Mark Matthews | + Follow Poet |
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Night Shade of the Willow (Part 2)

I lean down over
    the squirming corpse to be
and remove
        a chunk
            of fatty flesh
and throw it 
     in the fire,
within seconds
  it’s popping and sizzling,
filling the house
with such a sweet smell
like a burning hunk of steak,
I hear someone
     retching behind me
  which only adds
to the sweet aroma.

I walk over
   to the one
          who sought to get away,
grabbing her restraint
I drag her before the fire,
   the dancing flames
       shows the shear terror
           on her face
with their swaying brilliance.
Stretching out 
         one of my fingers
I slice a line
         outlining her scalp
then tear it off,
    the sound
        sends blissful shivers
  through my body
bringing me to the brink
of losing control.

I tie the mat of hair
to my belt,
      my native ancestors
               would be proud.

I’m done with this one
    so I step down on her throat
           crushing the larynx,
    her gurgling,
          death rattle
washes over me,
     the ecstasy of it
sends a spasm 
  through my body.

Slowly I turn my maleficent stare
on the two
     thrashing on the couch,
crazed by the horror
                   of it all,
tears streaming
   down their faces.
With the same finger
       I cut the edges
          of their eyelids
changing the tears
to streams of blood,
their wailing 
is like a siren’s call
    almost bursting
                 my eardrums,
but it sounds off key
so to fix that
I grab one by the face 
    squeezing until
         her mouth opens,
reaching in
         I snag her tongue
and stretch it out
    as far as it can go
then slam her
         in the bottom of  the jaw
making her
    bite it off,
her blood sprays 
   into my face.

Stepping back,
  almost being pushed
by the blast
  of their terror filled screams,
              I raise my hands
 like conducting
an orchestra
as the power 
of their soul releasing howls
     bathe over me.
I flex my fingers
at the apex of a crescendo
     and gouge
         a chunk of flesh
out of the side
     of the neck
on the one with no tongue
        with my right claw,
sending blood
      everywhere,
    speckling the room
                  (crypt)

Copyright © Mark Matthews | Year Posted 2008

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