Creepy Doodle

History of Pain - Dark Poetry

Whispers echo from afar in a peripheral world.

They are like me, hearing the rusty hum, clever to the energy of anguish and uncontrollable tears.

Static splits the picture exploring multiple images with fractured sorrows.

A prickly breath escapes, before a forceful weightiness slithers in.

I am as if facing Medusa herself.

Suspended in time, those lives that I have lived and a reign I sense only in remembrance.

My hands are weightless rolled in glass.

In silence, my heart drops to depths unknown except by the rising flow of sluggish blood and a flinch of terror. I am encased within timeless miseries that afflict the uncounted and defeat a countless many more.

So comfortable am I in its shadow that I envision the brutality of war and feel each casualty.

I am a shining star in a mournful constellation of collected souls bound by a curse of blood.

Contemplate the suffering with blue lips, feeling the worlds’ tragedies, barely breathing at the bottom of the sea. With a hook through my gullet and salt water breath I lovingly float in a fuzzy red haze.

History always remembers the pain.

Always.

Creepy Doodle Pg. 1

The Spider Must Die!

Death by Spider

I.

A freakishly large spider sits in the corner of the tent

on the deck of the house my father built behind our house

sniffing my glue.

Vision of a smoky nightmare.

A broken soldier staring up the nose of a Panzer

Toting a machine gun without any rounds.

Sleek, impenetrable shell of the toughest behemoth to stumble into my nightmares thus far.

Long steely legs covered in razor stubble

A cluster of bulbous eyes staring at me

My fear immortalized in their reflection

Calling me out.

I weave between drips of rancid goo from its fat head

Dragging my feet in full rigor

A dead man’s shuffle.

Scarring pink clouds of insulation leave trails of fiberglass down my windpipe

Unable to plead for my miserable life.

II.

If my armor is pierced how would death find me? 

Blood sucked dry until flesh is but a brittle tarp swinging from cracked frightened bones

Bundled in sticky white webby tendrils stained with blood.

A life-sized thick tuft of cotton candy perched on a femur.

Jewels scattered beneath wistful remains

Swept away in a river of blood

Sliding into the cracks of Papa John’s sturdy pressure-treated deck (Posts screwed; not nailed.).

III.

All around me the festivities continue without a notion

Inkling

Or a grand gesture on the part of those beneath the watchtower

Celebrating like there’s no tomorrow,

In danger of death by spider.

If only I was destined to swing a hero’s broadsword with the force of a nuclear blast

Thrusting radiantly

Cracking open the monster

Decking scorched 

Raining black shells that morph into bats

Green waste with chunks of liver and bone.

A loud bang and a deathly jolt of lightning

Splitting the beast in two

Eyeballs scattering

Arterial spray heaving bits of acid and hunks of squishy innards

Thumping.

Accumulating like snow.

Laughing as it dies.

If only.

IV.

Skirting the outer perimeter with my heart in my throat

Spine puncturing a lung spewing bile

I drag myself as far from dismemberment as humanly possible under the circumstances

Knowing he licks at my heals.

Shit!

A menagerie of waxy white creatures

Eight delicate legs stretched out and bent lightly

Ghostly chandeliers swinging breezily from dainty glowing threads

Breathtakingly beautiful

Hypnotic

A morbid mobile circling over the shadows of good times.

A blink of an eye

A studder

Haunted apparitions glide as elegantly as toddlers in frilly tutus to the ground

A bumbling ballet

A ghastly distraction.

Violently plucking the skin bags with the most adipisere producing blubber

as easy as you please.

A down comforter of terror squeezing volumes of blood into a cherry red bloated frozen face of fear

Choking

Spatting on the deck a gooey fountain of bodily fluids in clumps

Thump

Thump

Thump.

V.

The albino beast hauls its catch back up the inside of the tent with the strength of a ten ton wench on crack

A dangling corpse on its line

Amongst the subtle dance of glistening demons

War heroes

And the entire drowned passenger list of the Titanic.

The waltz with death is near

Heaving now from fear

All the decks’ a stage

Oh, Horror!

Careening through danger in a drunken stupor

Frantically searching for a gurgle

an awe stricken expression amongst the dead and dying.

A friend

mouth opened

bits of brain in her hair

Cigarette burning to the quick

Suspended between vomit stained fingers and a mouth quivering in disbelief

Fear gliding on invisible wings of ash

Extinguished by a whisper of hope

The calm eyes of madness.

I scream to her, my friend, “The spider must die!”

Not taking her eyes off the twisted circus beneath the big top of the tent

on the deck of the house my father built behind our house,

She whispers,

“That would go against everything I believe in”

Well, “Fuck.”

VI.

In the end I die valiantly

Not giving those fuckers the satisfaction of a single tear

Severing a leg, maybe two with a raging battle cry before death pronounces me.

An honorable passing

The way I always dreamt it would be.

A legend in my own mind.

"Who Cries for the Weeping Angel"

There’s a girl on the corner in a long black coat

That covers the hole from her gut to her throat.

I wouldn’t have noticed, I would have passes by,

But the pain that I saw she spoke with her eyes.

“They say I am forsaken, broken and lost.”

She carries her heart in a cardboard box.

Her voice was like moonlight, disturbingly sweet,

“May I ask you a question? “

My heart skipped a beat.

What seized me with pain was a ghost from the past,

I knew with whom she spoke

I would be the last.

“Someday for this kindness a debt will be paid”,

Her icy fingers on my cheek she gently did lay.

“If I ask you to choose between me and a lie,

Would you give me your heart or leave me to die?”

A tear silently fell: her voice was quite weak,

Leaving a trail of blood down her cheek.

“If I said I choose you. Would your sorrow be gone?

Would it give you the strength and courage to go on?”

“Alas, there’s no heart in my breast to keep beating,

It’s my soul the after-life needs to be greeting.”

For a girl long ago and this sorrowful wretch,

I placed her cold hand over the warmth in my chest.

At that moment, she shimmered, and drifted away,

Rest in peace for a beauty that died on this day

The eerie night whispers: the wind sings a son

You have now been forgiven

 by the one you had wronged.

Who weeps for me, the girl with no heart?

Will you dance in the darkness or tear me apart?

Promise me love and tell me you care,

Rescue me from my heart-wrenching nightmare.

Who weeps for an angel that fell far from grace?

Will you give me a kiss?

Wipe the blood from my face?

Who lays their battered hand on her cold carved stone?

Resting warm flesh above her sweet bones.

Who cries for the wretched finally at peace?

Who gave a damn

when her breath

Finally did cease?

He once said he loved her: once gave her his heart.

Does he regret her madness in which he had part?

Who cries for the weeping Angel?

Buried,

             Dead,

 and

                                                                                                                     Gone.

She’ll whisper in your ear if you sing her a song.

Laura Chowanski   1/26/2011