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TS Feb 2020
Trigger warning : aggressive ****** encounters, ****, violence

Walking down an empty street in London, I‌ was drawn to a crumbling, empty church. It's as if ‘decay’ was written on the walls. A sight unseen, I‌ just had to explore. It looks as though no one has been there for years, decades, or maybe even centuries. Wooden trim adorned the boarded up windows and an altar like a hidden stage lay in the very front. Layers of dust coated the floor. Two balconies towered over either side of the altar and what was left of the chairs sat facing the front of the church. The room was almost a half circle, drawing the attention to the front altar. The ceilings seemed to rise for miles and the windows cast haunted shadows on the floor. Everything is dingy and dull in color, as if it was a forgotten coloring book page that has faded overtime. As I tiptoed across the floor, I inspected each little thing almost in search of a lost treasure.

The energy is strange, almost as if it had been frozen in a paradox of time. Everything was left as if they fled in a hurry, untouched by the passing of years. What was it about this place that I was drawn to? What community used to worship here? What happened to them that left this church in this state. I‌ wasn’t sure I would find out the answer to any of these questions until I‌ spotted a dusty old book on a table by the door. Inside was a language I‌ did not know and notes scrawled on the page margins in pencil. “Gratias agimus tibi propter Princeps tenebris, princeps infernum.” it read. Was this latin? That might make sense as many of the Christian religions’ texts derived from the latin language. Since google is a thing now and we have an infinite access to so much information, I decided to give it a go.

‘We worship thee prince of the darkness, ruler of hell.’

I don’t think this was a Christian church…

As I‌ read these words aloud, a whisper seemed to escape from the walls around me. Carefully, I continued to explore, making sure to not disturb anything. Toward the back of the room was a wall trimmed in wainscoting dusted in a faded brown stain. A large hole was torn through a space on the bottom and a faint light flickered from inside. Was I not the only one here?

Next thing I‌ knew, I‌ was on my hands and knees, crawling through this hole. Why am I not able to control myself? I‌ should have left the instant I‌ read the inscription.‌ Something tells me that someone wants me to be here. Through cobwebs and rodent dung, I‌ reached an opening and stood up. It was a room with dirt walls and floor. There was a single oil lamp lit on a desk across the room. The furniture was skewed about and a questionable, almost luminescent red powder on the floor across the room. When I‌ got closer, I‌ also noticed the shards of glass spread on the ground around the powder. I reached down to touch the powder. I‌n the blink of an eye, I‌ was across the room, wondering what had happened. Before I‌ could even form a full thought, there was movement from the hole in the wall I‌ had just climbed through. A‌ little boy appeared, no older than 8, dressed in ***** wool trousers and a half tucked in, stained linen shirt. He wore a newsboy hat on his head that had certainly seen better days. On his shoulder was a worn bag which looked to be carrying something heavy.

“Hi there. My name is Anna. Are you lost?”

He walked by me as if I‌ were a ghost.

He was looking around, almost searching for something.

“Wh-what are you looking for?”

He made his way to the desk in the corner with the oil lamp and laid his bag down on the chair. He looked under and around with a near disappointed look. What was he trying to find? His eyes suddenly widened and he darted toward a nearby bookshelf, pulling down a crystal decanter from the top shelf. It was full of that same ghastly powder I saw before!‌ I‌ turned to look at that spot on the floor, only to find it clear and no broken glass scattered. To my surprise, the decanter came hurdling across the room, right passed my head, and smashed into the wall. I‌ turn quickly to see the little boy and he was gone. I blink and again am across the room where I‌ was before. I‌ shake my head and rub my eyes. What just happened? I‌ should really get out of here - I don’t think its safe to be here.

I‌ turned to leave but caught a glimpse of the little boy’s bag on the chair. Why was this still here? Why wouldn’t he take it with him? I‌ had to see what was inside. I picked up the bag and pulled each item out; a rock-hard loaf of bread nearly mummified, a small black book on elementary mathematics, a very old key, and sort of spherical item wrapped in a brown cloth.

I‌ removed the cloth to reveal a black clouded crystal ball. As soon as my hands touched its surface, I blinked and I‌ was out in the main room of the church with at least 30 people lingering around their chairs talking. I was no longer holding the ball, and everything had a bit brighter of a color to it. The room was still dark but the windows were not boarded up. There still lie some rubble on the ground but much less than before.

“Uhm, hello? Who are you? What is happening?”

I reached out to one of the people and they said nothing - they didn’t even acknowledge my existence. Everyone was dressed in very old clothing. Corsets, bustles, and shiny leather shoes. It was as if I stepped into a chapter of a victorian era book.
Despite the demeanor of the patrons, their clothes were still a little worn, torn, *****, and drab. Everyone carried on their conversations in a reasonable tone until a bell rang - everyone found a seat.

A lanky gentleman appeared at the altar in black clothing and spoke to the crowd.

“My fellow followers of Lucifer, I‌ beseech thee to bow down in worship to our almighty prince. He hath lead us to the depths of the fire and bestowed on us the power to destroy life itself.”

Each person knelt down and faced the ground in what I‌ would assume is reverence.

“For over a thousand years, this temple has held a dark mass for our dark lord, in which we show our dedication to his unholiness in the form of a sacrifice. Who among you has brought a gift to Satan himself?”

A petite, young, beautiful woman rose and approached the altar. Her head bowed in reverence and a veil over her head, she held out her arms. The man took a small item wrapped in a brown cloth from her and set it on the altar. They continued their ritual by spreading what I imagine was blood along the edge of the altar in a circle. As the man worked, the crowd of people mumbled in unison like a prayer. I watched from the side, trying to understand why I‌ was here and why no one would speak with me.

“Ma’am, what is this place?” I‌ asked a nearby worshiper. She said nothing.
“Excuse me,” I‌ nudge a young man to her left, “what is everyone doing?” He did not even look at me.

The mass continued in latin and I‌ watched quietly in confusion.

Nearly an hour passed and the mass seemed over. The people start chatting away as they had before and the gentleman at the front makes his way to the back wall where the hole was before. The young woman stopped him and asked to speak. I follow them to the back of the church. The gentleman quietly opens a door hidden in the wall right where the hole was and they walk in. I sneak in with them as the gentleman closes the door.

“Elizabeth, I am glad you came today. I was starting to worry that your faith was wavering. You haven’t seemed yourself lately since that human left.” the gentleman addressed the young woman as she sat in the chair by the desk. Everything was neater now and the furniture was placed in a purposeful way, much like a room in a house.

“Jonathan was the love of my life, Cain. I miss him every day. I don’t wish to go on in this world any longer.” Elizabeth squawked back with tears in her eyes.

Cain goes to comfort her, sits with her, and holds her in his arms as she sobs gently. He offers her his handkerchief and she accepts gracefully.
“Darling, you have so much more to give here. Lucifer needs your fortitude and dedication. But most of all, I need you.” He says, wiping a tear from her cheek.

As she rests her head on his shoulder, I look around the room. The powder is no longer on the floor and the decanter is on the table. I turn my attention back to the couple and I‌ see him kiss her softly. She turns away,
“Cain, please…” she whimpers, “I am not ready for this yet.” Cain nods and stands up. He walks across the room to a metal bowl with a pitcher and pours a glass of water.

“You should leave, Elizabeth.” he states without making eye contact. “You have no business being here if you will continue to cohort with humans. You have been given a dark gift that you are wasting away. You have been made beautiful to be a glorious gift to our community and you have disgraced us by your unfaithfulness.”

Shocked, Elizabeth stands and walks toward him with more tears in her eyes, “Cain, you know I‌ love you. I‌ want to stay with the community, to contribute and prove my worth. Please give me a chance.” she sobs.

He takes her in his arms and calmly says, “Elizabeth, you know what you must do. You know your purpose. You are the source of intimacy in this coven. You are our only hope to offer what we have to Lucifer.”

Elizabeth sighs and softly agrees. She looks defeated, tired, sad. I just want to wrap my arms around her and tell her it will be okay. I‌ blink back tears from my eyes. As I open them, I‌ am back in the main room surrounded by people. Cain is standing at the altar beside Elizabeth who is dressed in a beautiful black lace gown and veil. Cain lifts the veil from her face and kisses her neck. Her expression unchanged, still flooded with defeat. Cain starts to unbutton her gown. What is happening? Why are all these people watching this? She doesn’t look happy… why is no one stopping this? Cain starts to aggressively remove her clothing until she is standing bare and vulnerable in front of the crowd.

“What are you doing?!” I‌ scream.
“Leave her alone!” I‌ run to the front to try and stop them but I‌ am invisible.

As Cain removes his trousers, Elizabeth stands there calmly but with deep sadness in her eyes. He motions to the altar and Elizabeth lays down. Cain climbs on top of her and starts to penetrate. He begins aggressively … well there is no other word for it besides ****. He is ****** her. Her eyes fill with tears but she blinks them back. He gains speed until he finally ******* inside her. She blankly stares at the ceiling and a single tear rolls down the side of her face, landing in her now unkempt hair.
Why? Why did this happen? What is going on? Why did no one stop this?
A man in the crowd stands up and walks to the front. When he reaches the altar, he begins to undress.

No.

Not again. There is no way. Why would they be doing this? Why is no one stopping this?!

Man after man after man violates Elizabeth while she lays silently on the stone altar. I am sobbing now. Why am I‌ powerless? Why can’t I‌ stop this? Why is this happening?

What seems like hours pass of this horror and Elizabeth finally stands up. She puts her gown back on and replaces her veil. Cain stands beside her and grabs her hand. He recites something in latin then repeats in English, “The marriage of the many.” They begin a ceremony similar to a wedding but instead of a groom, on the altar lies the decanter of powder.
The ceremony continues and I can hear Elizabeth faintly sobbing, “Jonathan…” she whispers. She blinks back her tears and looks up. She sees him standing by the door, tears off her veil and runs to him. He was not there. Men from the crowd drag her back to the altar. She is screaming, “I‌ won’t marry him! Jonathan has my heart. I‌ would rather die than give myself over to Lucifer!” Cain hits her across the face leaving a throbbing red mark.

She cradles her face from the pain as Cain yells,
“Don’t you dare disgrace us! You are the ultimate sacrifice to our king and you must obey!”

Cain drags her back to the altar and chains her down. He pulls a knife from his belt and lifts it in the air yelling, “To thee I‌ offer, oh king of hell, this sacrifice of violated innocence. Come forth and bestow your gifts upon us as we offer her to you.” I‌ lunge forward to try and stop him. Just as he is about to plunge the knife in her chest, the decanter on the altar opens and the powder bursts into the air. A loud voice bellows through the church,

“You dare disgrace this innocence. An offer of such little worth hath no result for a coven such as yours.” A strong gust of wind throws Cain against the wall. The blow kills him instantly. The crowd bursts into chaos. Elizabeth, still chained to the altar, is hysterically sobbing and trying to break free. From the cloud of wind, a man walks toward her. He is tall with dark features. He has deep black eyes and a chiseled jaw line and body. He walks to her. Elizabeth looks up and is speechless. The man crouches down to unchain her and kindly helps her up.
“They hath defiled you, oh innocence. For this they shall burn.” He speaks in a deep voice. He extends his hand and half of the crowd turns to ash. He looks into her eyes and kisses her neck.

Elizabeth looks to the ceiling with tears in her eyes and mutters, “Please don’t hurt me…”
“Why would I hurt the most purest gifts my father has given the world?” He says as he holds her face. “I have removed the human from your life to clear your path to glory. In my father’s spite, we will be betrothed tonight. You shall rule hell beside me and bear my children.”
She sobs, “You … you killed him? I loved him!”
“Girl, you know nothing of love.” He says flatly. She looks at him in surprise, tears still falling down her cheeks. Chaos is still roaring around them as the crowd tried to escape the hellfire. “These filthy creatures are not worthy of your power. You belong to me now.” She tries to break free of his grip but he is far too strong for her. He lifts her up and lays her on the altar and begins to overtake her as she cries.
I stand to the side helplessly. Sobbing with her. I close my eyes and wish it over. I‌ want to leave now. I can’t take this.
Silence. I open my eyes to the sudden stillness and there sits a pregnant Elizabeth in a dark, empty church. Tears are gently running down her face and I realize that I‌ have not yet seen her with a smile on her face. Lucifer appears to her and holds her in his arms. I can’t hear anything. They are speaking but there is no sound. He lays her down and she yells - she is in labor. A small bundle wrapped in a cloth is delivered and the dark lord holds it in his hands and looks down calmly. Elizabeth stands up behind him with anger in her eyes. She pulls a knife from her cloak and plunges it in his neck. He drops the child but Elizabeth reaches to catch it just in time. She runs to the door with the cloth in her arms and slams the door behind her. A furious Satan rips the knife from his neck and runs to the door. He slams on it with his fists and yells. I‌ still cannot hear.
I blink and see Elizabeth on the steps of a church, crying softly. She gently lays the bundle on the door step and runs away. A woman appears at the door and picks it up, cradling it in her arms.
I‌ blink and see Elizabeth back in the church, holding the decanter and stealthy creeping around the corners. She turns around and Lucifer is standing there.
“You have betrayed me. All freedoms have been stripped from you. You will no longer sit beside me and rule hell. You will be caged and retained for only reproduction. You WILL bear my children and I‌ shall take them from you, never to be seen again. This will continue until I‌ have used the last of you and then you will be destroyed.” He exclaims angrily.
Elizabeth stands straight up, holds the decanter in her hand and yells, “I‌ banish thee, Satan, to the confines of this prison. You shall never again walk the face of this earth.”‌ As she opens the lid, the dark lord plunges the knife she used on him into her chest. A gust of wind engulfs him into the decanter. Elizabeth drops to the floor. A‌ knife in her chest, she struggles to put the top on the decanter. She crawls to the wall where the door once was. She begins to peel away the pieces of the wall weakly. She works in pain for what seems like hours until she makes it into the room. She drags herself over to the bookshelf and hoists herself up. She places the decanter up as far up as she can and tries to cover it with a cloth. As she reaches, she falls. Upon hitting the ground, she fades into dust.
I‌ stood there silently, shocked. This woman. I feel like I‌ know her. She is so strong and brave. I‌ am in awe and also in tears. I‌ collapse to the ground in the dust she left behind. I‌ mourn her, her hardships, her life. She deserved so much more.
I open my eyes and I‌ see a little girl, maybe 5 or 6 years old enter the room. She looks around. I yell, “Leave!‌ This place is dangerous!‌”
Bewildered by the things around her, she wanders to the bookshelf. She looks so much like Elizabeth. Could this be? Could it be her daughter? She is holding a small bag. She sits down at the desk and opens it. Its her lunch. She begins to eat and continue looking around. She sees the light from the oil lamp gleam off the crystal decanter. Excited, she pushes the chair up against the bookcase and climbs up. On her tippy toes, she manages to reach the decanter. She sits back down and twirls it around, moving the powder from one side to the other. A small amount of powder escapes in a puff. You can hear a whisper, “Victoria…” I‌ hear. She hears it too.
“Hello? Who’s there?” she squeaks. She puts the decanter down and walks around. She turns around to return to her lunch and is greeted by Lucifer himself, though she doesn’t know this. He is weak. The remainder of his strength lies in the decanter. He can’t speak. He grabs her and yells - she screams and breaks away from his grasp. She takes off in the other direction and crawls back through the hole. She looks behind her then darts toward the door. He is standing there in front of the door. He waves his hand and the large metal door bolts shut. She stops dead in her tracks, stares at him for a moment, then takes off.
Frantically running through the church, Victoria is trying to find any means of escape. Tears in her eyes, she evades Lucifer’s grasp several times. The windows are boarded up, the doors are bolted, and it seems there is no way out. Suddenly a little gleam of light comes from above. The balcony. She starts toward the wall and begins to climb up the trim as quickly as she can. Lucifer is close behind, yelling but unable to speak words to her. She reaches for the balcony and pulls herself up.
Suddenly I‌ am outside on the balcony and Victoria is reaching for the railing. She is reaching for the light. She is reaching for me. She looks into my eyes and yells, “Help me! Please!” and extends her hand. Surprised that she can see me, I reach out to grasp her hand but before I‌ can get her, she is pulled screaming back into the church. I‌ lunge forward to pull her back but land on the floor of the back hidden room breathing heavily. I stand up and dust myself off. I am in the middle of the powder and glass that was on the floor. I grab the book I‌ found and start to run for the door. I‌ can’t get caught by him, he will **** me. A thousand things are running through my mind. I crawl through the hole and head toward the door. Something compels me to look back as I pull open the door.
There he stood.
Staring at me.
“Daughter, fear not. I will find you and we will rule together with your sister.” He says.
Daughter? Sister? Who am I?
Trigger warning : aggressive ****** encounter, ****, violence
Third Eye Candy Jun 2013
You at least went.
so that meant the party could finally be awkward.
that's homeroom
at your personal Harvard
your low self esteem was the head dean
[ claimed you had promise ]
then promptly vomits
but you promised to maim
your lollipops with hot topic's
most goth  night-shade of hemlock
iron-on, henna tattoos
for your thin lips.
like two gates
to a birdcage
where you keep
ravens...
pecking the tip of your tongue
where your brave words die
for lack of oxygen... pecking
the flesh off the skeleton key
to the heart of your insightful
comment,... stymied -
a black raven
savors the succulent eyes
of your hurricanes, so
braille maps for blind rage
fly off the shelves... fly like
led zeppelins to
fresh hell.
you lose your window seat
on the wing of a prayer
to Charles Bukowski.
now you're scowling a gilded smile
at all the Ed Hardlys'...
good thing you brought Jello Biafra Shots
to the shindig... cubes of gelatinous absinthe
each with a sugar box
lodged in supermax insecurity prisms...
fey emeralds.
monochrome rubicons
you pop
when cross.

like wainscoting the panic room
that came with a deejay
who thinks you're
a boy who got
lost.
pap
pap
pap

I can't breath
my stomach is bubbling
like hot cheese
on an fresh oven pizza

my legs feel skinny
I want to lean into a wall
the floor looks spinny
the wainscoting is squint

my vision is blurry
because...tears?
Why is there worry
in my middle?

I feel fine,
my mind is sound
this fear isn't mine
what’s it doing here?

What is this panic?
Fight or flight I understand,
but this is plain manic.
I need to go

at top speed
or maybe hide?
Either way, be freed
from this distress.

pap
pap
pap

Push someone over,
human shield that ****
reduce my exposure
to hyperventilation.

Shallow in,
shallow out,
I feel akin
to sprinting Mufasa

Pure distress
acute discomfort,
a proper mental problem. Nonetheless,
it’s strange to foresee the diagnosis.

It’s as if I’m watching
from someone else’s skin
as alligator clamps are botching
holding my physiology in.

A sunburn on my innards,
a paperweight within
you’d think I’d feel pride
for finally having something wrong.

Hypochondria being accurate  
the years of inventing doom,
suddenly isn't aberrant
those fabrications had substance.

Or maybe all these thinks
are symptoms in themselves
after sifting through piles of shrinks,
maybe I can finally get some help.

pap
pap
pap

Look at my pretty framed prescription,
doctor certified, messy handwriting,
this will take some decryption...
don’t worry, take your time,

this pathoreaction won't go away.
I’m told desolation
is a temperament set to stay
until after eighteen simple payments.

I’m inclined to reject treatment
of drugs that fiddle with the mind
I’d rather stay present,
continue inconsistency.

I would like to try narration,
see how many kilometers I can recall.
I can deal with frustration,
so let’s talk about my childhood.

Public transit without destination
sends me on a revere,  
an absence of crippling desperation.
I've found peace before

it was between yellow poles,
in the outside pocket
of a backpack on parole.
It smiled at me quietly.

pap
pap
pap

Apparently, it’s the small things
that help you deal with anxiety.
Stephan Aug 2016
.

Beneath dark storm clouds,
graphic novels cried wholeheartedly
in pencil drawings competing
for front cover status
Asphalt collected mud
hoping shoe prints
formed in patterns like Dali
Wainscoting climbed walls,
chasing ivy vines
to crown molding heights
Kittens chased ***** of yarn
between grandma’s legs in
sagging stockings
on the front porch
And I counted rain drops,
wishing I had paid better
attention in algebra
Then you kissed me
and all became
everything under the sun
I was listening to "Eclipse" by Pink Floyd.
Philip Lawrence May 2022
Intimate tables. White linen coverings. The room, a checkerboard against the mahogany floor. Cozy nooks for two sit poised for the evening crowd, set against the wainscoting of one wall, a length of crystalline windows above.

A place setting removed, she sits alone, the amber light of her wine an imposter for the last shards of daylight that poke from behind a ridge.

She swirls her wine clockwise. Something to do with progress, he said. Or she read that somewhere. She can't remember which.

She finishes and turns the stem of her glass slowly hoping to leave an impression in the cloth, when a voice says, "May I join you?"
(dribbled the following cheesy tidbit when mice elf
i.e. Stuart Little and thy spouse Minnie Mouse dwelt
at a previous residence).
-----------------------------------------------------­-------
Against credo, ethos,
   and genuine holistic integrity
   to respond to such an event
as Minnie's or Mickey's, no matter

   a reluctance arises to don role as "killer"
tis with only the means and ways
   to avoid health crisis that i fervent
   lee exterminate existence of other species...

so please no unsolicited mouse a lean nee barbs
   against this august gent
tis a marvel to evince the behaviour
   of rapaciousness, when nary a hint

extant within me -
   except, at a cross roads arises
   when vermin take residence
   asper an unpaid inhabitant,

this one mortal mwm loathes
   to distribute deathly lethal instrument
distribution of d-com
   doth not make me feel jubilant,

   this chap doth newt
   deny pestilential buggars
   ought tub beep hoy sinned,
   and charged with heinous crime such
   as ****** committed by a litigant

   slapped unfairly
   suffer being poisoned
   imposing forfeiture reprisal
   tomb the tinker-bell tolls
visa vis a role in the realm

   within flora and fauna not meant
   for humans decreeing
   vermin lack purposelessness,
   and must be exterminated
   to own rights qua life,
   liberty and the pursuit of
   quietly when staking out an alcove,

   cupboard, or mauve wainscoting
   reproduction of species would nonchalant
take place if left to their biological devices
   this millennial saga

   of mice and men perhaps noah occident
and no matter what
   means one approaches pursuant
to rid the house of mice,

   these creatures reboot toxic tolerance
   to incorporate schemes
   quite innovative within floorboards,
   deep chambers viz zit ting
   expansive domestic quadrant

this Brie zee, cream cheesy,
though temporarily dislodged per demise,
   the recurrent adaptation reverberant
and stupefy supreme survival skill re:
   by a modus operandi

   with adaptive qualities salient
ta dum me little nimble,
   opal and quizzical rodents
   lacking redolence tubby mammals,

   though their existence
   and devil's blue diet tribe curd dish rant
might be diametrically opposed
   to American ethics committee, who slant
the bald (also balled),

   bold, and brazen cordon bleu appearance
   analogous to a vagrant,
   unrepentant truant
sans more than one
   little furry Munster of scurrying critters
   spur this heir force deputy
   issues a poisoned search warrant.
Ryan O'Leary Aug 2018
Willie was in a dilemma
when his mother asked
him to Rainscot their home.

How high he enquired?

His mother said, "up to
the where the water goes".

When she came back from
a weeks holiday in Venice,
Willie had clad the outside
of the house, up to the gutters.
Willie lives below river level
in Mallow Ireland.
The house dated back to the Tudors,
Half timbered, in need of repair,
They offered it me for a peppercorn rent
If I’d do some work on it there.
Right next to it stood the Catholic Church,
All pillars and deep seated vaults,
I thought I could make it a comfortable lair
Despite its old timbers and faults.

But Kathy was not so enamoured,
She said that she’d rather a flat,
‘There’s dry rot and beetles,’ she stammered,
‘So what will you do about that?’
‘I’ll think about that in the morning,
For now you’ll just have to be brave,
You’ll love that old bed, and its awning,
And think of the money we’ll save.’

We got settled in and explored it,
The wainscoting seemed to be fine,
With three rooms upstairs, and an attic,
I seized on that, told her, ‘It’s mine!’
She wouldn’t come down to the cellar,
‘It’s too dark and creepy for me.’
I thought it would do for a storeroom,
It had its own hearth, and chimney.

One day I had leant on the mantle
When something had moved in the wall,
A bookshelf slid back near a candle,
Revealing an ancient priest hole,
But way beyond that was a tunnel
The led all the way to a crypt,
So this was their ancient escape route
For anything termed Catholic.

I thought I would wait to explore it
Till Kathy would like to come too,
But she had just shivered, ignored it,
And said, ‘you just do what you do.’
I couldn’t contain my excitement
As into that tunnel I went,
Imagining priests that had used it,
To burn at the stake, or repent.

Then halfway along in an alcove
I flashed the light, looking in there,
And there was a man in some red robes,
He sat, sprawling back in a chair,
And there on his skull was a mitre
That headdress for bishops of old,
And down by his side was a crozier,
All glittering, fashioned in gold.

But lying between his skeletal feet
Was a sight that I couldn’t absorb,
I felt at a loss, on top was a cross
On a gold and magnificent orb,
Caught short in his flight from the protestant’s might
He was stealing these treasures away,
In hopes that the realm of England returned
To the one true religion one day.

I picked up the crozier, picked up the orb
And I took them from where he had fled,
I didn’t tell Kathy, but thought it was best,
So I hid them both under our bed.
That night we heard chanting, a hymn in the dark
That had Kathy awake and in tears,
While I could see phantoms surrounding our bed
Giving form to a host of my fears.

There was an abomination of monks
That were filling the room from the stairs,
And chief among them was a bishop who stood
At the base of the bed, and just glared.
I leapt out of bed and recovered the orb,
And I handed the crozier to him,
He gave a faint smile, and then in a while
He was gone like a ghost cherubim.

I never went back to that tunnel again,
To tell you the truth, I was scared,
I knew that a fortune was hidden within
But to go back again, never dared.
I’m hoping that bishop has saved me a place
In a heaven for those who are saved,
So I can tell no-one where he lies in grace,
That knowledge I’ll take to my grave.

David Lewis Paget
Carlo C Gomez Jan 2020
Once upon a time
in a tiny kingdom
called Beautiful Water
there lived a silly faux monarch and his fair maiden
in their castle aka duplex

No mote, no portcullis
but one groovy fence about a humble abode
littered with rooms
ill-appointed and dingy
but with affectionate wainscoting in spades

Nonetheless, they would often rue
the lack of spoil within those walls
'twas an age of shoddy floor-space
like a page with no margins
hence, the royal bedchamber was more a sleep shed

Trips out of town, no doubt
called for something fancy
a room with a view
a bed fit for a king
to stretch out without bother

But a funny thing happened on the way
to forming a quorum
they both pined
for the cramped quarters
left behind

The little bumps
and rubs in the night
came to be a comfort
a way of saying
"Hello, I know you're there and I like it that way"
Lexie Nov 2019
You told me you were an abandoned building
Left rotting in the sun
Elements creeping in
On your walls and foundation
Tearing down your roof and structure
I am not so
Come with me
I will show you myself

In the skeleton of my head
Ceramic figures sit
Silent, sentient
On cobweb shelves
Pictures of you hang on the walls
Nailed into a flesh colored wallpaper
*****, coffee stained carpeting
Leading from the attic of my mind
Down the back of my skull
Vertebrae circular staircases
Winding down and around
Through floors and floors
Of keratin wainscoting
Dusty shelves overcrowded with books and trinkets
Plastic dinosaurs and matchbox cars
A room full of doll houses
Plastic mommies and daddies
Driving four seater lithium battery powered doll cars
Cooking over two burner stoves with imitation heat
Playing pretend, I know this game best

Rooms with filing cabinets stacked up to the ceiling
When you pull out the drawers
Files and paperwork going back and back and back
Blue crayon bills of sale
Newspapers and emails color coded for different emotional reactions
Red folders with locks, chains, and warning signs
CAUTION FLAMABLE

Rooms empty of windows
***** of string for dust bunny cats
Baby teeth still tethered to the end
Strung between doorknobs and skeletons
The last flight of stairs
Leads straight down to a flooded basement
Salt water filling up cracks in the concrete
Bulkhead door latched shut
A femur stuck between the handles
You'd have to break a bone to escape

You follow your nose down passages
With markings saying 'connect here'
Finding comfort
In the smell of sage burning in between hip bones
Incense rising through chimney stacked ribs
Puffing out through a nasal passage

A few levels above
Curtains and blinds piled on top of each other
Trying to block out light
Pouring in through two blue tinted windows
Hollowed out, stained glass eyes

Mute little birds fly around in a tiny menagerie
Tiny parchment paper scrolls attached to their ankles
House arrest thoughts
Sometimes little rivers over flow
Down a façade of brick walls into little wells
To dry to hold wishes

In the right wing
Traveling down the arm
Little passage ways with doors
Swinging open and shut
Little electric trains blowing stops and whistles
Running around and around
Five little engines
Puffing out coal and smoke
Until they hole themselves up
In tunnels at night

In the left wing
Plates and dishes smashed on the floor
Ceramic shards rearrange themselves
Into mosaics and pictographs
Sliding around on metal tiles
Until they grind themselves into a fine powder
Slipping though the floor
Little skin cells flaking off the siding

Dry scratching noises echo through the tunnel
Back to the skull
At the very crown of the building
Rope makers work tirelessly every day
Stitching brown threads into the ceiling
Packing insulation tight in perfect rows
Until the rain comes in and washes them out
Trying to weatherproof roofing shingles
That act as if they are no thicker than coffee filters

Sometimes the power surges to quickly
Everything goes dark
Batteries overheat
Unable to remember which switch to flip
Which circuit breaker to fix
Which wires to cut, splice, and fuse the ends
Where to put the band-aids so they will stick
Until they get wet
A four battery chamber transformer
Inducting molecules, protons, electrons
Gassing up to restart
Not knowing which end goes to which side
How to get the cover back on
So I don't electrocute myself
Fry the circuits, start a fire

I end up
Sitting in the dark, alarm blaring
Emergency sprinkler system going off
Making puddles of tears
To drown out my fears
All wired up
Overloading and burning out
Turn the wind turbines on
Let them dry up the mess
Blowing fresh air through stale lung chambers

The ache in my stomach refuses to part with me
Empty shelves in the pantry
Don't cry over spilled milk
Tear up, when there is none to spill
Empty glass jars sitting in boiling water
All jammed up
Refusing to cook
Because one time
The gas was, accidentally
Left running, on the burner
Fear is a smell I would prefer die without tasting
A tasteless life no sweeter

I close the doors.
Oaken ribcage of my halls swing shut.
Hinges creaking under the strain
I remember why
I don't let anyone in
It's to cold in here for me
To quiet for them
Hating how I feel
When left lonely
Without a friend
If the dark is all I now how can I fear it
I am not near it
Becoming what I always knew I was
Not a single cut above, or below
Not a mark uncounted
I am the one who makes flowers grow
On the inside of the earth
Down below
Down I go
To dance after death
If you relate to any part of this please leave a comment. <3
Aditya Roy Oct 2018
I walked up a narrow stairwell
Hearing the soundly innocence
Within my despair

Blood stained the wainscoting
The sanguineous dispaly
Only leaving my temples hurting
I was about to scream, "******!"
But, I wanted to see before I weep
In case, I get a seizure

In my room
Everything, still like water
However, sepulchral and suspenseful
The macabre got to me
When I saw mother hanging from the ceiling

Gaining consciousness
I found a knife in my fingers
Saw a man fleeing

Now, I realize
I'd rather be dead
Than be living on borrowed breathing
The pain of seeing perpetrators get away with crime. Only to realize you'll be the main suspect.
Yours truly quite astute,
especially regarding cute
little field mice, also known
as meadow voles,
which imprecation one doth emote,
when aforementioned animal burrows inside
leaving pellet size **** in their wake
suddenly presenting a pain in the glute.

Analogous to swiss cheese
fecklessness riddled **** sapien
writer, whom he himself
cannot Provolone equality
for Mus musculus to live,
exception viz one named Stuart Little
as equal among indomitable realm
dominated by bipedal hominids
said species arrogated
since time immemorial
self superior holier than thou tenet
and dictum governing hegemony
across webbed wide world,

which supposed word of creator
conveniently got interpreted to mean;
"Be fertile and multiply;
fill the earth and subdue
every square inch courtesy
trappings of western civilizations,
henceforth since the dawn
of consciousness, when primates
such as Sahelanthropus tchadensis,
**** habilis, **** erectus,
and **** heidelbergensis evolved
to slowly but surely

wield dominion over
the fish of the sea,
the birds of the air,
and all living things
that move on the earth,”
their subsequent descendents relegated
every creature deemed inferior
and thus (no pun intended)
fair game across proverbial
eminent domain, thus justified,
ordained, usurped, et cetera
courtesy manifest destiny,
particularly mostly aborigines.

Against bullet proof credo, ethos,
and genuine holistic integrity
to respond to such an event
as Minnie's or Mickey's, no matter
an ohm my cat reluctance arises
to don and trumpet role as "killer"
tis with only the means and ways
to avoid health crisis that I
hesitantly didst exterminate existence
of other critters decried as pestilential

so please no unsolicited
mouse a lean knee black barbs
against this august gent
tis a marvel to evince the behaviour
of rapaciousness, when nary a hint
extant within me - except,
at a crossroads arises
when vermin take residence
as per mentioned earlier
as an unpaid inhabitant,

this one mortal married male loathes
to distribute deathly lethal instrument
innocuous morsels of D-CON
doth not make me feel jubilant
this chap doth newt believe
dangerous buggars ought
be be consigned with tender loving care
but certainly less cruel fate
versus getting lethally euthanized,
eradicated and essentially

charged with heinous crime
such as ****** committed by a litigant
slapped unfairly suffer being poisoned
imposing forfeiture reprisal
tomb the tinker-bell tolls
visa vis a role in the realm
within flora and fauna not meant
for humans decreeing vermin
lack purposelessness,
and must be exterminated

to own rights qua life, liberty
and the pursuit of happiness
quietly when staking out an alcove,
cupboard, or mauve wainscoting
reproduction of discriminated,
hashtagged, and targeted mammals
would nonchalantly find safe haven
exiting man made confines if left
to their biological devices,
this millennial saga of mice and men

perhaps Noah occident,
and no matter what means
one approaches pursuant
to rid the house of mice,
these creatures reboot toxic tolerance
to incorporate schemes
quite innovative within floorboards,
deep chambers viz hitting
expansive domestic quadrant
this Brie zee, cream cheesy,

though temporarily dislodged per demise,
the recurrent adaptation reverberant
and stupefy supreme survival skill re:
by a modus operandi
with adaptive qualities salient
ta dum me little nimble,
opal and quizzical rodents
lacking redolence tubby mammals,
though their existence
and devil's blue diet tribe curd dish rant

might be diametrically opposed
to American ethics committee, who slant
the bald (also balled), bold,
and brazen cordon bleu appearance
analogous to a vagrant, unrepentant truant
sans more than one little
furry Muenster of scurrying critters
spur this heir force deputy
issues a poisoned search warrant.

— The End —