Tag: Grave
A New Page from the Book of Pat, verse 12:08:25
I say everything I’ve done, it’s all make believe. Pure work of fiction. Just nonsense I babble on about.
That’s because if I forget to say it ain’t so then some ass will come along and see the reality in what’s what… then I’ll get screwed again. Just like before.
I’ve been here many times. Sat in this very same mildew stained chair. Watched the cobwebs drift down to blow eroticly about with dust bunnies upon the floor. Fixated I am. I get off transfixed at the slow movement of my own decay.
Death doesn’t come easy for the insane.
Today’s extraordinarily special for me. Lucefer and the other angels have come by for a birthday party. Sadly I am the cake.
Long sensuous fingers peel back the flesh from about my eyes. Careful to avoid the layered muscles and most of the nerve clusters. Of course temptation being one of his weaknesses the devil makes sure to pluck a few strings. My mouth quivers in the ecstasy of the moment. Here the party trick of a forced smile isn’t lost upon the revelers. Skin stretches back bringing with it hair. And just like that the wrapping paper is undone.
I don’t scream though. Only the living scream, and everyone knows I have been dead for awhile. I’ve been dead for a very long while.
If it wasn’t for the guilt I believe I’d have quit playing this game of pretend sometime ago.
I ramble… I can’t help it. It came with the dieing. Someday you’ll understand what it’s like when random braincells flash their last gasping breath of memory, and somehow you’re supposed to put shit into some kind of rational order just to be understood. A few expletives would fit here. Feel free to choose your own. I won’t mind. I may learn a new word.
Let’s go back to the party.
Like a birthday cake nimble fingers make quick work of the frosting and beautifully rose shaped flowers. The sweet red cherry jubilee pulses in the open air. Its translucent strawberry gelatin shudders orgasmic from all the festive excitement of the party goers. I take a deep thought and point out to myself that even now at the end I never was much at being the life of the party.
A seething crock pot steams over rattling it’s lid. The noise of the gurgling almost too distracting to think. Pressure builds up from all those lame ass things I should have, could have, but didn’t. No regrets…
A white hot froth simmers up to a boil. Things buried tumble up from beneath. The vapor expelled casts a ghostly shade above it all.
The scene changes. Bloody hands claw out tearing loose the worm eaten cloth about me. A revenant fresh from the rapture, emotions clash with the truth. All will see things at the same instance in time.
I know the purpose of this calling. My seeing and dreaming of things in repetitive fashion. You wouldn’t understand. At least if you’re favored you won’t. So don’t be a nameless Lot’s wife and take an errant look back. What you would see following close behind is a horror that’s been promised since the beginning.
And I know you’re not ready to know what I mean.
Fading the Day
Walking away
Into shades of grey
Walking away
Light fades to night
I imagine you there
Never turning to see
Even as the horizon
Blends earth and sky
A dream was all we had
And now even that has been taken from us
Nothing is real
Not earth or sky
The nothing is real
Not you or I
Nothing I feel
Makes any sense
The nothing I feel
Brings back the light
I remember the days before
I remember the days before pouring through the breach from Saudi Arabia into Iraq.
Months sitting idle standing guard, repairing equipment, training over the same lessons.
The season changed but the looming doubt and fear never did. Each day built upon itself like the ever growing dunes that piled up at the tent flaps.
On occasion some other units would become fully activated and ready. The dynamics of our purpose would change. Tents would be pulled down, moved a few hundred miles, then once again assembled. Each time the burm would not be built up so high or as wide. Each trench dug a little shallower and shorter.
We knew. Soon those protections against the world would only be a hindrance in the final day before the breach.
Live or die, most were ready for what outcome there was to be.
You see, those enlightened few had already experienced death, that blissful adrenaline rush over the edge of reality, and now only moved by muscle memory. We knew what we were to do.
Kill and die, live or die, stand up, move again, rinse, repeat. Everyday was the same day. The only difference was the sand and dirt that piled up at the door.
Soon it will be time for those that don’t know to shake back your own tent flaps. Step out into the reality of an endless day, and fight a war you did not prepare for. Those people will believe in Hell that day…
And us devils who know will be there to show you the way.
On scraps of paper
That guy holding the gun
That guy isn’t me
That guy sitting alone
Slouching over in the back corner booth
No that guy isn’t me
Licking his lips
Remember the taste
Blackpowder and gun oil
Life going around
Tracing circles at the end of the trap line
Start to finish
When the Walls Close in
Sound
Reverberation
A high pitch mixing at the upper spectrum of a ringing chime
Sharp tones of metal on metal cutting away through bone and brain
Screams of pain changing over into images of lightening bolts and razor thin daggers
My eyes turn to liquidized jelly
They melt under the constant agony of pulses spuming forth from now empty sockets
The only escape is being walled into a casket six feet down insulated by the solid earth
Until the volume of gnashing and gnawing grows
Louder than before a chorus of beetles and worm devour flesh
In this one last sanctuary of hell the spirit unable to find release from the torment succumbs
At the Beginning of Each New Day
Along the waters edge where sand and ocean meet
The worlds first words are spoken
By the soft and whispering breeze
It speaks of the many kingdoms
and of ageless palaces carved of stone
All the chambers filled with musical laughter far below in the surging sea
The echoing ripples flowing
Splashing playfully upon the distant shores above
Alas the people of the land no longer remember the beauty
Nor can they walk the halls
Time since it has passed deep beneath a sea foam gray
Softly the wind summons back the memory
As the crabs solemnly standing guard lament
And flying high overhead seabirds call out a sullen praise
There at the waters edge where sand and ocean meet
Dreams of the Liche
I have been here before in life… a forgotten martyr of a desperate time. Now I lay concealed beneath these layers of dead skin, mummified cartilage and muscle.
The life giving waters have long ago fled back to the sea.
Left alone my corpse’s slow decay releases back my last breaths of air. Returning what little good it once kept trapped within.
Somewhere solemn words stand forgotten carved deep in weathered stone. “The Last”.
Birth shown without beginning. Death left unchiseled. Such a precious thing as life left blank.
Was it for convenience or from lack of concern.
The curious may one day find this bolt hole where I sit enthroned. Disturbing my promised eternities, foolishly attempting to pry from dead lips secrets of forgotten times.
Agelessly, lidless eyes watch for the coming day. Stiff bones growing impatient of the wait.
Silently I listen to the world just beyond wooden walls and marble stone. Remembered sounds echoing out inside the powdered dust that once was brain.
The constant intrusion of spider and moth from clay stained crevices. Pillows and tapestry they weave for me. Adorning my once vibrant pastels in a virgin bower of silken whites.
Dressed in such royalty all my court gather near.
The maddening chirp of the camel crickets add to the music of my ballroom. Beneath the chandeliers of glowworms the seething hoard claw away the grime leaving traced lines as forgotten mosaics.
Still I wait for you my love. Promises made in youth still bind. In death they hold more honest truth. In sickness an in health, for richer and for poor, let none separate what here has been joined, even upon death one should depart. In unity, what once was two, now man and woman be made whole.
False Promises Nouveau 