Footfalls echo with a hollow thunder
under an unnatural dampening, oppressive hush
I thrill to a perverse obsession;
an intrinsic demonic taint.
A child shudders, sleeping in his house
as I walk by outside.
My low chuckle illicites dreamers'
screams, as it locks them in a loop of
a nightmarish climactic moment
in the fun and games of the
psychopath to whom thier sleep
has offered them up to,
rendering them victimized.
I stroll to the percussive strain
of my satisfyingly hellish internal
orchestra. Keeping time with
glistening wet femurs and
scapulas, playing the xylophone
on unsedated exposed spines.
I breath deeply and open my mouth
flicking my tongue out to taste the air.
Testing for opportunities for amusing
entertainments in vulnerabilities I sense there.
I pause as I pass an alley, from which
rises the acrid scent, of a bladder lost
control of as nearer to there I went.
A strangely potent pulse of light
surrounds a mound of rags
peering at me with vagabond eyes.
Lovely.
A sensitive, too weak to handle
the assault of feeling the pain
of so many wasted lives.
I revel in the shame even more
than the terror, of the holder
of unrealized, wasted potential;
whom I approach with measured deliberation.
Aware that my smile has stretched impossibly,
spanning from ear to ear; displaying three
elegant rows of shark-like serrated teeth.
Static begins to crackle my cloak, and lift
my hair up to writh in a perverse nimbus
around my head. My black, pupiless unfathomable
eyes begin to dance with flares of red and flame-like
sparks of light.
I dip into the wasted mind and rummage to see
what goodies I might find. Aha! A wife and two
little kidletts left, the faithless father thought,
mercifully, behind.
I capture his psyche as he silently screams,
and take him along for the ride. Into the dreams
of a tender little muffet of six years or maybe five.
Once firmly ensconced I provide her with
inspiration, of my own patented sort.
The wastrel father watches helpless
as she rises to revel in it and cavort.
Fraticide the appetizer, Matricide the main course.
Both served with a vivid side of gore.
Followed by a tasty spectical of a flambe suicide.
Ah what a fortunate and entertaining opportunity
I had happened upon with which to make sport.
The telepathy which had driven him outside the
boundaries of his life, made the ravaged experiences
of daughter, son and wife a particular delight.
The impotent would-be savior lives hell's eternity,
trifold upon the cessation of the heartbeats that
punctuated the only happiness in his life.
As I returned his essence to his fragmented mind
and contemplated the manner of his demise;
I realize how much more satisfying
his torment would be...left alive.
Trauma-induced hysteria an entertaining additive
to the dementia in his newly brewed head stew.
I left him there to wallow in it as I turned away
steeped in my alluring Demon glam.
Flattered as I hear him clearly thinking I am
the Anti-Christ. Completely ignorant of the fact
that Angels and Demons are of the same species;
seperated only by race.
Such a lovely night for a stroll in this section
of the Fallen Garden that had been, to me,
assigned. I went about my merry way,
alert for whatever possible passtimes that
might arise.
Bronze trophy winner
Gold trophy winner
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