Heavy Metal #1

What do you see?

Heavy Metal #1

Something came over me,

deathless and free,

seducing me with promises (time, space, eternity),

but nothing good, nothing free.

All for a price: sanity.

Do I join the fool’s march, do I walk over the edge

to take the pledge of the deathless?

The more I wonder, the less sense

it makes.

Ignore the hollow ones,

before they drown the world in a scourge

known as damnation.


Competitive Tree Climbing

What a joke.

They think it’s all for fun, all for games . . .

I’m waiting for the moment someone loses an eye


They’ll cry red, instead of salt.

What a horrible thought; I must be deranged,

but what does that word do for me?

What would it do for you,

if you were chased up a tree

(by the hordes of _________)?

When your moment comes,

remember me; I was the first.

The first thing that taught you how to climb

(the second thing will be the one to teach you how to ________).

[die? lie? fly? die? die? die?]

In the beginning, no one ever climbed a tree for the fun of it . . .


The Cult of Acceptance

“I call it the Cult of Acceptance.” Da’kiri grinned. “But it’s anything but accepting.”

“You know how I love catches,” Offrith purred. “Go on.”

His grin quickly morphed into a snarl. “Of course, my lady.”

The lady laughed at his sudden change of character, treating it as if it were something commonplace.

“They preach their acceptance, crusading for anybody, anything; it’s all for nothing though, they never learn. The truth is that they only accept those who think like them . . . Who are them, essentially. When they realize that mistake they quickly become horrified, but it is the other person who is wrong–they are the ones who are mentally ill!” He stopped, cocking his head to the side, as if listening. “In the end they still push everyone to the margins. It’s almost like their cult of happiness . . .”

At this the lady gave pause. “What a bunch of animals. Your understanding of them always astounds me. I gave up on the things a long time ago.” She smiled at that; time was of no consequence to her.

“Understanding them is not always simple,” Da’Kiri conceded.

“That is why you are the king in the shadows though, is it not?” she said in a soft whisper. “You are such a demon!” Her grin turned into a horrible snarl.


The Inevitable Moment

A child of two worlds can only live in one. That meant two choices that he could make: suffer a life of hardship in this miserable world, or cross over to the next. The second choice was a seductive one, one more preferable than the first one, and it had a catch.

To enter that world, he would have to die in this one. The thought of death was not a comforting one . . . Not after witnessing that of his father. His father had been a good man, but he had taken up with a woman from the other world . . . As soon as the truth had come out he became a dead man. His son would be the next.

“Come join us,” his mother said in her soft voice, reaching toward him. She was offering him a sword. “There is no pain or suffering, no death . . .”

He took her silent offering; then, holding his breath, he did the inevitable: he impaled himself upon the sword, his sword, crumpling in a heap. As he bled out, he realized that there had never been much of a choice.

It was all inevitable.

“Life is a horror,” he thought.


This is Mine, This Thing

This is mine.

This thing called guilt . . .

Is that right?

You ask: why fight?

Who are you,

that you are always right?

What dark god gave you

all your ungodly power;

tell me,

so that I may kill him.


A Lovely Day to Repent

It’s a lovely day to repent,

from all the false goodness you exude . . .

You ooze that sickening, saccharine lie from your very pores.

Somehow you still find the time to be offended,

by those who have called you out . . .

By those who just don’t care (they have no damns to give);

these people scare you.

They are everything you are not

and nothing at all.

Cheers, my dear!

I’ll always be sure to forget you.


Two Friends


Two Friends

She stared, dumbfounded, at the globular mass. The way it glistened in the candlelight, the way it pulsed like a still-beating heart . . . Somehow that served to fuel her gross curiosity with the thing. Anna was loathe to admit it, but she could sympathize with it. They shared something in common: loneliness . . . Crushing, burning loneliness.

Without a  second thought she blew out the candle. In an instant she was cloaked in darkness . . . Cold, barren darkness. They would stay together in the dark, they would keep one another company.

Until she died. Or worse.

Anna closed her eyes, laughing silently. “No one lives alone, no one stays alone. Is that it? Is this your profound wisdom?”

The thing shivered; the sound reverberated throughout its quivering mass.

“You always have more to say.”


Forlorn City


This forlorn city will be

(quite frankly) the death of me.

If I could leave, if only.

A part (a small one, mind you) would be relieved.

For a while I would benefit from new frontiers,

until the siren call of this city get caught in my ears.

Not until the siren song drive me insane, not till me ears bleed.

(For the moment) I would rather die

than live in a lie

in the forlorn city.


Nowhere But Up

There is nowhere for us to go.

Nowhere but up.

Sometimes I pray for the end to come.

If not in a silent whimper,

then in a cacophony of screams.

As long as there is an end.

As long as it is anywhere but up.Theo_icon

Friday Day Dreams

Today was as night,

the two were the same.

There was nothing in sight,

not one thing, for miles on that desolate plain.

Something told me that this wasn’t right

as I stood in the rain.

But there was no one who could listen to my plight.

In the end there’s no point in telling you about this, because there’s nothing to gain.

On a day of night,

there is only yourself to blame.



Seed Clouds

A cloud passes over their faces.

An all-consuming cloud of confusion.

Then the rain starts; it races,

red rivulets like liquid rubies, down their faces.

The cloud is filling all of their empty spaces

with its fell brood.

Only the word fell can describe the feeling

of something beyond comprehension stealing

your mind, and then your body.

You say you’re still you, but I say: “Hardly.”


A Hunted Man

She gave him a quick side glance. What are you? she thought. This stranger wasn’t like most of the men she met on her daily routine; there was a certain troubled air about him, an apprehension . . . It was in the way his eyes would wander across the street, like he had no idea where he was going, or what he was looking for. He was going through the motions.

What’s more, there was something that made him stick out; she couldn’t place a finger on what that something was. Maybe she knew him? No, that’s a far stretch, I’ve never seen this person before in my life. Maybe . . . The first thought that came to mind when she first saw him was: wow, he’s really old. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, which did little to explain that thought. Who could really tell now, though? Few people she had met looked their age . . .

Still . . .

He ended up seated a few tables away from her, just close enough to keep an eye on him. Who are you? Did you follow me here, after you noticed me watching? Was I really that obvious?

The stranger ate his meal in silence, occasionally looking at the people around him, not quite casually but with a definite questioning look. The more she observed the man the more she realized how tense he really was. He was about to snap.

She stood up to leave; just as she was about to exit the cafe, another questionable man came in. This one was searching the cafe, as if expecting to find someone there.

The other man, she noticed, had vanished.

So, the wandering stranger is a hunted man? Why? The questionable man: he was an enigma. An uncomfortable one. He was an albino, or appeared to be; there was something about the pigmentation in his skin overall, lacking in any of the undertones one would expect. The man was simply dead white.

Like a maggot.

A pair of sunglasses obscured part of his face, but not that pointed chin. He was average height, but for some mysterious reason she kept telling herself that he was bigger than that. After arguing with herself for two seconds it suddenly dawned on her that the albino was not human. Not with those proportions . . .

She walked away without another moment of hesitation.


Other Things

Marianna chose to ignore him. She always did; she had no idea if she was being delusional or not. Somehow she had convinced herself that pretending like nothing was there would cause that thing to go away. Somehow she still heard him whispering in her ears.

“Am I crazy?” was the number one question amongst a thousand others. Like most of them it also had no definite answers. Lately she had become to doubt the nature of reality. If she ever found the truth, she wouldn’t know what to do about it.

“I can wait,” he said in a soft whisper. “In the end you always come around.”

She sighed.


One More Time

IMG_0091One More Time

Today we feel so pretty; oh so pretty, and witty . . .

Pretty on the outside,

but there’s no telling about our insides.

Not unless you were to cut us down. Then you may find us filthy.

You can hide, or try, from our good looks.

That’s about all you can hide from . . .




I, or–I admit–something beyond me,

whispers those words,

a soft breath of air into my ears,

and like a hell-bent hurricane

whipped into a frenzy.

A chemical overload . . .

a placebo for a sick mind please?

I’m going into over drive,

these thoughts inside my head . . .

All manner of things scrabbling to get out.

I cannot take it any more.


Your Choice . . .

Liquid love,

or poison?

Take your pick.

Just be sure to make up your mind,

be quick–

this is an offer which cannot last, and will be gone quick.

Gone before you’ve drawn a conclusion

for this fine illusion

(of mine).


Esoteric Anecdote

There were seven of them, lords, all of themSome said that the only way to get to heaven–or the underworld, each story was different–one had to go through all seven . . . These gatekeepers, or key holders, whatever they did . . . They were, in different senses of the word (and varying degrees) demons.

So, that one had to go through them was a fact. That it was wise to do so (let alone something that I, myself, would do) was beyond comprehension.

I would never dream of being taken by one of the seven. That is another story altogether.


Lonely Things

Are you like me?

Walking this earth like a silent ghost,

in search of a wayward host?

So am I.

The stakes are high,

when you’re on your own–

you and I, we’re both alone.

Let’s be one, for one night.





I’m not afraid of werewolves or vampires or haunted hotels, I’m afraid of what real human beings to do other real human beings.
–Walter Jon Williams


Look Away

He couldn’t shake the feeling. Something, or someone, hated him with a burning passion. Only out of the corner of his eye could he see anything worth seeing, and what he saw was highly suspect. Was it a trick of the light, the consequence of having too-sensitive peripheral vision? Or was there really something there, looking at him?

Finally he concluded that it didn’t matter either way. But he just couldn’t look away from the things–or look elsewhere. Something in what he saw held a power over him. It could have been fascination, or some meaning rooted deep in his subconscious.

He wasn’t too fond of the things he was semi aware of.

Still, he found it very hard to look away.

As if paralyzed.


Monday, Again

And the only thing that meant was a new day. The days may have been longer, but the nights were no less insufferable, no less long. During the night the self from that day  ceased to exist. For six to seven hours I was longer who I thought I would be, no longer what I desired, nothing that I expected. The night was the time of the metamorphosis. The thing I hated, in more ways than one.


No More Than a Hybrid

All those strangers,

who thought they knew me after no amount of time.

I thought I knew them too.

“We think so highly of you,” they said.

So, now that I have turned their world upside down,

turned it on its head . . .

Do they still think so highly of me?

Now they know, I am nothing more

than human,

a hybrid of good and evil.

Is it me, or is it truly them?

I make no claims to be nothing more than what I am.

So it must be them,

these people who live in a dream land.

It must be nice,

except when confronted with the hard facts of life . . .

I don’t care.


Access to What?


Access to What?

I certainly believe that what we perceive as humans is just the tip of the iceberg. I don’t necessarily believe in vampires or werewolves or that kind of thing, but I believe there is definitely a realm we don’t necessarily have access to.
–Alan Ball

The horror quote of the week comes a day late; a migraine came to visit me Tuesday, and decided to stay until Wednesday afternoon-ish. Not pleasant, not one bit . . .