An oldie

During my forced slumber
I meet my dear.
Alone and afraid.

In the aftermath
I hold her in my arms,
On an end bound train.

She smiles,
Knowing she is mine,
As I am her’s.

Her red dress entices,
Her warmth welcomes me in,
The cold of this hell falls away.

The train screeches to a halt
At the ghastly demon gate,
Hungry, We look for a meal.

A search to no avail.
As the weeks pass,
Perfection peels and pales.

The gaunt face of my love,
That unfed life of mine,
It drives me mad.

The demons laugh as lives end,
As the platform is cleared of all.
I wipe away any traces.

From the wreckage,
The whorehouse of slaughter,
We feed.

I watch her live
As she feeds on the dead.
I eat only when she fills.

Once again my love, My sweetness,
She kisses me with chapped lips.
I taste the blood of our prey.

The metallic taste remains,
As we lie in cold red puddles.
She shivers, and i hold her close.

Alone, We eat as we need,
Keeping the Wendingo at bay.
Awaiting the next train.

Coagulated blood stinks,
The maggots infect our meat,
Still we continue to gnaw on bone.

Our solitude is broken by a beast,
What used to be a woman.
Feeding on our rotting prey.

She scowls at us that there is plenty.
We eat as she gorges.
Her belly fat with human meat.

Flesh is ripped from bone,
Skeletons are shredded,
As she devours innards.

I cast her a look of disdain,
Holding my love near.
We make eye contact, fear.

“Judge me if you will,”
The she-beast scowled.
“You’ve fed too, the Wendingo will be around.”

I smile as I pull my love towards the train,
“We fed to live,
You die to feed”

As the train departs into darkness
My alarm tears me away from my love
And my joy dies into the mundane

To E from P

Why do you sit upon my throne?
Brooding over a love forced, or on the consequences of your gift?
Come and be my brother,
your tribute was planned.

Look me in my eye,
I know your pain.
A god of fertility
With only a boar to ride.
It’s better than keeping up with birds!

Look around, Ing, and see your renown!
Your sickle is as mighty as my spear.
You are loved, and will be remembered.
Your mound will be blessed.
I’ll be proud to die alongside you.

My friend, I will wander
As I have always done.
You’re place is here.
As I am a warrior poet,
You are a beacon of hope.

I never thought a Vanir could be less vain.
Be proud! For you know who you are!
Be honored as the king you were!
Though we are not eternal,
Our names will live on.

Pleasant Thoughts are Unhealthy

Not my normal style, but I think this soliloquy turned out pretty well… 

I knew that getting this chump to believe that it had been a busy couple of days would be harder than getting the itch from under my sock. I had to be smooth as a bottle of cough syrup smuggled out of Walmart. I had to be quick as a whippet.

I didn’t have time for it though. I had pills to pop and adult alternative to blast. I had memories of wrongs to replay. The night was long enough without this sad pup biting at my ankles.

Playing it off nonchalantly, I excused myself under the guise of writing. Easy as that, he was gone. Maybe he was easy to get rid of than this fucking itch. I think I’m starting to scratch myself raw.

‘Blood’s cheap though, it’ll be back. CSF would be an entirely different story though. Thank god I only gave her my heart, and kept my spine intact,’ I mused not so gently, begging for sleep, a relief from the waking nightmare and a journey into a nightmare that I can control.

Sleep wouldn’t come for a while. I had too many failures to relive. I had to reflect on how I haven’t hiked in two years, or seen my dad in seven months. I just laid there, covering myself in thin blankets breathing through a face hole.

Moments like those I almost miss the security of childhood, the security of knowing all the answers and having a mother for everything else.

Sleep was creeping in, weighting my eyebrows. I braced myself for what was to come. Would it be ticks on eyeballs? Would it be failing as a man? Would I lose everything?

I am pretty sure that night I was a monster.

Vagina in Blue/Man

Vagina in Blue/Man

Man-made light breaks the horizon,
Bringing with it the faux joys of a new day.
Yet the raven still flies.

The divines can’t stop for me,
And I won’t be their burden.
I’ll bite my lip, and march on.

My hat’s brim funnels sweat,
Keeping my eyes clear as I look towards the future.
I fight tears.

I’ll make it though.
I always have.
I’m no deadbeat.

Believe it or not,
I’m better than I was.
I’ve grown through this shit.

So many pills,
So many girls,
So many mistakes.

Scar tissue serves a purpose though.
It’s harder to pierce the second time.

As nerves die, and skin hardens,
I evolve into the me I need to be.