Scrawlings of a Madman

Beyond hellish gates,
do foolish martyrs dwell
Assembling forth
at their master's beck and call

These martyrs, these fiends,
amass from realms and eras unseen
thrusting pointed snouts in my visage,
a manner most obscene

One hundred sinister grins
sheen with deranged idiosyncrasy
Hollering at a broken man,
An amputee soul's malignancy

The merry go round procession
It circles, never stops
Men observe their riders,
gauging the oscillation of their cocks

Chants from time immemorial,
once grazing ears of ancient kings
Heathens rejoice in melody,
libidos drunk with corporeal gifts and kinks

Seas of dark clothe enshrouding the floor,
revealing a shrine to the wicked
A sacrilegious chamber,
the edifice constitutes inhabitants most convicted

A promised land of righteous sinners,
deriving euphoria in forbidden acts of lust
A boar snorts in my abdomen,
Like a psychopathic fetus in womb it thrusts

Speaking in tounges,
begging to partake in pleasures of the flesh
Restless, insatiable, it clamors to feast
upon bratwurst, mother's milk and caleche

Martyrs piss on feet of beloved company,
jovial tarnishment and ecstasy is the goal
The drummers conduct their savage tunes,
Archaic pounding with rythems that cajole

An orchestra of sin emanating
from such a primal instrument
A symphony once considered impossible,
The chorus of orgy and excrement

improbable as the flinging hatch
that lays agape nether the grand procession
and Bursts forth with bolts of Zeus,
casting upon his harem at love’s confession

Chambers commandeered by Beelzebub
who hauls with chains his feminine treasures
giggling and screaming, debating forever
on the thickness worth ravaging for pleasure

Slapping and arguing,
slipping on fruit skins and shrugging
Accompanied by howls of raucous
laughing, stomping and whistling

Jesters donning vulva, snared into performing
vaudeville and burlesque swaying me to convert
Vessels neglect shallow lines, refusing to utter
sick drones of baby talk to caress the perverts quirks

Beelzebub erupts, lifting his thorny cat,
striking wenches deemed thoughtless
Women tremble under the taskmaster's gaze,
the malnourished wretches cloak their distresses

There is no disertion from wrath,
nor weapons to obliterate the steel gates barred
Restrained by a crude selection of piggish men,
With towering statures and skivvy faces marred

Now the children of Eve descend upon my phallus,
thirty or forty in total
Squirming through my body like maggots
My warm corpse gone fetal

Every crack, every crevice,
my body is smothered
Smeared by fingers, breasts, tongues,
and slits like my mother’s

My neck is swollen and red,
barbed nails carve my bare chest,
Trails of scarlet stain their flesh
secreted from my orifices at no behest

Portions of my body formerly pure
whence harpies tore through skin
bathed in crimson tears
that poured from my mouth with a grin

Wriggling their appendages
as they sang mad tunes
Spreading fingers and skipping
desecrating walls with red sticky glue

The feminine products who remain
perform acts to awaken my manhood
coating it in their mouth juice
like a twisted passage from Atwood

Frowning as their masters gaze
Their vile hearts surge with condemnations
Once a sublime festival,
intoxication wrought unspeakable ramifications

The women begrudge their turns,
each line in rows under stern eyes
My vision blurring through copious drink,
but shudders with harlot's cruel reprise

Each glass, finished,
the mad hatter subjecting my tolerance to more
Cowards desperately scrambling,
dragging full barrels like a lure

The women continually seek
to awaken the pointed spear
While sanctimonious beasts toss goblets
in frustration or fear

Lifting the barrel,
my mouth held by greasy assistants
Passion melds into rage,
hearts erupt in the abyss of forgotten flames

Men, once of their prime
complicit to their holy swindler’s crimes
Drowning my harrowed throat
with salacious dribbling of wines

The breasted fools surrender,
task deemed futile for all who endeavor
My cylindrical flesh deflated,
much like egos of those who fellated

The eyes dwell upon my eccentricity,
their judgement hath passed explicitly
Forever embroiled in my own hole
I shudder as the walls close upon my soul

Mad hatter approaches
ever so sharp, ever so demeaning
My lord, my savior what have I become?
This persecution, this torture it burns me in twine.

This man this man,
he touches my head
The void in mine belly
spews its dissolved contents
His hands so large,
his protrusion so massive
I desire it not,
I desire none but my sweetheart

What is this madness that has consumed me
Who is this maniac of which looms before me

Torches ignite,
and the songbirds are hanged in a wire
The voice from the mist,
she whispers to save me

I cannot rhyme, rhyme’s cannot describe this abyss
I see his eyes
those gremlin’s eyes once more
I’m sick of the eyes, I’m noxious at their sight
They mock me, they curse
and spit in my mouth in ghastly extortion

No reason or rhyme, the night dawns on the shephard
He follows his herd, they nap in open pasture
Grabs his sheaves, and conjures a brilliant plan
The sheep line up one after the other,
beckoned by the Shepherds humble tone
One after the other, slaughtered head to toe,
the sheaves sharp as his mind

The sheep fall, down, merrily merrily,
one after another
Drooling and slobbering
whispering bahs one more time
to their forbidden lovers

The lovers are same,
constructed from the same parts.
“If only one listened to reason,
if only one could breed"
Perhaps we’d have more lamb chops,
yummy as they bleed.”
The shepherd declared, wheezing, laughing,
throwing his crooked hat to the dogs
Then the shepherd develops one further idea,
perhaps more extreme than the last

One poor helpless sheep remains,
well endowed it must be,
and not a lass

The widower Shepard, had his fill of the slaughter,
saw one final opportunity
His trousers flopped to the floor,
the belt fallen with a mighty clang
His undergarments folded atop his head,
a neat little pretty white bow

Up and down, up and down
he slid atop the sheep
It growled and hissed,
scrambled towards freedom,

For it loved the sheep of the same construction
But not this man,
not this man who sits atop and dances upon him so foul
The sheep could not escape,
and nor could it moan.
To moan would imply it felt enjoyment
And the shepherd would persist evermore

It screamed for assistance,
For heroes to run towards its safety
But no hero could be called,
For the heroes were all dead

He was the last sheep, a minor token
And humans cannot discern
their bahs from their baaaahs.
The shepherd had enough,
the shepherd was satisfied with the thrill

His bum was nice and warm
from liquid that trickled and seeped
But the sheep was not fargone,
the sheep had a trick up its sleeve

No, no matter how many, comrades lay victim to slaughter
The sheep had hooves,
hooves of steel, deadly hooves.
Hooves gifted from a god
most compassionate and forgiving

The sheep bahhd one final bah,
in his alluring the way
The shepherd couldn’t help being lured by the sheep’s call
Like a sailor of ages,
amid the sirens of fall

The sheep lay in suffering,
the sheep’s life would end soon
But not without removing the heart of one who betrayed him

The Shepard trudged over, with maniacal glee
Greeted by his cranium smashed before it bleeds
The victorious sheep, exalted it’s last laugh
As it faded from existence,
proud as a new mother.

If only I were that sheep,
if only I took that final stand
Though I may not be dead,
but my soul is an empty carcass
Ravaged by vultures most malicious, most uncaring
A mere sex doll in their eyes
A pleasure doll for their own perverse desire
Oh how I hate him,
how I hate all of them so
But the sin, oh the sin feels so good.
It pulses through my veins,
I can feel it vibrate in my chest

This is wrong, this was all so wrong,
I do not like this man before me
And yet this feels so right,
so demeaning yet so demure.
This white hot ecstasy so addictive,
yet worse than the bottle

The figures don their attire,
bathed in shadows decamp this cursed structure
Doors slam shut, silence abounding in my brain and mind
The man in the hat winks,
releases my breast

Bulging assistants
expunge him of filthy properties,
Shroud him in cloth most extravagant,
cloaking his indecency

They saunter through aisles
whispering nostalgic ditties
And now I am alone, with nothing but thoughts
and these ghastly robes

With no assurance, that the man I see in reflection
was ever myself.

The wine, the wine, the glorious wine
It’s all I have now, all I’ll ever breed.
Just wasting time away with the only lover I need
That good ol wine.