deepundergroundpoetry.com
If Your Name is Tom, Please Read This
Sinking into pits of despair
Scaling its slippery footholds
with the speed of a Redbull injected chipmunk.
I slip near the cracks and the crevass’s.
An Avalanche follows in my wake.
Tossing frosted curtains with the generosity of an estranged Aunt
My scalp coated with the numbing tyranny of frostbite.
I huddle in anguish.
Twitching under nervous breakdown and fear
The icy walls enclose upon my tender body
Naked, nearly defenseless, from the onslaught of frenzied winds
A sacrificial offering to the piggish Gods above my head,
Who may or may not exist.
No one can really claim to say with any degree of certainty.
Though every follower conjects it’s better to avoiding pissing off the pantheon,
In case at least one God were real.
I say,
The Gods can fuck themselves in their lice ridden assholes.
If they’re real.
Also Tom
Who I know is real.
Sacrifice was the outward intention at the very least,
my village’s modus operandi for confining me within this oversized gap,
Without the luxury of lopping off my head first,
Maybe a classic disembowelment.
Those are fun.
The Gods demanded a live sacrifice however
At least, that’s what I was told,
informed of, upon several days worth of intense argumentation,
A compromise offered by the elders
refusing to deliver a blunt answer to my woes.
The village elders claimed to pick straws,
As they deliberated upon which unfortunate soul would
Become their yearly sacrifice.
On the off chance that the eternally displeased sky gods
Would deliver a smorgasbord of crops (which they never did)
Allowing the peasantry to subsist on something other than:
Seal blubber steak
Or Seal blubber stew
Or Seal blubber casserole
Or my favorite,
Seal blubber salad, without the salad.
And of course my name was chosen from nearly five hundred.
Unlucky coincidence?
I think not.
My suspicions leaned far more towards my demeanor,
as callous as the biting winds that lure me towards...
the intoxicating proposition of death
and an afterlife furnished with a nice warm bed,
Some hot cocoa, and coats… warm coats.
Really though any clothes would be quite sufficient.
I’ll even take a clown costume at this stage.
My face was pale enough, my nose, red as a tomato
Enough to avoid requiring the tacky makeup of a circus performer,
of which I was also allergic to.
Allergic to the circus performer,
Not the makeup.
What purpose more did I have to engage with the world of the living?
I was a convenient sacrifice
Never engaged in friendships and relationships
No one cared to see that I was gone.
Except myself,
I wanted to live
I wanted to live to see the day
Not so I can provide a harrowing story of survival
Bracing against all odds, to come home and start a family.
No, I just wanted to wipe away Tom’s smug grin.
Fuck Tom.
I’m getting out of this hole, even if it costs me all of my limbs.
And after several days worth of climbing with my bare fists and a toothpick
I did
Lose all of my limbs…
And get out of the hole.
Frostbite reduced me to a screaming limbless torso with a head.
But as I lay, my vision fading,
Spiraling into a tunnel of light.
I could see a man approaching
Carrying a freshly caught seal
And as his face became more perceptible, my heart swooned.
Not at the prospect of being rescued
But by the looks on the man’s face.
It was Tom,
His face contorted with multiple layers of shock,
bewilderment, and self loathing.
I won, it was a hollow victory,
But I won.
Spite had turned me into a champion
I still died,
But I died a champion.
As I lay dying, I whispered my last words into Tom’s ear
Words that I desired to have engraved on my tombstone
“Suck my dick, Tom.”
And I collapsed into an icy blackness,
My tombstone is still engraved with those remarkable last words…
accompanied by a phallic symbol,
and complete with an engraving of Tom’s face...
enveloped in my semen.
And that’s how I made it to the halls of Valhalla.
And Tom’s face is still coated in my jizz.
Scaling its slippery footholds
with the speed of a Redbull injected chipmunk.
I slip near the cracks and the crevass’s.
An Avalanche follows in my wake.
Tossing frosted curtains with the generosity of an estranged Aunt
My scalp coated with the numbing tyranny of frostbite.
I huddle in anguish.
Twitching under nervous breakdown and fear
The icy walls enclose upon my tender body
Naked, nearly defenseless, from the onslaught of frenzied winds
A sacrificial offering to the piggish Gods above my head,
Who may or may not exist.
No one can really claim to say with any degree of certainty.
Though every follower conjects it’s better to avoiding pissing off the pantheon,
In case at least one God were real.
I say,
The Gods can fuck themselves in their lice ridden assholes.
If they’re real.
Also Tom
Who I know is real.
Sacrifice was the outward intention at the very least,
my village’s modus operandi for confining me within this oversized gap,
Without the luxury of lopping off my head first,
Maybe a classic disembowelment.
Those are fun.
The Gods demanded a live sacrifice however
At least, that’s what I was told,
informed of, upon several days worth of intense argumentation,
A compromise offered by the elders
refusing to deliver a blunt answer to my woes.
The village elders claimed to pick straws,
As they deliberated upon which unfortunate soul would
Become their yearly sacrifice.
On the off chance that the eternally displeased sky gods
Would deliver a smorgasbord of crops (which they never did)
Allowing the peasantry to subsist on something other than:
Seal blubber steak
Or Seal blubber stew
Or Seal blubber casserole
Or my favorite,
Seal blubber salad, without the salad.
And of course my name was chosen from nearly five hundred.
Unlucky coincidence?
I think not.
My suspicions leaned far more towards my demeanor,
as callous as the biting winds that lure me towards...
the intoxicating proposition of death
and an afterlife furnished with a nice warm bed,
Some hot cocoa, and coats… warm coats.
Really though any clothes would be quite sufficient.
I’ll even take a clown costume at this stage.
My face was pale enough, my nose, red as a tomato
Enough to avoid requiring the tacky makeup of a circus performer,
of which I was also allergic to.
Allergic to the circus performer,
Not the makeup.
What purpose more did I have to engage with the world of the living?
I was a convenient sacrifice
Never engaged in friendships and relationships
No one cared to see that I was gone.
Except myself,
I wanted to live
I wanted to live to see the day
Not so I can provide a harrowing story of survival
Bracing against all odds, to come home and start a family.
No, I just wanted to wipe away Tom’s smug grin.
Fuck Tom.
I’m getting out of this hole, even if it costs me all of my limbs.
And after several days worth of climbing with my bare fists and a toothpick
I did
Lose all of my limbs…
And get out of the hole.
Frostbite reduced me to a screaming limbless torso with a head.
But as I lay, my vision fading,
Spiraling into a tunnel of light.
I could see a man approaching
Carrying a freshly caught seal
And as his face became more perceptible, my heart swooned.
Not at the prospect of being rescued
But by the looks on the man’s face.
It was Tom,
His face contorted with multiple layers of shock,
bewilderment, and self loathing.
I won, it was a hollow victory,
But I won.
Spite had turned me into a champion
I still died,
But I died a champion.
As I lay dying, I whispered my last words into Tom’s ear
Words that I desired to have engraved on my tombstone
“Suck my dick, Tom.”
And I collapsed into an icy blackness,
My tombstone is still engraved with those remarkable last words…
accompanied by a phallic symbol,
and complete with an engraving of Tom’s face...
enveloped in my semen.
And that’s how I made it to the halls of Valhalla.
And Tom’s face is still coated in my jizz.
Published 11th May 2018
Author's Note
Suck it, Tom.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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