The Accused
Written: 8-7-10
Tonight sleep eludes me
Alone here in my cell
For on the coming morrow
I'm condemned to burn in Hell
Here I stand accused
Of sending out my spirit
I've testified I'm not a witch
But the court, they will not hear it
I have never flown on high
In the air upon a broom
I have never cast a spell
Or prayed for someone's doom
I know not of Satan
Any more than they
But they will not listen
To anything I say
These men of God have gathered
To witness false confessions
They accuse so many innocents
Of supposed demonic possession
Will God hear my prayers
And spare my humble life?
I am his faithful servant
And a devoted Christian wife
History will record this curse
They bring upon these lands
The blood of Salem Township
Will forever stain their hands
The good book says in great detail
There's a place in Hell for liars
Those who bear false witness
Are condemned to bathe in fire
When the rope is placed around my neck
Give my sons my love
Tell my husband not to fear
For I've no sins to speak of
I shall forgive as the Lord commands
For the dawn is finally here
I've made my peace and said my prayers
May the Lord assuage my fears
Between June 1692 and September 1693 in Essex, Suffolk and Middlesex counties in colonial Massachusetts, over 150 people were arrested and imprisoned, accused of “Witchcraft.” Collectively remembered as the Salem witch trials, 20 people were found guilty and executed.
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An evening with a monster
Written 10-24-22
At a movie theater in a small southern town, Frankenstein plays to a group of theater goers.
When the movie concludes, the patrons file out, leaving a little girl in front of the theater.
She is rooted with fear as dusk descends and is unable to walk home on her own.
As the sun further sinks to its hiding place, and shadows lengthen into dark, she cries more, unsure how to get out of her predicament, but sure that the screen monster will stalk her.
Just at that moment, the town sheriff sees her and asks what she's crying about.
She explains that she's afraid to walk home in the dark, omitting that she has just watched Frankenstein.
He enquires as to her address and direction she needs to go, then takes her little hand in his.
They walk the few blocks to her home in the dark and delivers her safely to her surprised mother.
The sheriff explains she was afraid to walk home in the dark, omitting that she had just watched Frankenstein.
The mother thanks him for his kindness and the sheriff disappears into the night, waiting for the next problem to solve.
The time is the late 1930s. The little girl is my grandma.
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Apartment 13
Written: 8-1-12
What's behind the door in apartment 13?
The smell of something rotten
And helpless, muffled cries
A dimly lit light bulb
And a million buzzing flies
Trash outside the door
And rats scurrying about
And the sound of someone struggling
Trying desperately to get out
I've heard that the tenant
Has never been seen
But no one knows for sure
Who lives in apartment 13?
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A Table For Two In Hell
Written: 6-10-05
For the times I wished
My enemies would drop dead
For the times I prayed
For a bullet in their head
For those that I deceived
With well spoken lies
For my indifference to the dead
Devoured by the flies
I've got a table reserved in Hell
For the times I've rejoiced
Over bullet ridden bodies
For the times I've lusted
Over street corner hotties
For the times I've laughed
At other peoples fears
For the times I've turned my back
On other peoples tears
I've got a table reserved in Hell
For the times I've thought,"Who cares?"
When starving people die
For the times I've said, "Give up"
"You shouldn't even try"
For the times I thought it good
When addicts bite the dust
For the times I didn't care
When I lost someones trust
I've got a table reserved in Hell
For the times I've doubted
That God really exists
For the times I thought it fine
To settle disputes with my fists
For the homeless people I've scoffed at
And left them disregarded
For the times I poked fun
At the sick and mentally retarded
I've got a table reserved in Hell
And it's right next to yours
_________________________________________________________
Balthazar Vermin
Written: 9-6-10
I once met a Vampire who went by the name of Balthazar Vermin
We sat a spell one Halloween night, warming ourselves by a fire, shootin’ the breeze and spinnin’ old yarns over a mason jar of homemade whiskey
He was born in old Virginia in 1757
He was a proud veteran of George Washington’s Continental Army during the Revolution
Until he had a run in with a wicked she-Vampire
Something vague about a woman scorned and what not
He lives in a coven in rural Tennessee
But he’s not like the others
They look down on him because he doesn’t follow the Vampire laws like they figure he’s supposed to
Sure, he drinks blood because he has to
But he prefers good Kentucky moonshine and a plug of chewin’ tobacco
He prefers tractor pulls and NASCAR over coffins and hearses
Beat up old trucks over beat down old cemeteries
He’s missing a tooth in front that he can spit tobacco juice out of and hit a fly with the utmost precision from 10 feet away
He has an old bloodhound he calls Banjo that follows him everywhere he goes
Balthazar Vermin is a Hillbilly Vampire
I asked him about Vampire lore, aversions to crucifixes, mirrors, garlic, and if he had supernatural powers and the like
He laughed and assured me he has no supernatural abilities to shape shift into a bat or a wolf, but surely wished he did.
He said it would come in handy more often than not
As for cemeteries, he’s not a big fan of them. They’re full of dead people, and dead people don’t make for very stimulatin’ company
He doesn’t care for crucifixes, as he never had much use for religion when he was alive
He hasn’t any use for garlic, but has nothing against it
He likes mirrors just fine. How else would Vampires comb their hair?
He said most Vampire lore is just bullshit, made up for the Hollywood movies
He said the one irritating thing that no one ever addresses is the severe halitosis that Vampires suffer from
Their breath smells like rot and decay from all the dried blood in between their teeth
Not to mention their insides are all sour
They are dead after all
_______________________________________________________
Bliss
Written: 8-26-16
Poor Monsters bride!
Resurrected from the dead by massive electrocution
Feeling faint and unsteady on her feet
That awful gown
Face all scarred
The worst bad hair day in history
And what’s in it for her?
No bride’s maids
An arranged marriage
By a deranged doctor
To a poorly dressed, hideous monster with a drinking problem and no manners
A smoker with an unreasonable aversion to fire and limited conversational skills
Not to mention he’s prone to occasional fits of murder and he expects her to live in his damp, moldy dungeon in wedded bliss
Naturally, she rejects his romantic advances and this unreasonable imposition on her pursuit of happiness
So he mumbles an incoherent threat and blows up the laboratory in a murder-suicide 10 minutes after he meets her
What a dick!
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Bloodstains
Written: 10-22-09
Bloodstains and animal brains
Splattered in the street
Entrails and little tails
Dragged for 20 feet
Bugs make their way
To the all day buffet
I don't think Fluffy
Is coming home today...
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Buckethead
Written: 4-18-11
Every night
Before he went to bed
The old man unscrewed
His old wrinkled head
He put it in a bucket
Of putrid, rusty water
And hid it in his closet
From his unsuspecting daughter
Then early one morning
We heard an awful shout
His daughter found the bucket
And threw the water out
The neighbors all gathered
And watched with horror and dread
While his body stumbled aimlessly
Looking for his head
“What have you done?”
Her fathers head exclaimed
“Throwing me so hard,
Could damage my old brain!”
“Oh Father!”, she cried
“Forgive me for this!”
“I found that putrid bucket,
And though it was your piss!”
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BUGS
Written: 8-2-10
For Diana
Bugs in the vents
Bugs in the drain
Bugs in my bed
Driving me insane
Bugs in the closets
Bugs in the kitchen
Eating my food
Without my permission
Bugs in the phone
Bugs in the halls
In the kids room
Behind their dolls
Bugs in the bathroom
Bugs in the garage
Following me around
Like a creepy entourage
Invading my home
Like unwanted guests
Hiding in the corners
Like filthy little pests
I hear them in the walls
Buzzing in their nest
While I lay in my bed
There is no quiet rest
Laying in the dark
Sweating with fear
Perhaps while I'm sleeping
They'll nest in my ear
Or drag me away
To their sickening hive
Becoming their feast
While I'm still alive
My home is now seething
With bugs in every space
I'll grab a few things
Then I'll leave this place
I think I hear them laughing
Their torture goes undaunted
A home without people
Is all they really wanted
________________________________________________________
Cemetery Sally
Written: 8-13-13
She hangs out in bone yards
And sleeps with the rats
She conjures the dead
And summons the bats
Her minions are zombies
Diseased and unclean
She has a tattoo
Of the number 13
Maggots for dinner
And frogs for a snack
She rides the night sky
On a winged demons back
She was spawned from a witch
And a redneck vampire
A pentagram baby
Born from Hell's fires
She's Cemetery Sally
The Satanic southern belle
She's the Halloween Queen
Who likes to raise hell
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Christmas Doll
Written: 12-14-11
(For Jayson)
Creepy little Christmas doll
With black beads for eyes
A mouth less mouth
And nose less nose
Carelessly thrown away and forgotten with the New Year
A discarded decoration
Dress torn
Hair matted with sticky Christmas candy
Face stained with tears of rejection
She crawls out of her snow covered garbage can tomb
And makes her way back to the attic
To her box of decorations
Where her surprised owners will swear they threw her out last Christmas
And the cycle will repeat…….
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Doomsday Clock
Written: 8-27-13
The Doomsday clock has struck 12
The Apocalypse begins now
All the warning signs were there
But they were ignored and dismissed
The clock shows 5 after 12
Society falls
Government has ceased
It’s every man for him self
The clock shows 10 minutes after 12
It’s the end of all we ever knew
And all we ever will
The future is illuminated by the light of burning cities
The clock shows 13 minutes after 12
Death reaps the harvest
There is no beast of Revelations
God and his angels are a no show
The clock no longer chimes
There is no on left to hear it
Forgotten forever
Just like all of us
A dead and bloated carcass
Floating out in space
Even the aliens
Won’t stop there any more
______________________________________________________
Equal In the Eyes of Death
Written: 4-19-05
Though we may be born in different times
And reared in different places
We could be rich or poor, young or old
We could be from different races
It doesn't matter if it's 1600
Or 1999
Through the ages we share a common thread
We're all being chased by time
Regardless of who you are
We're equals in the eyes of death
It surrounds us from the day we're born
Until we draw our final breath
Al Capone, Pope John Paul
The entire L.A. Laker's
Maybe even Death itself
Will someday meet their makers
You could die before you're born
Or live to a ripe old age
You could step off a curb in front of a bus
Or die by someone's rage
As for souls, I cannot say
I'm not sure where I'm goin'
You think you know and that's just fine
I'll save that for another poem
Death could be a hard transition
If you squandered it like a bum
Did you conduct your life with honor?
Or did you waste it being dumb?
The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out
Or so I've heard it sung
Bury My coffin upside down
So the world can kiss my bum
Just throw my rancid corpse
In a hole with bugs and slime
Erect a humble tombstone
And recite my silly rhymes
Or let my ashes ride
Upon a California breeze
Or float them to Hawaii
In the warm Pacific seas
What will they say when the Reaper comes
And I breath my final breath?
The Reaper won't take notice
Because we're equals in the eyes of death
________________________________________________________
Even Serial Killers Need a Vacation
Written: October 4,2009
Oh God!!
I need a vacation!
As if it weren't hard enough to find victims vulnerable enough to kidnap
Keeping them quiet long enough is no picnic either, especially when they put up a fight!
My neighbors are always snooping around and asking what that smell is coming from my house
I don't know how much longer I can keep them believing that I'm an amateur taxidermist
And this is not a cheap hobby either
It's not easy scrapping the money together to find just the right tools to cut through bone, stab, flay and disembowel people, not to mention I'm running out of room in my freezer
I'm constantly having to replace my clothes because blood doesn't wash out so easy
Between that and my full time job as a janitor at the high school, it's hard to find the time to keep up with burying the parts I don't need that go rotten
And don't even get me started about the immense guilt I have on a daily basis!
Oh, I know what I do is wrong and it's very stressful to me
I'm not one of those "crazy" serial killers that have no conscience
I'm better than they are!
I consider myself an artist and I really enjoy the art of murder
Murder is too an art!
Look at Hollywood
They make billions of dollars pumping out slasher and zombie flicks every year
But even artists need a break to recharge and find inspiration
Maybe someday they'll make a movie about me, but not if I don't get back on track!
Maybe I'll go to Hawaii, New York, Disney world, the Grand Canyon or Graceland
Maybe I should call my travel agent
Oh yeah. I don't have one any more. She was number 28
It's a lonely life I live
No one to share my life's work with
No one to admire it
No one who understands or appreciates how hard I work
Just vacant, glassy, bloodshot eyes staring back at me
Even serial killers need a vacation!
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Existential Head
Written: 5-5-15-23
Remove the hair
And reach into the head
Vacant eyes stare at me
With existential dread
Scoop up a handful
So moist and chewy
The center like caramel
So soft and gooey
I dropped some on the floor
And bent down to pick it up
But before I could reach it
It was eaten by my pup
Who knew that what came out
Could be so delicious?
My zombie head cookie jar
Started so inauspicious
____________________________________________________
I Am
Written: October 14,2005
I am your nightmare
I am your wet dream
I am everything and nothing as it seems
I am a shadow in the night
I am here to dim the light
I am your house divided
I am the uninvited
Am I your creation?
Am I real or just your imagination?
I am what you wish you were
I am welcomed and rejected
I am feared and respected
I am the bottle in your hand
I am the needle in your vein
I am the pipe you suck
I am the bullet in your chest
I am the cancer in your breast
I am here to sever ties
I am here to expose the lies
I am the instrument of your demise
I am waiting for your turn
And I am patient
Am I God?
Am I the Devil?
Who am I?
I am Death
And I am here for you
_________________________________________________________
I Dream of Halloween
Written: 9-24-12
I dream of zombies and hellhounds
And vampire bats
I dream of monsters and witches
And their little black cats
I dream of mummies that walk
Even though they’re dead
I dream of the headless horseman
With a pumpkin for a head
I dream of winged demons
And scary black lagoons
I dream of invisible men
And bright, full moons
I dream of dancing skeletons
And coffins full of spiders
I dream of old cemeteries
And warm apple cider
I dream of angry ghosts
And werewolves that howl
I dream of haunted houses
And psychos on the prowl
I dream of scary stories
With demented, haunting words
Like Edgar Allen Poe
And his creepy talking bird
I dream of falling leaves
And walking undead hoards
Of phantoms in haunted opera’s
Playing melancholy chords
I dream of candy corns
And creatures of the night
I dream of trick or treat
By the moons full light
I dream all night long
And every day in between
Of my favorite night of all
I dream of Halloween
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Facebook Werewolf
Written: 8-16-16
Werewolf dons his suit and tie
And sits at his desk
With an audible sigh
He checks his Facebook
And listens to tunes
And “likes” any posts
About dogs or the moon
_______________________________________________________
Family time
Written: 7-18-13
Graveyards are quiet
And lonely and sad
My mother lives in one
Right next to my dad
I dig them up quickly
And quietly in the night
I have them back home
Before dawn's full light
I sit them in the living room
And make them both some tea
I tell them all about
What's going on with me
They're not much for talking
But they always have a smile
We watch some T.V.
Then play games for awhile
I drive them back home
Our visit now complete
We discuss the next time
And decide when we'll meet
I place them in their coffins
And straighten Dad's tie
I fix Mom's dress
As I try not to cry
I lay them back to rest
Beneath the dirt and grime
You can't underestimate
The value of family time
The sun begins to peek
As I stop to have a rest
I look for Aunt Maggie's grave
And continue on my quest
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Ghost Soldiers
Written: 8-26-17
They appear in the twilight
Banners in the breeze
Some died from bullets
Some from disease
Marching in rows
Organized and straight
Out to meet their enemies
Marching to their fates
The phantom troops advance
While unseen cannon roar
They blaze away and boom
Their anthem of the war
Onward they march
These disembodied soldiers
An army of shadows
With muskets on their shoulders
They fight the same battle
Night after night
Until one by one
They disappear from sight
The ghost soldiers march
Until the rising dawn
For the rest of eternity
They all go marching on…
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Hope
Written: 3-12-20
Five years from now, we'll be two years into the zombie apocalypse, fighting for our lives, hoping to live another day to love each other until we have to fight off another rotting, stinking horde of the living dead or worse, the living, but it will be worth getting to see your beautiful, blood and tear stained face and surviving another day of hell to wake up next to you to share a stolen laugh, a quiet moment of intimacy or a bowl of acorn mush and some cold, left over squirrel and hoping against all hope that this ridiculous run on sentence will see a period.
_________________________________________________________
An Honest Monster
Written: 9-5-16
Monsters at least
Are honest
Unlike a politician
Who says one thing
Then does another
Monsters don’t lie
Unlike charismatic psychopaths
Who use their giant ego’s to manipulate their victims
Monsters have no egos
Or a need to manipulate
Unlike even a dog
Who can be friendly one moment
Then bite the next
Monsters always bite
You can always trust a monster to be just what they are
Honest and pure monsters
_________________________________________________________
Horrorscope
Written: Friday April 13th 2012 (No, really)
Don't go outside today. Call in sick. Cancer is in Uranus. There is a full moon out tonight, meaning werewolves will be on the prowl. Vampires will be lurking in every dark alley at sunset. Mars in your 7th house of ill repute. This means that you may be abducted by aliens if you haven't been already. Simplify your plans and channel your energies into making your home into a fortress against the lumbering hordes of zombies outside your door. You are unlucky in love, but since you have no real prospects expanding your social horizons anyway, you have nothing left to lose. Bury your emotions. There isn't any time to waste looking back in regret or wallowing in discouragement. There's work to do if you want to see another sunrise. You might as well resign yourself to processing your fears instead of avoiding them, because you can't escape easily. The stress factor is amplified because your instincts tell you to run while the situation holds your feet to the fire. If today is your birthday, tell your loved ones goodbye and kill yourself. If you live through the night, think about planting a garden tomorrow.
Today your unlucky numbers are 13 and 666
_________________________________________________________
Horrortown
Written: 8-27-10
Planning a vacation for the whole family has never been easier. Plan a unique getaway that your family will be talking about for years. Weather you're a Monster, a Vampire, a Witch, a serial killer or just an average Joe, we have vacation packages to fit every budget. So...
Come on down to Horrortown......
Where ruthless, psychotic, axe wielding, escaped lunatics stop at nothing to carry out their murderous agendas on unsuspecting hot girls in showers and their clueless, horny boyfriends!
Watch werewolves run free in the downtown are preying on children and the elderly!
Visit our world renown game ranch, where you could become the hunted!
If you like architecture, tour one of our many dilapidated Victorian era mansions that dot the city, each teeming with bugs the size of your fist, and angry, restless ghosts and decaying corpses!
Stay fit by running from hordes of ravenous flesh eating zombies or hike the many trails the surround the Bland Canyon. But watch out for our world famous, blood sucking Devil bats!
Take a short drive just outside city limits to the Hockaloogee Indain casino, where the stakes just might be your very life!
Enjoy great fishing in beautiful Piranha river.
Gorge yourself on great barbeque until the cows come home at Dirty Dan's Kill'Em and Grill 'Em BBQ pit. Meat so fresh, you can practically hear them squeal!
Getting around town is a snap with our award winning transportation. Let one of our Succubusses get you where you need to go!
Should the need arise (and it probably will), visit our world class Horrortown hospital, where the doctors produce out of control, mutating,atomic viruses and experiment with them on patients!
Rent a cottage on the banks of Acid lake. Relax and enjoy watching giant gators and swamp monsters battle for supremacy of the lake right from the comfort of your deck!
Please drive safely in Horrortown. You wouldn't want to tangle with our proud police force. They're all crooked, three eyeed, 400 pound, doughnut scarfing, mutant monster freaks!
If you're a creature of the night, then our night life is to die for!
Hang out all night with Vampires at the local blood bank. All you can drink for just $2.99!
Supernatural monsters invade the town, your thoughts and your dreams every night!
Come to the last surviving drive in theater in Devil's county, where every night is a triple creature feature!
Spend a quiet evening in Mike's Mortuary. Everyone is dying to get in!
Ladies! Enjoy a ghoul's night out at Horrortown's coolest hot spot, Peeping Tom's!
Gentlemen! Relax and spend a night in the Devil's Whorehouse!
Book your vacation to Horrortown today! The insane asylum always has room for one more guest! We're dying to have you!
Horrortown Chamber of Commerce
P.O. Box 666
Horrortown, 00666
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If Frankenstein's Monster Were Alive Today
Written: October 5,2006
If Frankenstein's monster were alive today...
He would sue the doctor for malpractice and a jury would award him millions
The doctor would blame it all on the pharmaceutical companies and plead not guilty by reason of insanity
He would enter some kind of rehabilitation program
Congress would enact new laws prohibiting mad scientists from constructing humans from the dead tissue of other humans and regulating the use of lightning for scientific research
The monster would change his name to Steve or Ron and Oprah would have him on the show to tell his story
Dr. Phil would get to the bottom of his abandonment issues
How his heart is filled with rage because his daddy doesn't love him
The monster would cry and the audience would cry with him
He would work for charities to raise awareness about monsters, or as he prefers to call them, "Reanimated Tissue People" or RTP's
He would run for mayor of a small town to show other RTP's that you can do anything you set your mind to
He would write a best selling book entitled," I Am Not A Monster"
He would go on Larry King Live and Larry would ask the "tough questions"
A made for TV movie about his life would draw the highest ratings in TV history
His Halloween mask would be the must have costume for several seasons
By day he would bask in the glory of his new found celebrity, but he would spend his nights alone, grunting and moaning in an alcohol soaked stupor trying to drown the monster inside of him
He would drive drunk and crash his car into a pole on Sunset boulevard and suffer serious injuries
But with a face like that, who could tell?
Time magazine would have his police mug shot on the cover with the caption, "Man or Monster"?
He would go to the Betty Ford clinic and emerge humbled
Maybe he would have plastic surgery to make himself feel better
He would go on Barbara Walters and apologize and tell the public, "I am a man, not a monster"!
He would wisely invest his riches and marry a hot former playboy center fold
His 15 minutes of fame would come and go like the flash of lightning that brought him into being
He would die in relative obscurity
Despite his philanthropic work, a best selling book, a made for TV movie, a popular Halloween mask, raising millions of dollars for Reanimated Tissue People, schools and plastic surgery hospitals named for him, dozens of Steve or Ron Frankenstein scholarships for underprivileged inner city youths
Obituaries the world over will remember him simply as "the monster"
R.I.P.
________________________________________________________
I Live In Constant Fear
Written: 5-16-08
What's that sound coming from the trees?
Is it a bird, a deer or a cool morning breeze?
It is, I fear, none of these....
For only one thing I know makes a sound like that
It is an army of zombies, come to attack!
I LIVE IN CONSTANT FEAR....
_________________________________________________________
Invisible Progress
Written: 8-16-16
The Invisible Man stood on his bathroom scale
To check the progress of his diet
His progress was good
But when he looked down
He still couldn’t see his feet
______________________________________________________
The Itch
Written: 8-21-09
It started with two small, modest bumps on the back of my leg, followed by a slight redness that enveloped the bumps
A mild irritation was felt that was easily soothed with a gentle rubbing of the area with my fingertips
As the day grew hotter and a little more humid, the mild irritation became an itch, soothed by a gentle scratching of the bumps with my finger nails
The mild irritation that became an itch turned into a major irritation not so easily soothed by my fingernails.
Scratching this itch quickly becomes a ten minute exercise in futility until my entire leg is bright red.
The bumps begin to show signs of several layers of skin being scrapped away.
Tiny flecks of blood begin to come to the surface.
The itch is more than can bear, but what to do?
I jump in the shower to run some cool water on my now throbbing and very slightly bleeding leg.
That seems to provide some relief, so I go to bed.
Not long after, that familiar burn returns.
My leg is hot. No, it's on fire!
I am scratching an itch that feels as if it goes to the bone.
I get out of bed and make my way down stairs, scratching my leg on anything I think might relieve the itch.
The carpet, the banister, pictures of the kids, whatever.
I get a knife from the kitchen drawer and scratch furiously for 15 minutes until I stop noticing that I am using the blunt side of the knife and I am bleeding profusely.
Still no relief and now I am positive that the itch is going straight down to the bone, maybe even to my very soul.
The itch is boring a hole straight to my brain.
I can't take it any more.
Me and sanity are no longer friends.
I go to the garage leaving a trail of blood along the way.
I start scratching with drill bits, nails, pieces of scrap wood, "Hey! A hack saw!"
By now I am losing so much blood, I am feeling light headed, but still no relief from these two little modest bumps.
I slap a fresh battery into my reciprocating saw and start right above the bumps.
Flesh, muscle, arteries and bone become no barrier to getting relief from this infernal itch.
"Hey! Blood really does squirt all over like it does in the movies!"
And then...Ah yes... There it is.... It doesn't itch any more
I lay in a pool of blood on the garage floor surrounded by drill bits, nails, my hacksaw and pieces of scrap wood.
My vision growing dim, dimmer, black.
But it doesn't itch any more
Sweet, sweet relief...
________________________________________________________
I tried to warn you
Written: 10-20-11
I won’t bore you with stories of cemeteries at night
Of humdrum ghosts and the decrepit old mansions they haunt
I won’t bum you out with monotonous tales of the walking dead
Or hundred year old Vampires on the hunt to feed off an unsuspecting victim
Or silly man-dogs baying at the moon
You have no time for stories of cackling old hags in pointy hats riding on brooms
Or some escaped mutant monster from an atomic experiment gone horribly wrong
As it is, you roll your eyes and sigh at the mention of a mad scientist
You already said if I mentioned any of these things again, you’d scream
That’s fine. But now that you’re being chased through an old haunted mansion full of ghosts next to a cemetery at night by a horde of walking dead and vampires and werewolves and an escaped atomic mutant monster, do you believe me now? What’s that? I can’t hear you over the coven of cackling witches laughing at your predicament. You’re breaking up. Oh well, I tried to warn you.
_________________________________________________________
Jason’s Lament
Written: 8-5-10
Now you listen to me Rita!
I appreciate all you’ve done for me, but as my agent, you owe me this
I know George Clooney is being considered for this role, but I have given the best 30 years of my life to this industry and it owes me too
You say fans expect me in certain roles and they don’t want to see me in a romantic comedy
What have I been doing for the last 20 years but making comedies, Rita?
Jason in space? Do I look like a Goddamn astronaut to you?
Freddy would never say this to your face, but he was just as disappointed with Freddy vs. Jason as I was
You said it would be the ultimate slasher bromance. It stunk, Rita!
What’s next? Abbot and Costello meet Jason?
I appreciate the fans, but let’s not forget it’s the fans that have type cast me
Every time the screenwriters kill me off, I think, “Great! Now maybe I can try something on Broadway”
Maybe DJ in some clubs for fun
Then you negotiate a higher salary for the next piece of crap slasher, making it difficult to say no
Well this time I’m putting my machete down!
Can’t you even get me spot on Dancing with the Stars?
I mean, have you seen some of the celebrity hacks they get on there?
Not even a guest spot on Law and Order?
It’s time to expand my resume to include some more high profile roles; How about a musical? Have you ever heard me sing?
You know, I took this part when I was young and I had only been in Hollywood a few weeks.
I needed the money and I was excited about being in a “Big Hollywood Production”
If I had known I would be wearing a hockey mask for the next 30 years, I would have passed on it Rita!
I have a daughter who is older than the kids I kill in these movies!
Half the time I can’t even find my hockey mask because my son borrows it to play hockey!
Kevin Bacon was in the first movie and he’s gone on to pretty lucrative career
When does Jason Voorhees get his moment in the sun?
I had lunch with Michael Myers at Spago last week and I poured my heart out to him like I am to you now
You know what he said Rita?
Absolutely nothing! His silence spoke volumes and we share the same pain
I wouldn’t be surprised if he moves back to Haddonfield
Leatherface already went back to his ranch in Texas. Freddy is working with kids
I can’t wait for the day when I can wash the blood from this crummy, unforgiving town and retire to Camp Crystal Lake
I mean, I’m in great shape, but how much longer am I supposed to still be young enough to hurl an axe with robotic precision across a room?
I’ll be fifty years old next month for Christ’s sakes!
You can’t possibly have any idea how hard it is for an angry, hockey mask wearing, machete wielding, psychotic, serial killer to pretend he’s an actor portraying an angry, hockey mask wearing, machete wielding, psychotic, serial killer
I’ve learned to manage a lot of my anger, but I can only take so much of this crap before the bodies start piling up
My therapist says this lifestyle isn’t conducive for my mental well being
Rita, how can you just lay there and say nothing?
Don’t look at me with those glazed over eyes!
Dammit Rita, say something!!!
_________________________________________________________
Kill the Light
Written: 8-25-17
Close my lid
And kill the light
The sun burns my skin
And blinds my sight
The moon is my master
And I am its slave
It beckons me at dusk
To rise from my grave
To plunder the night
In search of easy victims
To drain all their blood
And quench my vulgar symptoms
The sun peeks out
And murders the night
Now close my lid
And kill the light
_________________________________________________________
The Legend of Diabolical Debbie and Anti-Christ Alice
Written: 8-16-13
Diabolical Debbie
And Anti-Christ Alice
One girl from Detroit
The other from Dallas
Everywhere they went
They painted the town red
With the blood of their lovers
They left a trail of dead
They lived on the run
And did as they pleased
Like a Satanic version
Of Thelma and Louise
They went to Atlanta
And declared total war
They burned it down again
Like in 1864
They conquered Chicago
Then Memphis fell next
Even Sacramento
Fell under their hex
They partied down in Phoenix
And many other towns
Reduced them all to ashes
And smoking little mounds
Were they sent by the Devil?
There was much speculation
One thing was for sure
They were not of God's creation
Nothing seemed to satiate
Their appalling appetite
To party all day long
And murder every night
They even killed
The writer of this tale
Which is why the final verse
Doesn't rhyme
_________________________________________________________
The Makeup Man
Written 8-22-16
Old Boris Karloff
Sitting in his chair
While Jack Pierce does
His makeup and hair
No doctors or lightning
Making gruesome scars
Just the makeup man
Transforming the star
_________________________________________________________
The Money Man
Written: 3-11-11
Traffic is stopped
Police lights up ahead
Creep by slowly and crane your neck to see
Sheet covered bodies on the side of the road
Death has visited our little town today
And the ambulance company, the tow truck, the hospital, the newspaper and the morgue will all make money
_________________________________________________________
A Monsters Dream
Written: September 3, 2005
What do monsters dream
When they lay their heads to sleep?
Do they dream about the next person
They will stalk and eat?
Do they dream about the cities
They'll smash and destroy?
Is causing mass panic
Something they enjoy?
Do they dream about the girl
They'll steal away to their lair?
Do monsters like good dreams
Or do they like nightmares?
Do they dream of colossal battles
With monsters they can fight?
Do they dream of transforming
By the moons full light?
Do they dream of a bride
That will have them for who they are?
Who will see past the fur or scales
Or monstrously gruesome scars?
Do they dream of open windows
That they can fly into at night?
So they can suck all your blood
Then disappear from sight?
Do they dream of Halloween
And the autumns chilly chills?
Do they dream of agents
And book and movie deals?
When monsters go to bed
Where do they go?
Maybe right next door
I hope I never know
_________________________________________________________
My sun fails to rise
Written : 8-30-12
The disease has settled in
It's rotting away my very skin
My fingers and hands crack open and bleed
As the virus within continues to feed
It's much too late for self amputation
Not that I could focus while under sedation
Don't feel bad, I'm too late to save
As it stands now, my feet are in the grave
My arms rot off, then fingers and toes
My legs go next and then my nose
My jaw falls off so there's nothing left to say
My hair falls out then my head rolls away
It was a matter of time before I fell apart
Just scoop up my pieces and put them in a cart
Or if you like you can toss them in a bag
And clean up what's left with a sponge or a rag
Send out an email or pick up the phone
Tell them all I'm gone, I was only on loan
As I am now, you will one day be
Rich or poor, Death always collects his fee
I'm food for worms and attracting the flies
Today was my last as my sun fails to rise
_________________________________________________________
Pieces of Elizabeth - An ode to the Black Dahlia
Written: October 8, 2009
Impressionable young girl
With stars in her eyes
Went west from Boston
To chase some giddy lies
Like a thousand girls before her
She headed to Hollywood
She became more famous
Than she ever thought she could
She came looking as they do
For a job and a thrill
Hollywood will screw you, they say
When no one else will
In a grassy vacant lot
On a January day
At 39th and Norton
In the city of L.A.
Another transient victim
Another shocking death
But this one had a name
It was Elizabeth
How did she arrive
To meet such a fate?
Why was her murderer
Filled with so much hate?
Whatever his motive
He had something to say
To pose her for the world
And put her on display
Both legs were broken
Right about the knee
Burn marks on her breasts
For everyone to see
Her internal organs missing
And gashes most obscene
Her mouth cut ear to ear
Like a pumpkin on Halloween
Her teeth were all broken
Her face and nose were smashed
She was discarded in the night
Like someone's dirty trash
The worst thing of all I think
On the morning she was found
Was her naked body cut in half
On the dew covered ground
Was the killer a drifter?
Some nameless homeless bum?
Did he torture her for days?
Liquored up on rum?
Maybe he was distinguished
Prosperous and rich
Who ever the animal was
He was an evil son of a bitch
Could it have been a doctor?
Or some other medical pro?
Elizabeth can't answer
So the world will never know
Who failed to provide
This young girl's basic needs?
It's too late now to ask
When she's lying in the weeds
She was no perfect angel
But didn't deserve this slaughter
She was someone's pretty sister
She was someone's troubled daughter
An unfortunate situation
To get into such a spot
One she couldn't get out of
In that cold and vacant lot
Like a thousand girls before her
She headed to Hollywood
She became more famous
Than she ever thought she would
_________________________________________________________
Poe
Written: 9-28-13
On a leafy perch the raven stands
To peer down upon a sickly man
Distressed, depraved, deranged and aimless
Despondent, distraught, haggard and nameless
A melancholy life forever spent in pain
Ridiculed and often called insane
Condemned, derided and misunderstood
A difficult life beginning with childhood
Delirious in the street with clothing not his own
How he got there isn’t exactly known
Disheveled hair and worn out straw hat
A dirty old shirt with no vest or cravat
Confined to a hospital with prison like bars
Cut off from his friends and the world at large
Calling out a name that no one seemed to know
The incoherent ravings of Edgar Allen Poe
A delusional request for his long deceased wife
Praying for an end to his tortured mind and life
“Lord help my poor soul,” his final words were sighed
October 7th, 1849, the sickly poet died
A simple funeral attended by a few
No sermon was given, in minutes it was through
A cheap wooden coffin, rough and unrefined
No one seemed to care or think that he would mind
A legend gone, a legacy recorded
The “truths” about him all have been distorted
His enemies spread lies that seemed to last forever
A teller of tales was his only passionate endeavor
The raven stands guard from the safety of his tree
And provides a short but fitting eulogy
On a gloomy fall day in old Baltimore
The raven exclaims of Poe that he is “Nevermore”
Only this and nothing more
_____________________________________________________
Praying for the Dawn
Written: 7-31-10
The sun is almost down, the fog rolling in
The moon will rise and mock me from the safety of its celestial perch
The creatures of the night will screech, scream and hoot their ugly nocturnal symphonies
The vampires will awaken from their earthly graves
The undead will shuffle from the woods behind my house
The werewolves will howl to signal the beginning of the night's festivities
The hounds of Hell will sniff around my porch and mark their territory
I will be waiting quietly in the dark
Waiting for some or all of them to get into my house
Praying I live to see another day
Praying for the dawn
_________________________________________________________
Pumpkinstein
Written: 10-10-10
Jack O’Lantern
Shining bright
On my porch
Through out the night
A silent voyeur
On the scene
Keeping watch
On Halloween
Glowing eyes
And toothy grin
Triangle nose
And orange skin
I carved his face
With a rusty knife
A Pumpkinstein
That I brought to life
He could have been stew
Or maybe a pie
When his candle has expired
He’ll simply rot and die
________________________________________________________
Rated R for Gore and Violence
Written: 6-12-21
To the vociferous voices
Arguing in my head
Please shut up now
It’s time for bed
The lights are out
My head hits the pillow
As my body relaxes
Like a sad weeping willow
I try to argue back
But it never does any good
Like trying to reason pointlessly
With a petrified piece of wood
The voices say to murder
Even though I know it’s wrong
I know I’ll lose eventually
The voices are too strong
They make me do their bidding
And bend me to their will
There’s no way I can stop it
Until they’ve had their fill
My doctor nods his head
My therapist thinks I’m crazy
My life is more insane
Than a movie by Scorsese
I don’t know what I’ve done
Until my work has been completed
Like my mind is not my own
And time has been deleted
The police are at my door
To ask me a few questions
I readily consent
To their polite interventions
But woe to their souls
The voice again commands
I slip into my trance
And submit to their demands
I’m hoping for a day
When things will be better
But until that day arrives
I’m just their weeping debtor!
______________________________________________________________________________
Rattling Bones
Written: 9-5-10
This morning, I awoke
To the sound of rattling bones
What melancholy music
And exquisite graveyard tones
A symphony of skeletons
Cavorting on my lawn
A cemetery serenade
To sound the coming dawn
_________________________________________________________
The Ravine
Written: 8-10-10
The old people say
that the ravine used to be beautiful
It was full of fragrant flowers that called to butterflies
and had a small stream running through it
that the children used to play and splash in
That was before the outbreak
They had nowhere else to put the infected bodies
so they filled up the ravine
Now it is full of disease and rotting flesh
and a putrid stench that calls only to the flies and vermin
and the water is poisoned
_________________________________________________________
Reverse Werewolf
Written: 10-1-17
Most days, Banjo is just a dog
Like any family pet
Barks at squirrels
Chases tennis balls
Roams the woods
Licks himself
Feels bad when his family scolds him for pooping on the carpet
But every full moon
He transforms into a human
He doesn’t know how or when or why it happened
But it happens
Maybe a Gypsy’s curse gone awry
Or a witches spell incanted backwards
He sneaks into his master’s bedroom
And borrows some clothes
Steals some money
And enjoys a night on the town
Using his opposable thumbs
And bathrooms
And roller skates
And taxi’s
Walking on 2 legs
Going to the grocery store and staring at the meat shelves a little too long
Stocking up on dog treats
By dawn, he’s back home
Snug in his dog bed
With no one the wiser
Except for his family
Wondering where the hell all these dog treats came from
_________________________________________________________
Satan’s sickening nursery rhymes
Re-imagined nursery rhymes for sickening times
Twinkle, Twinkle Pentagram
Twinkle, twinkle
Pentagram
Looking for the Son of Sam
Just a lonely, crazy guy
Hunt for victims
Make them die
Twinkle, twinkle
Pentagram
Try to catch me if you can
Little Bo Peep
Little Bo Peep
Has lost her sheep
So off she went to find them
But werewolves found her
Along with the sheep
And left her bones behind them
Little Miss Muffet
Little Miss Muffet
Sat on her tuffet
Keeping vampires at bay
With garlic and mirrors
She played on their fears
And scared the vampires away
Jack and Jill
Jack and Jill went up the hill
To hunt for the living dead
Jack came back
But Jill was nil
With a bullet hole in her head
Old Mother Hubbard
Old Mother Hubbard
Went to her cupboard
Looking to cast a spell
She called on the Devil
And asked for his help
To send her accusers to Hell
Little Jack Horner
Little Jack Horner
Sat in a corner
Trying hard not to cry
He pulled out a gun
And aimed for his mum
And said,”Now all you zombies will die”
Humpty Dumpty
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Conjuring demons
One gloomy fall
All the kings men
And all the kings horses
Became part of Satan’s
Conquering forces
There was an old woman
There was an old woman
Who lived in a shoe
Sad and depressed
With nothing to do
Her children all left her
Her husband was dead
She loaded her gun
Then blew off her head
Wee Willie Winkie
Wee Willie Winkie
Runs through the town
Warning the people
That werewolves abound
But no one believed him
So left him to die
Eaten he was
The poor little guy
Hey diddle, diddle
Hey diddle, diddle
The cat played his fiddle
A Devil may care little tune
The old Witch laughed
To see her spell work
And away she went on her broom
Little boy blue
Little boy blue
Come blow your horn
There’s zombies in the meadow
And children in the corn
The town is in chaos
And descends into violence
‘Til everyone is dead
And the streets are in silence
_________________________________________________________
Rise of the Pumpkins
Written: 10-3-15
October is here
The pumpkins lie still
Until Halloween
They rise up and kill
They gather by thousands
Unified but mute
To terrorize the town
And harvest human fruit
Like orange bowling balls
Rolling down the street
Some using vines
In place of legs and feet
They search for human prey
These bloodthirsty squash
Terrorizing the populace
And causing chaos
Off with their heads
The pumpkins show no pity
Grotesquely carved faces
Decorate the city
But one group held out
Against the pumpkins test
They barricaded themselves
At 106 West
The pumpkins gathered round
And silently made a decision
They hurled themselves through windows
In a Kamikaze style mission
But the people held out
And watched the pumpkins die
They gathered up the pieces
And made them into pie
Halloween is over
And the people have won
The great pumpkin rebellion
Is over and done
No one ever knew
How the pumpkins came to life
Were they tired of being picked
And carved with a knife?
Some said the Government
Leaked radioactive bins
While others said that God himself
Was punishing our sins
History won’t record
The pumpkins evil deeds
Patiently they wait
And plant their demon seeds
_________________________________________________________
Shackled to a corpse
Written: 10-12-11
As I lay dying in the bed of rotten decay
Waiting for the giver of oblivion to whisk me away to eternity
Scenes from my li in my dulled mind like lighting bugs on a June night
I lift a mirror one last time
Hair matted
A pale skeleton thin face staring back at me
Unrecognizable even to myself
Limbs withering
The spark of life gone from my hollow, yellow eyes
A ship wreck in human form
I am already dead
But some forgot to tell me
My body is shutting down, but my mind has enough spark left to know
It screams, but my throat fails it's command
I am shackled to a corpse
And it is dragging me all the way to extinction
_________________________________________________________
Someone is at the door
Written: 8-16-16
As I write this short verse
About apocalypse and death
I find myself suddenly
Very short of breath
I slump over the couch
And onto the floor
And I realize that death
Is always at the......
_________________________________________________________
The sound of your decay
Written: 5-31-21
I'm rooting for you, kid
Even though you deserve to die
It's not enough that you moved into a house that everyone warned you about
Or that you took a shower in an abandoned cabin in the woods
What could go wrong?
I'm rooting for you, kid
Even though you called down to the basement after hearing a bump in the night
It's not enough that you killed the killer
Then poked him to make sure he was really dead
And how many times can you trip and fall?
Running down a dark road at night
Or hiding in blatantly obvious places is never a good idea
It's like you've never even seen a horror movie in your life
I'm rooting for you, kid
Even though you deserve to die
________________________________________________________________________
Stacked
Written: 7-20-10
When the infection began
And millions quickly died
It soon came to light
That the Government lied
Bodies lay in piles
Littering the streets
Devoured by flies
And other urban beasts
Some stacked the bodies
10 or 12 high
Then lit the fires
And stood there and cried
Those who were left
Said their goodbye's
Then walked away desperate
In search of supplies
But it was cold outside
And supplies were few
They all looked around
What could they do?
Some stacked the bodies
10 or 12 high
And lit the fires
To keep warm and dry
Those who were left
Said their goodbye's
Then walked away hungry
In search of supplies
Their stomachs were growling
And the stores were all bare
Their hopelessness growing
Into utter despair
The dogs have been eaten
And so have the cats
What I wouldn't give
For a barbequed rat
So they thought the unthinkable
With fear in their eyes
It's better that suffering
An uncertain demise
So they stacked the bodies
10 or 12 high
And lit the fires
And ate to stay alive
Those who were left
Said their goodbyes
Then walked away ashamed
In search of supplies
They thought if they cooked it
The virus would burn
But the virus mutated
And most of them turned
Writhing in pain
And gasping for breath
Some things are worse
Than an uncertain death
All of them rose
After they died
The ones who were left
Had nowhere to hide
They lay there helpless
And watched the dead rise
As the zombies devoured them
Like a burger and fries
So everyone left
But said no goodbyes
Just undead moans
And undead sighs
No one stacked the bodies
10 or 12 high
They just shuffled off
In search of supplies
_________________________________________________________
Suicide Note from a distraught Jack O’ Lantern
Written: 10-22-10
To whom it may concern:
I can’t take it anymore
I hate my job
I’m burnt out
My wife has shriveled away
My little pumpkins have all grown and left the patch
I don’t have the guts to go on
I feel hollow, just a shell of my former self
It’s time for me to roll
Goodbye cruel world…
Love,
Jack
10-31-10
P.S. – Donate my remains to a bakery
_________________________________________________________
There she sits (Basement Betty)
Written 8-10-13
I wouldn't say I'm a superstitious person
But the older I get, my fears seem to worsen
Because some things in life you can never seem to shed
Like things I can't see but always seem to dread
I go down to the basement and turn on all the lights
I hum a nervous tune and never look to my right
Every time I go, I know that she's there
Her dead eyes fixed in an icy cold stare
I swear to God I can hear her whisper
Telling me she knows that I still miss her
Even though it's true and I know that she's right
It doesn't help suppress my fear of this night
She was my aunt Betty and means me no harm
But still I run and scream the alarm
All my forgotten childhood fears
No flow free in a river of tears
I run up the stairs and slam the door behind me
This ghost in my home has come to remind me
That this is for real and not just a dream
That all that I know is not as it seems
Some ghosts are kind but others just hate us
They laugh and remind us of the hell that awaits us
My heart is pounding and I'm drowning in sweat
I'm helpless to vanquish the phantasmal threat
She always appears with daylights fading
With melancholy sadness she sits there waiting
The fact is it's true and I cannot deny
You think I'm insane and say it's a lie
It's more of a fact than I care to admit
Because alone in the dark, there she sits...
_________________________________________________________
Unemployable
Written: 8-16-16
Zombie looks for work
To support his addiction
But no one will hire
Due to his affliction
With no verbal skills
His search is in vain
The only skills he has
Is eating human brains
________________________________________________________
Trading shadows
Written: 8-8-13
A zombie man
A zombie woman
Both reach into the cavity for a choice organ
Hands touch
Eyes meet
Neurons spark faintly
Dormant memories awaken
She holding a man's hand on a beach
He laying in bed next to a woman
A lamentable moan emanates from gravely throats
Neurons die
Memories recede to oblivion
Return to their slab of ribs
_________________________________________________________
A turntable fabricates hope during the apocalypse in 3 parts
Written: 10-1-22
I
In the waning days of the apocalypse, a lone zombie shambles, (as we know they do), down deserted alleys, through broken glass, past buildings pock marked with the terrors of war.
Hoping for an opportunistic meal of blood and viscera to keep him going one more day.
II
Off in the distance, a scratchy punk record revolves on a still living turntable.
It’s raw sounds gliding on the fall breeze, sparking a few lone neurons in the zombie’s decaying brain. Reminding it, if only faintly and briefly of a life it once knew.
It recognizes the song. The pounding drums, the buzz of guitar, the snotty singers raw, angry rant about something political.
It shambles towards its melodious savior, past shattered windows, under streetlights no longer working.
Its once bright green mohawk faded and matted to the side of its maggot encrusted head. An Exploited T shirt rotten and falling apart.
III
It shambles closer to the music, as it rounds a corner. There on the 4th floor. A light still burns. The record still turns.
A head emerges in the window. It yells something it can no longer comprehend. A loud blast.
The left side of the zombie’s head explodes in blood and decaying brain matter all over the wall behind it.
As it slumps against the wall, the last few seconds of its life ebbing away quickly, it can hear the punk rock song lull it off to black eternity...
“I use the enemy, I use anarchy” …
_________________________________________________________________________________
A Vampires Lament
Written: January 15, 2009
Where are you God?
Can you not see?
Please look down
And take pity on me
I hate this cursed life
I myself didn't choose
To drink the blood of humans
Is a life I would refuse
Am I still your son?
Or have you consigned me to fire?
An immortal for the ages
An undead Vampire!
Never again will I feel
The suns warming rays
A child of the moon
Until the end of days
Every night I hunt
And every night I feast
I stalk my prey slowly
Like a wild city beast
I must murder to live
A most detestable crime
To take a life so sweet
And snuff it in its prime
Society calls us a myth
If only they really knew
A legend we are not, my friend
But we are so very few
You'll never know we're there
Until it's too late to see
And Death takes you swiftly
To meet your destiny
It's almost dawn
Time for me to sleep
Among the bones and worms
To the grave I now creep
I will cease my lament
Though there's more to be said
This is my fate, however much I hate
That I am the living dead!
_________________________________________________________
The Victim Gets Revenge
Written: October 10, 2004
The story goes like this...
A man full of hate
From a life of abuse
Gets in his car
And he's on the loose
He goes on a six month
Murderous binge
But he makes one mistake
Because his mind is unhinged
A rip in the fabric
Of his warped DNA
His eyes see nothing
But revenge and blood and pain
He killed another victim
But she wasn't really dead
She ran down the street
Crying as she bled
Exhausted and broken
And waiting to die
The moons crescent smile
Mocks her from the sky
The manhunt was on
With a description from the victim
A shoot out ensued
But the cops only nicked him
They took him to jail
Amidst a speculating press
A search through his house
Revealed the gruesome mess
Uncovered from his kitchen
Were things you wouldn't believe
I can't begin to tell you
On this chilly Hallow's Eve
The bodies were uncovered
From beneath the hardwood floor
The rest will make you sick
So I cannot say anymore
The trial commenced
But his lawyers cut a deal
His sentenced was reduced
More hidden bodies revealed
But what about our victim?
The one who narrowly escaped
The one who was stabbed
And viciously, brutally raped?
A rip in the fabric
Of her victimized brain
Her eyes see nothing
But revenge and blood and pain
She hid a gun on her person
So the news report said
She followed him to court
And shot him in the head
I feel sorry for this girl
Her mind became unhinged
But this story has a happy end....
Because the victim gets revenge
_________________________________________________________
Witch Heads
Written: 8-9-14
Witch Heads!
Witch Heads!
Two for a nickle
Tastes like chicken
Crunch like a pickle
Witch Heads!
Witch Heads!
Eat 'em on a stick
But not too many
'Cause you might get sick
Witch Heads!
Witch Heads!
Have them for a snack
Throw them away
When they start to turn black
Witch Heads!
Witch Heads!
Decorate the lawn
Get 'em now
They're almost gone
Witch Heads!
Witch Heads!
The church says it's fine
You have yours
And I have mine
Witch Heads!
Witch Heads!
What a good deal
Let's have Witch Head's
With every meal!
__________________________________________________________________
You won’t be laughing when you’re running for your life
Written: 3-30-11
You laugh at me
You mock me
You humor me
You scoff at me when I mention a zombie apocalypse
But you won’t be laughing when you’re running for your life!
You won’t be mocking me when zombies are eating your wife
You are only endangering your self by being unprepared
You won’t scoff when the undead are trying to break down your front door to get to your children
You won’t be laughing when you take stock of everything you lost and realize that there is no God
Will you still be laughing when you realize I was right all along?
_______________________________________________________
You’re Not a Vampire
Written: 10-19-11
You work the night shift
And have a graveyard tan
You’re thinking about getting a real coffin to sleep in
But you’re not a vampire
You’ve read every Twilight book twice
And never miss an episode of True Blood
Your girlfriend is a hot Goth chick named Mina
But you’re not a vampire
You write dark poetry about cemeteries
And have a tattoo of Bela Lugosi
And a poster of Interview with a Vampire
But you're not a vampire
You have an appointment next week to get your eye teeth sharpened into fangs
You hang out in dark clubs on weekends with other “Vampires”
But you pass out at the sight of blood
Because you're not a vampire
_________________________________________________________
Zombie Nation
Written: April 13, 2005
The alarm went off
And I opened up my eyes
Feeling for the snooze button
Under red November skies
I turned on the T.V.
To get my local news
Nothing that surprised me
But today I am confused
Destruction I expect
Along with social unrest
But why are these malcontents
Eating raw human flesh?
The emergency broadcast
Is now on every station
I open up my door
And find a Zombie Nation!
The President confirms
What I already know
Stay inside and lock your doors
There's nowhere you can go
Bolt the doors and load your guns
And wish away your fear
Save a bullet for yourself
Cause Armageddon is here
Are my neighbors really zombies?
Is this some kind of dream?
I back away from the door
As I try to hold my screams
The sky is getting redder
And the fires of Hell are fanned
Hell must be full
So the dead now walk the land
I write my last words
And say a final prayer
They are trying to get in now
And it's more than I can bear
Goodbye cruel world
I forever close my eyes
I place the gun into my mouth
Under red November skies