Down Down We Go

Down below
Where the sun is a lie
Things that bite
Dance in the dark

Night will fall
As above
So below

They rise
Coming for you
Dragging and screaming
Down you go

They crawl and slither
Coming to see you
They burrow and hiss
Coming to meet you
They hunger and growl
Coming to eat you

Welcome truly
Our guest of honor

Let the feast begin.

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Lady Cyanide

Lady Cyanide
Poison delight
Lips that kill
Skin peeling
Cold stare
She’s a fright
Suicide desire
Destructive appetite
Touch the night
Killing softly
Painful sweetness
Razor feelings
Lady Cyanide
Damaged soul
Kindred slave
Purgatory
Between your legs
Burn it up
This fetid lust
Kiss kiss kiss
Tainted love
Rotten yearning
Lonely caress
Lady Cyanide
That filthy lie
Can’t quit
Fire it up
Cinder romance
Lick these ashes
Silence binds
Veiled wish
All is pardoned
One last time.

JPEG Attached

When he checked his cellphone’s inbox this morning, Johnson saw a file attached to a new message: a picture of him sleeping, dated from last night. The photo had been taken inside of his room. He looked peaceful, serene. Immediately below it a line of text, all written in uppercase: “I LOV THAT U DON’T MOVE WHEN I TOUCH UR FACE.” He lived alone.

Hair Down

Long ago, they say, there once was a fair maiden, whose shining black hair flowed from atop her crown past her soles below. Long it spread, far and wide, covering all the land; trees and rivers, mountains and valleys, every hovel of every village, every square of every city. Even their capital lay under its silk-smooth cover. Men, women, children and beasts were tangled in its supple touch. One by one they drifted into that sweet oblivion that is sleep. A scent of fresh flowers filled the air. Bliss, o bliss! Soon, the land was quiet under the endless mane. Now, she stands alone, amid a sea as black as a starless night; she combs it gently, slowly. A lover’s caress every night. Dreaming, yearning, of growing her hair just a little bit more. Just a bit more. A bit more. More. More. More.

Job Interview

“Hey, there you are!”

“Hey…”

“Sorry I’m late, but now I’m here, so…ta-daaa!”

“Yeah. You’re here.”

“Aw, c’mon. I’m not -that- late. Right?”

“…”

“I mean…ok, guess I am, but…you don’t need to get mad about it. Well, maybe a bit, but just a–”

“They didn’t hire me.”

“Oh? Oh, shit…I’m sorry. Damn. But you’re more than qualified for it!”

“I know. They made a point to mention how impressed they were at my resume, over the entire interview.”

“Ok, but did they at least give a reason? Anything?”

“They didn’t have to. From the moment I walked in there and made eye contact, I knew they’d dug up dirt on me. My little trip to the hospital.”

“Those assholes! Isn’t that shit, like, illegal or something?”

“Even if it was, I can’t prove they did it. I just smiled and thanked them for their time.”

“That fucking sucks so much, man. But hey, you always land on your feet, c’mon, I’ll buy you a beer!”

“What’s going on here? Who are you talking to?”

“Oh, sorry officer. I was just talking to myself…”

Coma

I can’t stand looking at you. Here you lie, unmoving. Untouched neither by the wind’s cool breath, nor the sun’s warm kiss. You’re no better than a flesh mannequin. Yet here I am still, tending to your every whim. An indentured slave…

Clara?

I hear you softly, from afar.

Where are you?!

Don’t leave me alone!

Please!

Remember the day we went up to the hill that overlooks our town? The one covered in poppies? You had gone far ahead and I called out to you. When you turned around, you looked so handsome, so dashing with your white cape and cane, walking among the red poppies. It was such a wonderful and sunny dat. Do you remember? No. Not anymore. You’re just an empty husk. A reliquary of my memories and regrets.

I’m still here!

I’m still me!

Can’t you hear me?!

Three long years to the day since your accident with the horse. I always told you how wild that grey stallion was, how it would have been best to just set free. But you never listened. Not when it really mattered. It’s funny… I had given myself a month to muster up the courage to tell you that I knew about your affair after I had found out, that it was over between us, that I was leaving you. But then your accident happened three days before the month ended. Now, I wither by your side.

I…

I did not meant for any of this to happen.

I suppose I deserve this, on some level. You were the handsome, rich, aristocrat gallivanting around town. Yes, dammit, your beauty caught my eye, your wit and charm tempted me. But it was how you lived the day-to-day what really enraptured me. So free, without care or worry from the judgement of others.

Clara…

But that was just a lie. Your money, your lands, your servants: these gave you leeway with others, but not really freedom. You were selfish, spoiled. And I became like you. Little by little, I drove everyone I cared about away, defending you. Should have known better. Well, now I know.

Yes…

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

Not that it will do us any good now. I dismissed the servants this morning and just took some pills that I bought a few days ago. I’m tired of watching over you, Clarence. If I’m going to be a living corpse, I might as w-well…become…well……ooooh.

Clara?

Clara?!

No!

I’m sorry!

I’m so sorry!

Oh God, let me out!

Let me out!

Don’t leave me!

I will get on my knees and beg forgiveness!

I love you!

LET ME OUT! 

LET ME OUT!