9:00
I sit in the dark,
Throne weak to the bone.
I shiver in symphony,
Once again, I am alone.
Wood creaks my bitter name,
Shadows nip at what is shown,
By a light that hides by doorways,
For in my bed, I am alone.
9:01
Do you hear it, sir?
My god, you must!
I scream it from my throne.
Voice metallic and blue,
So blue,
That the throne itself weeps black blood,
Stolen from bruised knees,
And purple lips,
Soundless in fear.
9:02
Do you see it my love?
Dear god! You mustn't look!
The beast awakens in the cupboards,
And it gobbled up the cook.
Tearing bone from aching bone,
Dying muscles,
Tainted skin,
Throw the skeleton in the closet,
Drown the marrow in its sin.
Sin?
Born from ashes in the flame?
I have done no wrong, but petty theft.
Of minds from whose to blame.
Please, O Lord, reduce my anger,
Let it blend into the drone,
Of my mind which weeps in sorrow,
Since in the end,
I am alone.
I am alone.
9:03
Do you hear me, my son?
Dear boy my throat is weak.
But not my stomach,
Which warps each victim,
A longing even the foolish would kill for.
9:04
I wish to sleep, and so I do.
The throne sizzles with pride.
And the muck of disgust swirls deep through my veins,
Neon monsters cast frightening spells,
Like fire and pain,
And defeat of the king swirls deep through my veins.
The throne needs no king now.
No past to be shown.
I submit to the power,
Since in truth,
I am alone.
9:05
A thousand year slumber.
I wake emotionless.
Hair torn and scalp bare,
But I bear my teeth against memories,
Of satin drapes,
tea cakes,
Walks on the sun,
Sun?
My sun?
New memories arise,
Like the shadow of a gaunt ghost,
Cast on a gaunt face,
By the reflection of a broken mirror.
Memories of black water,
Accusations and confusion,
The looming threat of fear,
And a man who sells illusions.
Magic pills in pretty pockets,
But they miss their "good intentions",
Now my life is just a whisper,
Ruined by my own inventions.
"I hate you, I hate you!"
Screams the body in the grass
Though her movements are a memory,
Still her voice, it shatters glass.
Her hands dangle from the mantlepiece,
And with the slightest of movements,
Wrap their bony fingers around my throat.
My mind sits blank.
I am alone.
Blank.
Tick.
Blank.
Tick.
Alone.
9:07
The horsemen come.
I spring from the cushion of the devilish throne.
My feet burn on the steel of the floor,
But my nerves are still numb.
And the arms of the throne seem to shiver without me,
They shreek,
And they scream,
And they claw,
And they squirm,
But my legs have been bore with no peace left to doubt me.
The ooze of the filth,
From the mouth of the weak,
That transpire to hark to the sound of the drill,
A wasteland of hope,
Where my wife's little feet,
Pattered softly on floors now withered with chill.
Shall my life stay a sonnet,
The climax un-solved?
From my lips fall a word,
Thought apart from it all,
Forget.
A drip clinks the sink behind me,
And from my skin, my bones leap.
Not a word can save the worthless,
Beneath the boards, a demon creaks.
And in fairness,
I have faltered.
I have taken from the weak,
Something bold, and something splendid.
Shall my lips forget to speak.
The horsemen come.
I am alone.
9:08
"BANG! BANG!" Fly the shutters,
"POW! POW!" Through the night.
And the throne is quick to take my spineless husk back in care.
Ms. Jones, the maid below me,
Captain Todd, the man above.
Silent in their dreams with lovely children left to spare.
One by one the horsemen filter,
To my house,
Where they now dwell.
All the trinkets I've achieved,
Have turned to specters in this Hell.
It seems,
As in my quaking end,
That God has turned against me.
No matter,
A king like me needs not the luck of the heavenly.
9:09
A king like me is nothing but a worm.
And Satan's foot lay sickly nexts to maggots as they squirm.
The crone above salutes the fallen father of the damned.
A thousand souls salute their mocking,
"Feeble is the man!"
And feeble so,
But strength I find in the depths of vanity.
Not love of me,
But trinkets,
Of an olden liberty.
9:10
Can you see them, my boy?
My love?
My slave?
Men with raven heads.
Claws and tongues of wire.
Eyes laced with tiny cameras.
Voices strong like fire.
Legs that hover.
Souls that beset.
Hearts made of concrete.
Void of regret.
The dead surrounds the weaklings tomb.
My tomb.
A tomb without life.
Slithering wire snakes lash my throat,
Like a dance shared only between lovers,
Bound by a pact to kill,
Killed by love abound.
The black blood of the throne now trickles from my own throat.
Spat.
Spat.
Their claws strip my body of its flesh,
Spat.
Spat.
Flesh off its meat,
Spat.
Spat.
Meat off its bone.
The blood has dried and gone.
What was once a king, is now a shadow.
I cry to any and all to hear.
But the outside world had left me.
The horsemen retreat,
Sullen yet satisfied,
Their bellies full of ambrosia.
I am left with nothing but the throne.
9:11
My throne splits splinter by splinter.
In a rage,
Like a spirit given life by a personal vendetta,
I slam my body against the chair.
Crack!
The creaks decease.
The walls stand still.
A secret guild of warriors wait for their king to die.
And die I do,
Yet not a single sound.
For what is a king,
Without his hound?
For what is a king,
Who hangs by drapes,
Below the beasts?
Below the apes?
For what is a king,
Without his throne?
For what is a king,
If he rules alone?
YOU ARE READING
The Question (Tick Tick)
PoetryHe knows they are coming. Time is running out, and all he can do is remember the things he has said...the things he has done... and the fate that awaits him when the Horsemen come.
