Sunday, January 23, 2011



The voices call his name,
Always in his ear.
Fighting for his attention
Year after lonely year.

Some claim friendship,
Others profess love.
Some reside in Hell,
Others up above.

But he knows it’s not real,
That no one really is there.
It’s his madness held at bay.
Still, sometimes, he’s caught unaware.

Like worms they borrow into his brain,
Filling his life with sadness and pain.
Stronger each day is the urge
To kill, to rend, and to purge.

Somewhere inside his delusional mind
He feels a tension straining.
Then there’s a snap like a whip,
His resistance is waning.

Now visions of blood
Rise before his eyes.
He knows the battle is lost.
He’s becoming agian what they despise.

Leaving his home,
He strolls into the night.
Looking for whom to hurt.
Eager for a fight.

Down into the city, at home amongst its sin,
Death, decay, crashing into him,
It comes from within.
He tries to hold back.

Clenching together his fists,
But the demons are in charge now.
They taunt him from the mists,
Of his overcrowded mind.

Wrought with madness and pain,
Darkness shrouds his soul.

“Kill!” they say.
“Murder!” they chant.
“Maim!” they rave.
Resist them he can’t.

Fully under their spell now
He’s like a tiger on the prowl.
His eyes seem to glow,
Sharp and piercing as an owl.

Alone in the park sits a pair,
A couple lost in their peace.
He knows he’s going to kill them,
His rage needs release.

Like the shadow of the moon
He sneaks up to their bench.
He grabs handfuls of hair
And lets his fists clench.

Driving their skulls together,
Feeling bones snap and pop.
Again and again they connect,
Unconscious their arms flop.

Blood sprays his clothes,
And runs down his face.
His arms start to ache,
Heart pumping as from a race.

He releases their lifeless bodies,
Turning away in shame.
“The voices made me do it.”
“I’m not the one to blame.”

His bloodlust is sated for now.
He sees his handiwork, and cries.
“I can’t allow this to happen again.”
“Stop me before anyone else dies.”

Shame clouds his vision,
As his home comes into sight.
In a puddle is his reflection,
Mirroring back a blight
On society at large.
He knows what he must do.
Before the voices return,
To himself he must be true.

To stop the killings,
For there to be peace,
His life he must end,
His rampage must cease.

Stripping off his bloody clothes,
He draws a warm bath.
A razor to his veins
Will bring an end to his wrath.

Into the bath he sits,
The razor quick and sharp.
Blood gushes, tendons snap,
Like the plucked strings of a harp.

His life he feels fading,
As the waters are dyed red.
Comforted he feels,
Like asleep on a bed.

Peace is his now.
The end is in sight.
Justice is served,
For his deeds this dark night.

The chasm yawns before him,
Smelling of sulfur and fire.
He knows now truly,
That his life did expire.

Into the devils embrace,
He cries out his fear.
But in the depths of hell,
There’s no kind ear to hear.

1 comment:

  1. Madness. Darkness. Pathos. I love it! :D I love the versitality of your writing. Sweet to dark, it's all good.