Red Rum (Dead!)

RED RUM (DEAD!)

I’m the last one that you would save. Motives as sick as the bubonic plague. Come with me, I will rot your brains like cyanide-dipped candy canes.

Meth-needle candy apples were a hit at the core. Want any more confessions, priest? I have ten fucking more. While you were sleeping- counting sheep up in your ‘holy’ bed, I remodeled your house of worship as my CARNIVAL FOR THE LIVING DEAD...(Dead, Dead, Dead, Dead.)

Pop a balloon, infected blood will splash in the wound. Spin the prize wheel, hear the victim squealing for something relieving. Death, the escape for a hostage in pain. Love, the willing rape of a lion who’s been tamed.. Suffocation, a vacation from this biblical mess, let’s put the anguished ones’ souls to rest....

The Clown: “So remember the front row, Andy and his abusive mum? Well, I believe that Mrs. Parker is dead and gone!”

The Priest: “...What did you do to her!!?” ...*Long, devastating scream*

The Clown: “Well, she is Dead, Dead, Dead. She is Dead, Already. Dead, Dead, Dead, She is Dead, Already. We’re stupid and dumb and we like to have fun, so surrender your lips and sip my red rum...My red rum...(Murder)...My red rum....”

The house of God encased in flesh. A pornographic twisted mess. Human limbs stretched backwards just to test what perversions the human stomach can digest. 

The Clown: "And you would love to play the game, but fuck it, you are all the same. And all the same and all the same and, Fuck it, you are all the same and all the same and all the same and... I have laid out the road to hell for you, babe. These visions are too haunting for even Jesus to save. Lay down your book and be my personal slave, I’ll let your mother live, if you behave.”


The Priest: “Talk to me, mutter!!!”

The Clown: “Well, she is Dead, Dead, Dead. She is Dead, Already. Dead, Dead, Dead, She is Dead, Already. We’re stupid and dumb and we like to have fun, so surrender your lips and sip my red rum...My red rum. (Murder)...We’re stupid and dumb and we like to have fun so surrender your lips and sip my red rum...(Murder)...My red rum...(Murder)...My red rum...”

A Dip into the Abyss

“If you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.” 
-Friedrich Nietzsche


A Dip into the Abyss

Hills of used needles pile by my feet. I’ve been awake for too long and I cannot sleep. I tried to distort this bitter reality. I gazed into the water, but I didn’t see me. “One last kiss” the vampires hissed as they caressed down my neck- with foreign lips my blood they sipped like horny insects.
For leaving behind this tortured life had become my ever-dying wish. I knew I was about to take- a dip into the abyss.

So let’s drink to a hellish world that made this shell of a man. And why these years have left me, I will never understand. My vision began to blacken as I drank its water with these worn-out hands. A voice rumbled inside of me, “Come right in, faithless human...Rather be in here than out there in that age of confusion, where your life is one riddle with no subtle conclusion. While gazing in my dark ripples, I felt that you were losing, so drown deeply into my hallucinogen (narcotic of illusion).”

While reviewing my past life before the black reflection of this pool, that voice could have been deception trying to play me as a fool. But it’s too late for me to turn around and be punished as a mortal. I will take you up on your proposition, sir, inside this oblivious portal. So say goodbye to a God that has never appeared. So say goodbye to a devil that I never feared. Why be frightened of monsters creeping underneath your bed when all the real monsters are tucked away inside your head?

Skeletons of yesterday’s acquaintances are all that remain. This ravenous beast has long been unchained. The witch’s spell has been erased in all my memories, and now I use her suffering as a means of artillery. I’ve been fed the acidic taste of your regret and now its time to spit it- where it belongs. The muses conceal the bruises. Belongingness is a permanence. So I would be concerned about your existence, cry-st or saint-an. No one has appreciated life without being impaled by the thorns of  the iron maiden.



                -Brandon Defiance