Mark Matthews | + Follow Poet |
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Signed In Blood (Part 1)

The night
has a bluish tint tonight
from the exceptionally
      brilliant
           full moon,
sky,
       cloudless
with a slightly brisk breeze
    coming from 
        the direction
of where the last cemetery
  I passed was,
          “the breath of the dead”,
I think it might be an omen.
Barely a sound
   is heard
       in this still end of day
as I reside
under a large,
  scraggly scrub pine.

I survey the store front
  where I have located
      my last two targets,
it seems like yesterday
when I took down the first
and now here I find
      the last two
            (deserving)
in a pool hall ,
  well,
     I could wait
for them to leave,
   but since
       this might be it
for awhile,
I’ll just go in
and turn it
from a pool hall
               to a slaughterhouse.

I extend six tendrils
down my back
      Like a cape
allowing them
    to sway in the breeze
as I chew
          on a hunk of flesh
I found in my pocket.

Surrounding myself in illusion
I leisurely
    walk to the front,
go in,
       then press my right palm
  to the glass
sealing it with a black panel
then allow it
   to expand,
           blocking all the windows
so slowly no one notices.
I spot one by the bar,
      the second
              on the other side of the room
with someone,
I lick my lips in anticipation,
    oh I’ve finally 
         come into
              what I deserve,
tonight I shall
           make the walls run red.

Casually,
  I head to my closest prey
and stand directly behind her
              with an evil grin
 spreading across my face,
when she turns around,
           she recognizes
the old face I’m wearing
       and she goes white.
Raising my right index finger
   to my lips
            to make a shushing gesture
I bring my left hand
   to her chest
        and encase her
in a restraining band
and push her
             into a stool,
she seems about to scream,
              or cry,
neither will do………..
                  yet.
With a finger
       I send a pin of blackness
through her lower jaw
and silence her.

Almost strutting
I go to the back door,
send a restraining band
through the handle
    and bury it
        in both sides of the frame.

Copyright © Mark Matthews | Year Posted 2008

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