[ rabbit's foot and pig's feet ]

I grind the bones of giants
to make my Lord's bread.
I strike the hammer down
against the Etin's head.

I scream, so near death,
to lift up bloody runes!
The steaming battle fields
lure crows to feed on flesh,

infected wounds,
blood, brains. The rage is
as ink stains on pages.
I'll crush your enemies.
Brush aside naivety!

I'd die for honor not for you.
I'll slay your men who don't stay true.
I'll defend when you are weak
to prove my dark spirit's worth.
I am pure pain and never meek.
This burning fucking wretched Earth
has heard my battle cry since birth!

My frightened foes, they reek
of inevitable defeat!
Rabbit's foot and pig's feet,
crosses protect no one from me.
Children of Jötunheim will flee!

I feed on pain and I smell lies.
Can't I be freed from life at least?
The gods will not let me die
for I have long been deceased!

[ condition of decomposition ]

Keep me near death
so I can hear the breath
of phantoms
who read me their poems!

They have composed
through the veil
of the decomposed,
screaming from Hel,

ghosts of inspiration.
This ethereal
dark manifestation
is surreal.

My mind cannot sustain
these thoughts of solitude!
What wisdom can I gain?
A demon's platitude
can't relieve my pain!
What is there left to do
but kill away the brain?

I have no sorrow for tomorrow.
Anything to end this day
would surely satisfy
my desperate need to bleed.

I have no way
to live for today,
was long gone
before dismay
tore through this
dismal apparition.

Yes, I shall always be this way.
Are you aware of my condition?

[ places dead introverts hide ]

I'm only make-believe my dear,
and have been ever since I died.
I'm following my fetch-deer
but everyday I've cried...

if not with tears, in blood,
if not from fears, a flood

of memories overwhelming,
profane screaming condescending!

Whenever the dead arise from within
walking cemeteries become gardens.
Ice within an expired heart hardens
as they consume the dead with a grin.

I may be somewhat pale and thin.
I'm Nordic and protect my skin
from sunlight on bright afternoons.
I often like to watch cartoons
instead of going outside.
Introverts can see inside

the places where we like to hide,
the places where the dead reside.

[ fatherly sadism ]

Everyday I feel your hoof upon my chest!
In every way I strive to do my best
to end this torment, but surely I jest,

for what has no beginning has no end.
A frightened child is not able to defend
himself against the raging sadism
of his fatherly tormentor.

Denigration and disintegrating terrorism
is behind the walls of every home
that stinks of Budweiser and screaming.

There is nowhere to escape to
where I wouldn't hear your blackened tongue
hollowing out my frightened soul.
That fear is no longer mine.
You took it from me and found somewhere to hide.
You never returned to make good
on your promises that you would kill me.

You fucking coward, are you afraid
because you've some idea what I've become?
Perhaps you're scared shitless by your own shadow.
I've no fear of meeting death
and I will drag you down to Hel.
Unrealized existence fills my breath
and the Underworld is where I dwell.

Your head should be on a stick,
you sociopathic drunken prick,
and I'd prefer you try and kill me.
I'd have legal reason enough
to fulfill my vengeful fantasy.
Let's see if you are quite so tough

when you aren't beating children!

hide under lampshades

I'm a fragment of myself, frightened and hiding in the furthest corner of your mind. Don't presume I'm something you could repair! I most certainly wouldn't ask you to try! Too many of the pieces are missing and your spare parts won't complete a shattered portrait in bloodstained glass. That blood dripping from my skin is too often the only reminder that I'm still here. Feel free to leave impressions of your teeth in my neck so the other girls know I'm yours! Hurt me or love me... it's only electricity buzzing... but it's enough to wake the dead...

People walk past me like gusts of wind, ignorant of my existence beyond their knowing to step around if I'm in the way. The few who notice, they leave me drained, for I've always had to play pretend. I'm alive when nerves hurt louder than the numbness screams. I'm alive when beautiful eyes dilate and heat radiates, but no one ever wanted to know what I hold inside. The noises in my head repel angels. Their fingers never touch this cold skin. The demons wouldn't allow it, for their plans might be discovered.

You're a lovely mess, my dear! I'd make exceptions to all the rules for you. The wreckage of my heart isn't much to offer, but I'd like you to feel free to place it in your cupboard. I keep it in a jar like strawberry jam. You might enjoy the taste!

We could break free of mental framework and hide under lampshades or behind curtains. They'll never find us haunting their attics, because the Darkness adores our childlike nature! It will protect us so long as you don't turn on the lights.

[ darkness painted ]

I've been searching the Sky
while the stars cry their eyes out,
wishing for something other than darkness
painted in between.

Time turns wounds into scars...

They say that "Time heals all wounds." I don't have any idea who 'they" are, but they're idiots. Time is merely an illusion created by our universe spiraling out toward infinity. Wounds are never fully healed. The mind-body remembers all trauma as scar tissue. I can remember everything like it was yesterday. We are still within the singularity, unable to escape reality. Is it a wonder so many of us succumb to psychosis? Every Buddhist who's ever said we could escape the cycle of death and rebirth was trapped within a mortal coil. No one has ever reached out to us from Nirvana, aside from Kurt Cobain. Perhaps he's free now.