Mark Matthews | + Follow Poet |
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Signed In Blood (Part 3)

I shake out my jacket
    and crack my neck
to regain my control
       although I’m enjoying 
    being hostile.
The room is now darker than pitch
        so I remove my shades
from the windows
             to let in
the moon’s
     blue luminescence,
as the light returns
           and the blood turns a shade of black
I drop the illusion,
       release my true self
for the few left to see.

All through the place
    I can hear
        the whimpers and cries
of the few remaining.
I smear into the shadow
   under a table
       and as I locate 
  the stragglers
I dispatch them
          tearing out throats,
spraying myself down
      with their
once life supporting liquid.

Then there were three.

Rising from the darkness
of the footrest
         under the bar
I stand before 
    the one on the stool
          and bare 
my blood slickened teeth
    then lick the gore
       from my claws
getting shivers
                from the taste.

With a snap of my fingers
     her restraints dissolve,
  not like she can go anywhere.
She just sits there
                    trembling,
    trying to find her voice
but its hard
        with the gaping hole
in her jaw.
I raise my 
    black,
          coarse tentacles
and grab her
  by each wrist and ankle
        bringing her off her last seat
and start stretching her
                 before me,
her vocal cords
     start to work now
as she assaults me
    with the most
         pain filled scream
my ears have had the pleasure
                       of hearing.
           (Ahhhh)

All I do
       is keep staring
into those
      beautiful,
    pain drenched eyes,
        and pulling.
I can hear
the tendons and ligaments
        popping and snapping
as the shoulders and hips
              begin to separate,
with a sickly,
        wet ripping sound
her right arm
           and left leg
come free,
     then the other arm.
Holding onto 
   the last limb left
I swing her about,
            into ceiling,
floor,
      then the bar
with bone shattering force,
   I dissolve my tendrils
back into myself
     then reaching down
I snag her ponytail
    and tug it out
of the lump
             that was her head
and add it to my other
         on my belt.

I hear a cell phone ringing
       for someone
              who doesn’t need it anymore
and I giggle
at how ironic it is.

Copyright © Mark Matthews | Year Posted 2008

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