Torturer

Sitting waiting
Waiting sitting
Who should I kill next…
Ahh yes, my next victim
Will be
As I sit
As I wait
Next
Will be
The green one
I’ll nibble
From feet to head
Until it’s devoured
Gone
Dead!

Beast

Feral beast a lurking
Long sharp teeth waiting to bite
Hunched down and watching
Russet fur concealing its presence

Powerful forelimbs equipped
With long strong claws
Excellent for running and rending
And a white flashing bob tail

2:30

Broken tooth
Playing razor to my tongue
Repeated probe, scratching sting
Irritated tongue swelling slightly
Catching snag again and again
Until
Whilst eating
A full on bite
Blood wells
Gag and spit from grimaced visage
Meal finished for fellow diners
Time to leave the waffle house.

Crepe Suzette kisses

Crepe Suzette kisses
But not citrus and brandy
Its gasoline
And not crepe
Just Suzette
Not kissed either
Just flambéed
.
Cheating bitch

Death

Reminded again
As I walk
Along damp dark streets
Of life’s frailty
It’s fleeting fickle nature
And how death can strike
Wherever, whenever it likes
Reminded again
By soft crunch, snail underfoot

Innocence Lost

Scrubbing
Hard.
Gouging my flesh
Under jetting water
Amongst mocking white tiles
Hot hot hot
And scrubbing hard
Will it ever come off
This soiled skin
Stained
Who’d have thought
There would be
So much blood
Scrub harder, feeling no cleaner
Maybe bleach will help
But it won’t clean my mind
Erase those images
Remove those sounds
Or undo my actions
Scrubbing harder
My blood washing away theirs
At least my little one
Cries no more

Roped

Rope biting flesh
Wrist to elbow bound behind
Attached to ankles
And constrained
From ankles to knees

Bound

Gagged

Blindfolded

Waiting

Well, there’s fuck all else I can do…

Except smell the pine floor
And a faint hint of gasoline
And listen to a distant crackle
Like continuous scrunching
Of crisp packets…

Sneak

Those shoes, that squeak,
When trying to sneak
They really have to go
When raiding peoples fridges
That squeak will let them know…

Worth

He’s got a medal
On the mantelpiece
In a little box
A shining silvery symbol
Of brief foolish bravery
A deed done well
He’s got a medal
And no one to tell

Turning

So everything moves on
Again, a wheel revolved
And we remain crushed beneath
A lucky few wedged in the treads
Rise up, beyond us
Revelling in their good fortune
Until angels feast
Upon their crushed souls
Like seagulls on landfill…