The Enigmatic Monster presents …

The Brute Spews Hateful Words

The Brute spews hateful words

–Which are only considered hateful to us.

To him these insults are like

Shimmering red jewels,

Blood red–his words mean death to me, to you, oh insanity …

For this Brute, this beast …

… This ten eyed troll …

Revels in cruelty

Of the animal kind,

And by that I mean humanity.

How would you like to be a purse?

He’ll reason, nodding to his cronies.

Oh irony of ironies!

Aren’t you the little victim?

The Brute will laugh, he just can’t help it,

And to be fair, as prey, we are his favourites.

You had it coming! And maybe a lampshade, a wallet,

Human leather shoes! They’ll fetch a fine price!

And with a hideous smile, says the words, Skin ‘em!

And now we’re dead.

It’s not so nice to be on the losing side,

But maybe the Brute’s right?

Maybe we DO deserve this.

Extinguish, by Mitchell Stoycheff

Extinguish

This cheerful world has been captured

Lying forgotten, beaten, and tortured

What once was elation has turned dismal

Reflecting that of an echoing call

Forever reaching

Forever returning

That glimmer that burned now has tarnished

Extinguishing the stars, hope has vanished

A shell vacant and void of emotion

Is all we have left, our tainted poison

Painful Echo, by Mitchell Stoycheff

Painful Echo

Dreams that border nightmare

In the realm of thought revealing

A glimpse into that stare

Recall the painful echoes: up-heaving

Burdened by the past

An icon of woe and pain

How does this unwavering flame last

Against the torrent of the rains

You must face the past with intention

Let your voice stand tall

Unleash your thoughts with conviction

Unveil the truth behind your walls

Friday Lovin', by P. L. Cobb

I’m Mad, Livid, Angry

I’m mad, livid, angry,
I’m just a rusted bucket filled to the brim with roiling ire,
And I hate, I loathe–
I loathe so much that there is a heat from a flame from hell
The fire of all things eternal, and wasted.

My time, you know,
It’s my time that they always clamour for
Even the unwanted ones who won’t leave me be
They come for me like rabid dogs,
Itching to get their fix of wasted dreams,
And it’s mine that they want to waste, not theirs!

And if I fight back I am a witch–
Or worse, an ungrateful %$#@&!
Who wants to listen to the noises which I spend so much time
So much time squeezing from my esophagus
As if I were giving birth to nothing but sound,
Yet the sound is also wasted on them,
More efforts wasted.

And I am mad, I am livid, I am seething,
My cup is empty yet it overfloweth with bubbling, frothing acid,
That acid is bile, or something worse,
Something deep within my stomach–
Methinks a snake, or something better,
And by better I mean bad for you and good for me,
Because for once some foreign god has heard my cry …

And it has deigned to deliver me,
From the vampires, the wraiths, the zombies, the corporations
Whatever I choose to call them, they are the ones whose
Greatest desire is to control me,
Consume me,
Bury me,
And then exhume me.

As if to say: Look, though covered in your blood, we are your saviours!

Ask me again why I am mad.