Lacerations, the macabre fascinations

My spine, crooked, a serrated chain

Like a vine, my fingers ensnare your bones

And you dance as I pluck the strings

Of a harp. The red eyed dog sings

A melancholy ballad of the silent

Just a look and I’ll speak your voice, inmate.

---

I, Wendigo, starve in the winter wasteland. My stomach aches and my skin breaks from my lungs gulping too large for their cage. My spine, bloody, and limbs, bulging at the joints, crack under the craving. My mind, primal, like a locust, is focused on the breath. A breathing animal, not cannibal. A swelling urgency in my throat and as my stomach bloats I tear past the pine needles and taste its screams, its pleas, never flees, and with ease I taste its dreams, because these coldish days starve my stomach in this winter wasteland.

---

On the night of the execution

A man at the door

With a gelatinous black sore

On the tendons of his neck

Took my hand, said “Sorry to wreck

“Your evening, tonight, but the crows

“Are squawking to bring case to close”

With a scratch at his sore

He fell to the floor

And executioner black stained the woodwork

“Another one” I said “good work.”

---

In her tomb by the lonely sea,

Like the roots of an old oak tree,

Her hair in the air, underwater, floating fair

A green-grey pale shimmer

Her face had desiccated thinner

And her eyes rotted to dust

Laid rest to my lust

No blood remains in thee

Her skin clings to long bones

But this time all alone ‘s

Corrupting the light of once beautiful lady plum tree

---

Confessions of dust

Congregations of the unknown

Compacted the ideas to which night only told

A creature stabbed through heart, poisoning rust

A creature summarizing its longing with a shrieking moan

A creature binded to roots encased in old mould

Individually bombarded the view through the window

And the lust, a wardrobed croak

And the wraith, an unknown

That pick their teeth with our bones

And the night, a skeleton secrecy

Bound their lips to silicon hypocrisy

Collectively bombarded the view through the window

---

Moon’s shadow to the fall and forgotten

Forgotten crumbs that choose to blister away

In the heat and the welcoming yellow hay

From a king to a cardinal, petals torn away, replaced with metal

And the neverminded crumbs sunk from castles to slums

---

If the dried bones of the clones that make up this infection were anything more than a projection of our combined consciousness, would you dare harness your hellish desires, or would you sink your teeth into the empires that say emotion is hellfire?

---

There are heroes in the seaweed

In the murky blue-black undergrowth

In the incandescent brilliance of shivers

That pulse as rhythm to an oath

From the bravest jaw, lip quivers

As deal for blue-black eyes; its need

Whispered to heroes who guard and feed its greed

---

Broken lungs, powdered tongues

As if the liquid scorched away

Worn raw his throat; pleading the day

Sentimental locket, his wife, his pocket

Blood shot eyes cried he was done

Astronaut was hurdled into the sun

---

Once upon a corrosive rust, corruption did I foolishly trust

In the blackening pools of conspiracy, lived a festering pool of hypocrisy

That sucked, from you, a graven lung, sunk back to the gallows where they live among

The concoction of humanly spores, which, if they choose, will occupy your pores

Until you replace foolish trust with starving offers of disgust