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Sure to feel like shit
thread a coffin nail. Stitch the scene so obvious doubt to no avail. What is, is what's seen, The scarring stain An indelible view Every bit plain. A shooting star's no wish Just a sign to run, The end has come. The day is melting All chances done. Imprisoned by maybe Drink for a blur Burn reason gone Rejoice rejecting a cure. This beginning leads to loving the end. Embrace tomorrow before the sorrow tears apart. Joy of the hollow Removing the heart. Meaningless wisdom encourages incision Removing gears turning for reason Observe without thinking a chance to find happy out of mind. On the pilgrim trail east of the jade mine
The trees turn from oak to pine. It's in the pine one can find the river's Start. The cold crystal shivers On for miles, Serpentine clear blue smiles, One would never think to believe The water won't relieve Any thirst, Slightest or worst. Though many will casually claim Not to know why, I won't do the same As liars shying from recollections Likely to cause gangrenous infections. Years ago In the fall before the snow The starving world fed the gods Children by the dozen. The odds They hoped to improve Let them remove Every ounce of guilt over Drowning babies for four leaf clover -- Good luck on sale. Does this price beat retail? Of course, or no one would pay One to three kids a day. And don't scoff. The river at them all, carried the bodies off, And none starved all winter long. Sprung out the other side strong. Life went on, Blessed by divinity, so on and so on, But the river simply... It's not just in our heads. The river tastes like the dead. It dries instead of drenches, No thirst it ever quenches; Water graves Made of rippling waves Sometimes conjuring faces Striking as maces Shattering bone at a glance To the point none even chance Glimpsing ghosts In the watery host. None hungry, Yet everyone thirsty, We avoid the river. Copper, nickel, and gold
Printed boards conducting signals, Surface mount logic gates Sermonizing functions; And speeding electric ones and zeroes Which birth the mystical Meat analogs lack. Used to be Skilled techs Soldering under microscopes Weaving synthetic souls For the few craving Something more tangible Than faith can offer, But times have changed. Now machines print Sheets by the hundreds of thousands. Operated in Mexico By hands praying forty cents An hour for the salvation Of others. Made as best as possible It's ultimately Yours to break or hate For not being Every promise fulfilled. Only the sales pitch is perfect, Convincing thousands To be first in line For a bit of divine. As with anything, The eventual peripherals evolve. Plug and play halos Set to personal preferences. Advanced blessings Available on request Just enter a credit card number To get the upgrade Sewn in your chest. Then, when the lights go out, The user agreement accepted Without reading Activates implants Resurrecting the dead. 
Harlequin skinned testifying of puppet wires mirrored in blood ties.
Broken bones pinned rectifying failure too long neared. Whispered dyes Paint a veil that opined sanctifying sins feared, blessing all wise With a reasoned pacifying belief it's not at all weird to prize The sense of fate derived from the course paved genetically. Nearly too late, the fact arrived no longer a sinner eternally; The clean slate never survived a conclusion so revelatory; That a lack in one's stash isn't finishing Demanding embrace the ever-black -- ash snowing from fuse wire diminishing. The infinite caused to contract in a flash more a refinishing Of the human abstract, narrowed to a cache of distinguishing Features, capabilities, and all around possibilities. You can be whatever you want, within varying probabilities, Though are already disposed to variant degrees of disabilities. A fact once recognized, everything thereafter is hostilities or propensities -- Inclination toward, or opposition to The basic elements of you. Draped in crystal shrouds
Winter wove in the clouds And drifted down to seed A sense of innocence Fulfilling the need To see faces froze at play Instead of the way Getting lost in the frost Contorts a pleasant night From romantic frolic To terrified vitriolic Accusations of who Led who astray. A point of view Redefining woo as woe Adrift in the snow. A winter's walk in the wood Gave the blizzard food... but though their hearts stopped Afterward, whenever mercury dropped Ghosts are seen near the tree Where the two laid to be At peace after the caprice To blame became hollow. Heart strings bound each to follow The other to any end along the line. So they laid to rest beneath a pine; And now dance on the breeze That once did freeze. Welcome! Come in. Have a seat. No need to be shy.
I know, I know -- I look a fright. Care to know why? I'm not used to wearing this skin. It sags and is so terribly thin. Not to mention I've been here since 4 in the morning, Plowing through the tedious and boring. My wife is always preaching On the verge of sobbing screeching, "You're on track to a heart attack." I should take a vacation, but -- do you know the difference Between a job and a vocation? One is just work, the other a calling. The type of thing Where someone who loves to sing Works as a waitress. Anyway, I've reviewed your application. Right off I thought, "Hold the phone, don't change the station." Let's get down to it. No bullshit. We need people like you. No one else will do. Come on. I'll show you the factory floor. We've been in business, oh, 250 years or more. Others have come before, But few inclined To spend their time On pure horror. We pride ourselves on producing Since we began Nothing less than One hundred percent dripping sweat terror, many we were the first to invent. Now over there You'll see an assembly line Putting together those brutes who stalk, And even though they only walk They're the ones You can't outrun. Decade after decade, A hockey masked brigade Marching a sleep killing parade -- We can't make 'em fast enough. Hop in this cart, and we'll continue To the next part. It's more than a few miles between here and another Division. The company Has grown annually Since we opened shop, And shows no sign We're going to stop. Already 234 miles square, Every inch devoted to nightmare. We make it top grade: Zombies plucked from the grave, Witches casting every hex, Epic public fails at sex, Dead loved ones return To berate, Dragging nerves Across a rusty grate. Haunted mansions, Horrific dental sessions, Oceans to drown in, Overflowing trash bins, Screams and adrenaline. Know that sense The dream might be real? Thanks to Abraham von Ziehl, We produce to please, Shadow of the Sword Of Damocles. More potent than any other on the market. Fall asleep in love, and awake broken hearted. Now we'll start you off simple Showing kids their parents As corpses; Attack them with Cartoon horses; And don't be afraid To suggest Improvements you feel Should be expressed. No one's going to take you out to the shed, Beat you till you lose your head. We can always use New angles, new merchandize To commercialize. Doesn't have to be globally applicable, Or overwhelmingly despicable. A scare to whiten hair Is all well and good, But so long as it could Cause a fright You're doing it right. Hell, while we're on such topics Check out the classics. People get to 85, And still barely survive The dreads instilled by schools Which are among Our most consistent tools. To be honest, I think the more real the better. Sure, a knife wielding clown Will get the bed wetter Than a beloved granny's frown, But one can last for days While the other Quickly fades. Because it isn't just about the product It's the customer. Any age, him or her That's who We're here to serve. And not everyone shares nightmares. This is our 21st century branch, Reminds me of an abandoned ranch. So empty and devoid of company. Vacant. Forsaken. Alone with yourself -- The thought always Leaves me shaken. Over here we produce a delicious bacon That induces uncontrollable puking. That's the place we distill Proof the world is bond for nuking. That holds ever drill and grill. Over there get your fill Of every surreal affliction, Some defying description -- Dali meets Saw, Guaranteed To drop and rip out your jaw. This the auto pool, But if I might advise It would be wise To do more than crashes. Sure, they've got flashes, Bells and whistles, Splashes; However, Remember the ripples. Top notch is what lingers. Those are the quality Spine tinglers. Ah, Here we are at last. So Am I correct Or have you been miscast? Please be direct. I make mistakes, am far from perfect. Though I'm still certain You'll make a good fit. Worker or suit, I always get something From whom I recruit. ...welcome to the nightmare factory... Her whispers frost any pane
with wisps of lace. Blue and ivory don't stain They shade her face. Tips of her toes grace the floor As she floats trailing snow From room to room, door to door Almost as if she doesn't know Her destination. This home Seems a maze For her to roam Hinting her path in wintery glaze. I find footprints made of frost Circling round and round Suggesting she's lost, But I've heard the sound Of her crying. Ice chips falling Glittering from her eyes Like crystal bawling With cobalt dyes Tumble then shatter. And on the rarest chance I've entered before not after I find myself in a trance. She glides from ethereal suspension, Floating fluid in any direction. Somewhat transparent but not unseen She seems a celestial figurine, Something composed to define Beauty's highest measuring line. In a flowing gown of white I swear she'd glow in stygian night. I don't think she's adrift, Unsure where to go. I believe some rift Ages ago Caused her to freeze. And I understand Divisions' ease. Cracks cause things to split apart. No way to demand, Foresee, chart, Or ever have planned How people will grow, New notions evolving till eventually The divide can't be denied. Although, The break may not occur mutually. I imagine this spectral Winter sprite Spending hours waiting for the sight Of her particular knight To come home despite His insistence things would never be alright. He perhaps said, "This is a burial site Not a home. The longer together the worse the blight." Or perhaps I simply want to see similarity. Frostbit -- lost a hand trying to touch her. I don't know how to get closer. Stiletto dagger heels click-clicking the pavement, tapping code signaling she's on the prowl. It won't be long now. The dogs start to howl: "Jesus Christ, spare me, send me, the acid angel."
Every cut caused by her tongue cauterized with a kiss. Men go mad in search of such Pyrrhic bliss. Jesus Christ, spare me, send me, the acid angel. Even the shower head drools at the sight of her tools. A siren in motion inspiring suicidal devotion. Jesus Christ, spare me, send me, this acid angel. The fall of empires, rise of the dead, sparking eternal infernal fires, demise of the head -- she's the cause of all that shatters. Kali Diva nymphetamine acetelyne torching -- Jesus Christ, spare me, send me, this acid angel. ... send me this acid angel... Spread semen on a sleeve. Smear it against a cheerleader passed in the hall -- Better than zero. Fail to take the silence as a sign to kiss and never look back. Be the early bird, Drink the worm. Twist in the wind thinking this spinning Gives a glance of once before and where to next. There’s always another Test looming. Whisper hello so no one hears. In a quiet classroom Raised hands proclaim Knowing the answer, Though the pop quiz Tends to prove Otherwise. |
AuthorJ. Rohr enjoys making orphans feel at home in ovens and fashioning historical re-enactments out of dead pets collected from neighbors’ backyards. Archives
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