide it forward and penetrate.

My hands are sweating. As we feed on each other with our mouths I feel my hand shaking. I try to shut off the emotions now running through my mind but I cannot do it. I pull my mouth away from her succulent lips and realize that this is just not going to happen. It felt like such a good idea until now, I was so motivated before this but I just haven’t got it in me to **** this beautiful woman.

A sharp pain brings me to my senses as the blade slides into my groin. The pumping coldness that is now soaking through the material of my Armani trousers. I am shaking so much, in Hemorrhagic shock, as my life’s blood pumps from my femoral artery. She pushes me onto my back, as I fight to keep breathing, Petunia looks down at me smiling.

“Thank you for a lovely night -- Number Six.”

My words are cutting themselves again;
razoring their loosely-sutured syllables,
deep as white-eyed bone.

The suave dipththongs butchered
to the cadence of bloodletting
in hemorrhagic oppositions.

Stapled-closed sentences, smeared with Iodine,
and subcutaneous sentence diagramming
for the retractable scalpel
swiveling along the edge,
of the well serrated cliche.

Once I pressed my wordy flesh
against the wrong side
of a paring knife, while paying no attention
and suddenly,
and without warning
it gave, like an over ripe peach
to the cleaver-
and after that, I was hooked.

Some days I wish I were an X-men
and not just an ordinary mutant.
Some days I wish I had Magician
level magic like Bink,
just enough to negate other's.
But then I look around;
The Irish and English don't have it.
The Pakistanis and Indians don't have it.
The Chinese and Taiwanese don't have it.
The Hutu and Tutsi don't have it.
The neighbors in Bab Tabbaneh and Jabal Mohsen,
don't have it.
Why should I have it?
We’re all just a bunch of Muggles.

Maybe it's a good thing I don't have superpowers.
I look around and in fits of frustration,
in bouts of rage, I might destroy all the Husnock.
I'm kinda glad now my only mutations are thoughts.
Thoughts that I put here,
viral like - infective memes - hemorrhagic e-fever.
Outbreak? Snow Crash? Virulency? Survival rate? Epicenter?
Futile epidemiology because I know
exactly what and where I am.

Hands around the neck
In search of dying breath.
***** nails dig in.
Hoarse cries begin to thin.
I'm not dreaming.
I'm not thinking.
Lost all touch. please, don't wake up.
No, don't wake up.

Hemorrhagic ecstasy while bathing in your tears.
Innocence exhumed for you after twenty short-lived years.
Cheek to cheek
In my arms
Don't wake up.
Please, don't wake up.

EBOLA

Ebola a virus going around killing the towns
of all kind of clowns hoping to be found before
going to the ground,

A viral infection cutting deep in the intestine
with more viral hemorrhagic high fever piercing
at lives the young and the old hanging to hope,

But now not only was one being found to pass this deadly
virus around, we have hundred to be found
treasured ones, struck down,

Contagious lies that are eating away at USA lives
With death and no love Fly back to us,
By the joy of a clown made its round to be crown
To the Ebola Virus to be passed around,

A touch of grace must take place by a gentle dove
from heaven above through a plastic glove,
While in our land we see today another virus spreading,
Killing the babes,

More deadly in the soul that makes the body ****** and cold
Asking God to please take control of this pain they never known,
This is deeper and so severe penetrating on more fear,

'Why bring Ebola home to the ones you Love, To a place
You call home? '' Though you Oh God stump this sickness
By your grace will not be *******.

Poetic Judy Emery © 2014

Masses flooding
running, gushing
in sclerotic streets
from Heliopolis to downtown Cairo
and from the great pyramid
to the stone lions
of Pre-colonial royalty
over the river Nile

lost in the way for country heart
me, my soul, and couple of my friends
whom I lead to end arteries
of the city hemorrhagic
were shot by snipers
of  Victorian
national police
  
and some years later,
I want to write a poem
let´s say cosmic
or universal
about that trio human
dream, death and deception

"Emilio, Lorenzo, Enrique
Fueron los tres en mis manos"

a cancer larynx revolution,
of bad alcohol and tobacco?
two holy hands of fate,
and one of eternal *******?
  
and a bored Lenin setting behind a screen?
(the algorithm will do the masses
when the masses are ready to run )

but time as God
is a lazy surgeon
forgot a scalpel in my throat
and I am being cured of every thing
even the nasty hollow
of my tired voice.

"Puppets Of The Cosmos"


    Puppets of the cosmos we are
    No they conspiracy      together one form
    Mind breathers processors excreter's
    **** happens thought wise watch
    Where you step      to late!      brain feces
    Everywhere      permeates mental atmosphere
    Undiscovered doesn't mean non-existing
    Fuzzy headed people all over      mental health
    Is contagious      germs of pre-conscious origin
    Float the psychic wind up yours and in
    You can't help it      cold      flu      aids      hemorrhagic
    Fever equivalents      scary isn't it      i prefer
    Not to see but can't pluck out the
    Deep down power greater than myself
    Beautiful handiwork malleable consciousness
    Somehow full of
    Not knowing
    So much hidden
    Only a constellation away
    Star travelling I'm a-going
    Won't be back again
    One way trip in space time mind works
    No beginning no end of cause effect
    Seeing is believing
    The answer gnosis sapiens
    Next step compassion evolving forever
    Now shape not big enough but
    Desire creates genetic change
    Psychophysical aggregates      karma collectors
    Cut the strings and be free!
    Make self not war

Masses flooding
running, gushing
in sclerotic streets
from Heliopolis to downtown Cairo
and from the great pyramid
to the stone lions
of Pre-colonial royalty
over the river Nile

lost in the way for country heart
me, my soul, and couple of my friends
whom I lead to end arteries
of the city hemorrhagic
were shot by snipers
of  Victorian
national police
  
and some years later,
I want to write a poem
let´s say cosmic
or universal
about that trio human
dream, death and deception

"Emilio, Lorenzo, Enrique
Fueron los tres en mis manos"

a cancer larynx revolution,
of bad alcohol and tobacco?
two holy hands of fate,
and one of eternal *******?
  
and a bored Lenin setting behind a screen?
(the algorithm will do the masses
when the masses are ready to run )

but time as God
is a lazy surgeon
forgot a scalpel in my throat
and I am being cured of every thing
even the nasty hollow
of my tired voice.

Ebola a virus going around killing the towns
of all kind of clowns hoping to be found before
going to the ground,

A viral infection cutting deep in the intestine
with more viral hemorrhagic high fever piercing
at lives the young and the old hanging to hope,

But now not only was one being found to pass this deadly
virus around, we have hundred to be found
treasured ones struck down,

Contagious lies that are eating away at USA lives
With death and no love Fly back to us,
By the joy of a clown made its round to be crown
To the Ebola Virus to be passed around,

A touch of grace must take place by a gentle dove
from heaven above through a plastic glove,
While in our land we see today another virus spreading,
Killing the babes,

More deadly in the soul that makes the body ****** and cold
Asking God to please take control of this pain they never known,
This is deeper and so severe penetrating on more fear,

'Why bring Ebola home to the ones you love, To a place
You call home? '' Though you Oh God stump this sickness
By your grace will not be *******.

Judy Emery © 2014
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Judy Emery

Grey hair is a failing. Grey hair is a sign of trouble. Grey hair, varicose veins, hemorrhoids, crows' feet, aneurysms, hemorrhagic strokes (apoplexy) & sagging skin are signs of copper deficiency. A lack of copper causes the blood vessels to lose elasticity.