AUSTRALIAN HORROR AUTHOR
Tomorrow it’s gonna be a harder day than today,
the blood still hasn’t dried,
the flesh hasn’t started to decay,
but tomorrow the flies will come,
they’ll eat out your eyes,
they lay their eggs,
tomorrow can’t come,
let’s lock ourselves in today,
let’s go far away,
let’s not sit here and watch our own bodies rot,
laid to rest by our own hands,
a pact of suicidal discoveries,
thrust us into a forever locked in decay.
“The vilification has sent my ego into a downward spiral that not only destroyed my once good name, but has also scarred my pretty, pretty heart,” she says with a demented smile upon her face. The coldness of the guns barrel ignites a fire in her eyes, and she turns.
She looks at him as if her eyes were knives and thrusts them across his neck in bloody fashion. “I said,” she says softly as she meets his vicious glare once more. “If you want me to keep pretending, I need the things that give me the ability to continue!”
“Obviously you don’t understand what it means to be an actor! I need to feel the work, so I can become it. This drivel gives me nothing but a sore throat.”
She clenches her hands into fists and closes her eyes as she desperately tries to find her happy place.
He nervously places the cup on the table. “I-I-If you don’t fe-feel comfortable I can wait outside for them to arrive? I-I, I never asked to come in, and I don’t want to put you in a position where you feel you may be endangering yourself for a complete stranger.”
Let the words bathe you in their intended light,
sing along with them as they dance before you,
drifting into the night,
leading you towards an unknown fate,
a fate less promised,
granted,
to be a silver sea of depression,
while you dance the night away,
as the words bathe you in their intended light,
and lead you towards an ending,
into the night.
Polished roses,
broken windows,
blood on the floorboards,
a hole in her head,
we skip the gravestones,
we see the pain,
the invisible assassin,
the sinner instead,
my mystical pony,
the trigger finger fiend,
your sweet caress,
my blindness,
your caress,
my erection,
let the seed of creation,
wash over your face.
Don’t see my sickness,
for it is beneath me,
don’t stylise my disease,
for it is killing me,
a birth born of solidarity,
a sin created outside the first born,
weathered eyes,
a broken heart,
lies forgiven,
a hate,
my personal suicide.
Tourniquet wrapped in sin,
possession,
perversion,
my justice was not meant to be,
my sin too great,
my life not free,
I took the gun that saw the sun,
I pulled the trigger of my lie,
awake,
asleep,
a focused desire,
a target on your back,
an ending not for me,
a place you go,
where you’re never coming back.
W-W-Who are you?”
“I-I-I don’t really know how to answer that question anymore, once it seemed so easy, but now…” She pauses, allowing the silence to build the tension while he desperately holds on to a breath in fear. “But now there seems little to matter for a name anymore.”
He chuckles loudly, “Well sweetheart, from where I’m standing, your Daddy ain’t nothing but a cum stain on my pants. So why don’t you just turn around and let me and my boys take turns inside that perky little arse!” He says as his other hand grips her buttocks tightly.
“Die down near the stream said the diermantra, die I did and so will you,” a dry voice croaks from beside him, he scrambles desperately out of the car and stares back into the wreckage terrified.
“B-B-Bella?” He says nervously through shaking lips.
For several moments there is no answer.
Fergus says with a burly laugh. “Did you see that shite Wee-Billy? Did you see that crazy cunt jump across then room like he was auditioning for some real American superhero bullshite?”
Wee-Billy curls his lips, and spits a wad of saliva to the floor. “Aye, I fooking saw him!”
She looks at him coldly, “She can’t read at that sort of level, not yet, and what news stories? This place is old, but it’s hardly newsworthy anymore. The boy, the one she said told her all this shit, did you know he died in her room seventeen years ago,”
“Overdramatic? I am not being overdramatic, I am being honest and forthright. You asked me a question and I have given you an answer. Is that not what you required?”
He smiles, “I required an answer, you are correct. But you gave me a picture painted in a thousand colours.”
“Don’t you fucking say anal, don’t you fucking dare!” She says quickly interrupting him.
He laughs nervously “ T-T-That’s not what I was going to say,” he stammers.
“Okay then big shot, what the fuck were you going to say, if it wasn’t anal?”
Silence hovers between them for some moments.
Mistaken insecurities, given to waters not rode, we fly, suffocated excitement, horrors undone by mirrors ignored, see the reflection, for his eyes are empty, yet his body is full, a walking disease, my monster in open waters, see me, sacrifice the silence for a bitter winter, while next year, we will start again, with the executions of today’s hero’s, for they lie to survive…
Fluid ounces, building blocks, we sow the seeds, we bleed the flock, mistakes are made in tandem, you deliver a sacrifice, while I look forward to the second life, pour the fluid, drink it down, replicate the pleasure, fake it, failure is a mirror best reflected upon, see me, see my self, see my hate for the image I portray when I am not who I pretend to be…
My muse of wickedness, how subtle you simmer in the sin of your own flesh, eyes worn thin, a smile crooked and wide, pulsating flashes, fleeting moments when tears were hidden, we few of madness, we suckers succumb to disease swept from the sun, a vanquished enemy, a red tongue, have my memories, light my candle, for the door beckons the guilty, the darkness guides my way through…
Flow the songs of madness as my blood runs cold, sticky intent, fools gold, my sickness now yours, my grave unmarked as the hole is bigger than the football field played in as children, bask in the darkness, farewell to the flesh, a mirror is my forgiveness, a lasting nothingness set free, forgive, my self loathing, my bitter enemy, my isolating companion, my self, me…