poetry of the Dark, Erotic, Violent, Sacreligious & Macabre

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a Woman with a Gun

 

 

I am a woman with a gun

dead end eyes,

severed reflections

 

beautiful, I am

cunning, you are

and wise we are not

 

I roll the dice

and cast your fate

with Heaven to greet you

at Hells gate

 

as I lie down here beside you

-blood cells spilling like diamonds-

I am reminded

that without my gun

I am just an ordinary woman-

disassembling

 

and that without your gun

you are nothing more

but an ordinary man-

dying

 

 

Dracula in Love

 

 

 

London fog sunrise

bloodstains her pretty hair red;

I want her deathly

 

 

 

A.M. Coffee

 

 

Satan in my coffee

on a Tuesday morning

riding shotgun

to work with Bob

and his cat-Black,

in a white Chevy truck

black coffee

I need cream

to make it brown

and sugar,

lot’s of sugar

to kill the strength

to calm the storm

brewing earlier in my

roach infested coffee pot

‘they lay eggs, you know’

Bob says to me

the cat hisses

it despises roaches like dogs

particularly the one

crawling out from my thermos

 

 

~^.^~Black Cat~^.^~

 

 

Cat.

Black Cat.

Crossing the street, Cat.

 

Cat.

Black Cat hisses!

Tires screech.

Rubber burns.

Smoke clears.

I didn’t miss him by an inch.

 

Cat.

Black Cat.

Not just another

Dead in the street, Cat.

 

Cat.

Black Cat.

You should have never broken my heart, Cat.

 

 

Black Dandelions

 

 

Dandelion 2Dandelions,

                                                                           though you thought me beautifully evasive,

 

Dandelions

smother and choke

their counterparts;

 

Dandelions

know no boundaries

they only know they exist as I exist;

 

You hand her Dandelions

tied in your mother’s favorite silk ribbon;

 

I wilt

at the sight of your black blasphemy

because you loved me once

 

Who would’ve thought your blackheart charm

would soil seeds after you bled them

then buried them, dry?

 

 

——REVOLVER—–

 

the Revolver spins

6x’s before

i’m elected,

gunpowder coke

chokes my grasp,

as the chamber

clicks, my brain spits

matter to dust

and thus

creates the sunburst

on the wall

behind the man

in the crisp white suit;

beyond his soul

is my soul smeared

in colors of bluebloods

surrounding petals

on a white Gardenia

pinned in her bedroom hair;

and there she sits naked

on her boudoir chair,

her snatch the color

of the sunburst on the wall

behind the man

in the crisp white suit;

he smiles and hands me

a gold plated vile,

it’s been awhile

since the last i gripped her hair

and sunk her slugs to oblivion;

the red of her pained lips

seep blood into my mouth,

and her skin is soft white

like a light bulb,

her body delicate

like the vase once housing

the Gardenia;

her eyes having read Hitler

she speaks in tongues confessing

our sins upon holy Mary and Joseph

as they close and shrivel

in silence

around the Revolver

in his hand

 

 

Psycho Sluts Live In Heaven

 

 

Psycho sluts live in Heaven

branded in apple tattoos

that kiss the mouth of those unSatan

like those wogs slithering like their counterpart semen

trudging upstream to mate with my berries;

Angelina Jolie ordered herself

a Double-Scotch-On-The-Rocks Mastectomy

and I think ‘what’s the point’

you’re getting old anyways!

So embrace shriveling up

and eventually dying.

 

 

Deflower

 

 

 

I am a flower

I am beautiful in your eyes

I smell of everything you lust

above me, 

beneath me, 

behind me, 

you break me

like the stem

once holding the flower

 

 

Death Dealer #66

 

 

I woke up aggravatingly hornier than the night before

mislaid without the sense of prepaid gratification

from that stupid whore now stumbling out the apt. door

Beneath a vehement deluge I thought about that magnificent

Theatre of Incest, the fucking dog barking incessantly down the street

that barmaid with Jell-O for fake tits, that old man who acted like a bitch

all gone, all gone, all gone right where they belong

in that unholiest sanctuary they assume Dante’s Paradiso

I took a hit of the Devil’s blow, read my list, then took a hard piss

in that open cesspool of mouths coupled with the shameless and the breathing

feeding off Catholics who are misleading, Christians who live their lives by Jesus

“Jesus!” what a fucking mess, much less, it is for the best, I guess, if I blessed those

living in some post-idealistic place, not chased by the  demon lovers of regret,

ensnared by the demon haters of no mercy; his name is Percy, and he sits

one stool opposite from me, 66 years of pouring tears into his warm beer, then sighing and crying wishing he were dying, dead, gone from this disenchanted place

once called Eden, now called South of Eden, my place, the Death Dealers place,

I show Percy no mercy and he dies swift and just, back to that Eden of lust

where his ancestors thrived before the serpent apocalypse eclipsed with the light like tonight

Vomica

 

 

I dream

of gold lighted Christmas trees,

and non-flesh eating

Zombies

beating down my naked windows,

my hands fumble clumsily

with the blinds

trying to blind those

from blinding me

 

There’s a single light bulb

hanging

from its intestine

it sways back and forth

creating shadows

of demons on walls

as I sit poker-faced

in front

of God,

De Vinci, Beelzebub

and Methuselah

 

all dressed

in post-iconic Gangster get-up,

the scene alone

fascinates me, exorcises me,

that I start having

an out of body experience

when my Full House

collapses

retaining them to beckon me

on all fours, first

across the floor

reeking of misconception

until I find myself

viewing the misinterpretation

of the world

from upside down

 

Though I realize

I need glasses

I see everything fine

and when

I got lost

inside of her

I found

my way out

and

when I awake,

the room is eerily empty and

full of life-

I vomit

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