Scene Three: Dead Alive
Ode to the Living Dead (Valkyrie Kerry)
‘Dyer-Bolique, as dire as you are,
Cursed streets offer something far worse,
Vacant minds, absorbing smoked plants and wine,
Menacing, intolerant curse.’
You heed my meaning, agree with my terms,
Prepare me to fight, in the bleakest night,
Load my limb’s weapon, to crush the dirt worms,
Lash and Winchester to take flight.
To town we travel, after dark rabble,
Dissident ills, unified mind,
Packs travel shady, lonely back allies,
We circle prey, stalking behind.
Once entrenched in their hole with no way out,
The undead-alive wrestle and shout,
No one comes near, caught in their fear,
Offering us a safe route.
‘Dyer-Bolique, as dire as you are,
Put the fear of hell in these stiffs,
Vacant souls we must cleanse in fire,
Before they have time to put out their spliffs.’
Putrid Pantomime (Dyer-Bolique)
‘Come one! Come all! Speak to me of other things!
Within this alley, kindly don’t dilly dalley, see what Dyer-Bolique Brings!
Notice my coat, observe my hat, pondering on my offerings.
Within my whim, step on in, attend my theatre frightening!’
I turn to my torturous dove, ‘Dispense your love, fools are gathering!
The living undead, through plenty of dread, wondering at my blatherings.
In awe they are, in stupor they seem, rapt in my entertainment and ramblings.
Easily grifted, my introduction gifted, as ring master and captivating King!
Dispatch my will, don’t spare any thrill, make the carnage dazzling!
For in my eye, I shall spy, the demise of the zombified younglings.
Please don’t hurry, I shall enjoy them scurry as searing whips rends limb and sings.
I shall watch, form vantage aloft, a fire escape and savour savagery’s sting!’
Carnival of Ghouls (Valkyrie)
Perplexed by the spectacle frightening,
The dreary masses experience enlightening,
Punishment for lives spent crying, self- entitling,
I step forth from the shadows with sharp senses heightening.
‘Roll up, roll up,’ my carnivalesque display to appease,
Your dreadful need for expressionistic debauchery,
Moonlit shimmers on leg’s rifle’s savagery,
Cowering minions losing their bravery.
‘Come see the man-made, human spectacle,
Form of woman fused with machine so delectable,’
With triumph in gait, so as not to displease,
I raise my leg to the art, so collectible.
Huddling in, panic awry,
My errant gaze catches up with your black, refined eye.
One move swift, the first round released,
A handful of ghouls join the deceased.
Greying concrete painted with crimson fuel,
Forces mice to run from the hawk,
Showtime for my body’s renewal,
My prey I start to stalk.
Lash of whip strikes,
Twitching bodies fall,
As if recently interred.
Lash of whip strikes,
Tearing flesh from the ghouls,
And breaking up the putrid herd.
Culling rife, for you to see,
Another blazing round,
Projectiles and whip,
Rocket from me,
Foxes to the hound.
Inhuman humanity,
Pouring debris,
Intestines and blood hand in hand.
Inhuman humanity,
Little is left of me,
As my destiny is carved in the sand.
Marauding Macabre (Dyer-Bolique)
The song rings out, a sweet melody of violence laced with the unforgiving butchery.
Steel whistling throughout out the rank alleyway air, shots matching the butchery.
Your strikes pure, my sight obscured, as crimson smog clouds the atmosphere.
For I, the audience of one, applaud the spectacle macabre, revelling in butchery.
As scene and curtain fall, my mind grows complacent at episodic monotony.
I desire a new journey, a fresh course, avant-garde introducing butchery.
Remembrance of days past, seared ever in mind’s eye, as branded upon living skin.
Of a frenzied scream, your demented laugh, lost limbs, once welcoming my butchery.
Time is fleeting as reality rebounds; some have escaped the purposeful culling.
With claw of hand and tearing human dentition, I complete the marauding butchery.
An Ominous Observation (Valkyrie)
Wild beast, rampant and voracious,
I observe as you storm through the debris.
Feasting with fang and claw,
Identifying a fatalistic flaw,
A plan hatches for this bird to be set free.
Time imperative, trust regained,
For the strategy to be realised,
I hide the tears for I know with certainty,
That a sorrowful consequence is our mutual demise.
Sleight of hand required,
Horror movies must inspire,
Brainstorming the tropes,
Mind filled with hopes,
For success to duly transpire.
Inspiration calls, in night’s interim,
To sew together the colourful dead,
Stacked into the van,
Another ghastly plan,
A mural spread over the forest’s dirt bed.
Compulsion of Flesh, Enslavement of Desire (Dyer-Bolique)
Night had wrought bloody adventure,
Indulged on enduring sight,
Tangible desires satiated,
Intangible impulses,
Created.
Additional thought was needed to sate lechery’s rising tides,
A maelstrom’s hand coldly clenches me,
Accompanied by the ortices of want,
An inadequate nourishment vexes,
Its promise of unfulfillment,
Compounds the need.
What is happening?
When shall it feed?
How to be free?
Lascivious offerings shall soon scream their benefaction,
Delight in form, sweet in taste, the ardour attractive,
New afflictions of flesh ignited,
Your sweet body duly invited,
Subservient to my will,
You accept my flesh.
No remorse in taste,
Our bodies peaking,
Climax reunited.
YOU ARE READING
The Thorn and His Rose: An Immortalis Chapbook
HorrorA theatrical, visceral horror tale. Artistically presented, methodically planned, and cruelly realized. Lovers, serial killers, turning their macabre passion into an artform, but as their depravities grow, so too does their respective paranoias. As...
