In darkest night a single shot rang out,

a body lay upon the preacher's stage;

the pages of a Bible strewn about

were evidence of some unholy rage.

My job it was, to solve these heinous crimes—

the holy dead man here was not the first.

Though I possessed a sharp deductive mind,

it had become my blessing, and my curse.

These men were foolishly all targeted

by some poor fool, in superstitious zeal,

who used a silver bullet to strike dead

the werewolves they must have believed were real.

The true sadness was one they'd never know,

as in the moonlight, I felt my fangs grow.

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© 2023 dustygrein

I am a stitch in a swatch of people

Hush whispering, wheels rolling, walls humming

The bus's lights glow dozing blue and dull

The liminal sings through rhythmic drumming

A man in dirt-caked cargos strums his bass

A woman wearing cleavage cries quietly

The endless strings of souls I can't amass

An archive of loves and lives lost to me

A bloodless voice from speakers above

A boy flees past the doors onto concrete

Never will I see his worn face hereof

The basses strings simmer beneath my feet

Heavy eyes; brush of a bony shoulder

Listerine and cleat cheese down the corner

"Write your own story," the empty book said.

"Let others read the wealth of your knowledge,"

Putting pen to paper, the book was fed.

Of people, places and things did I rage.

"More." With trembling hand and seizing muscles

I frantic'lly poured out my darkest thoughts.

Brought into the light as the spectacles

they are, I thought of myself as I aught.

"Don't stop." So I wrote about sadness and

anger, fear, embarrassment, happiness

and the like. Once done, unable to stand,

consciousness swirled. Steeped in my catharsis.

I was finally able to let go

and reevaluate all that I know.

Where do the ghosts stay at the hospital

The sick who died without an even chance

The patients who left without remittal

Of diseased parts that pushed them the distance

Of all the ghouls who come to those who fear

There aren't those more fright'ning—to the staff

Who made the mistakes that haunt each career

And leave the trail of death on their behalf

Arithmetic mistakes preclude recount

As when concocting potions meant to heal

These are the blunders making death tolls mount

And guilt that does not pay for lives they steal

The horror tales that spin of wraiths and ghosts

Ignore the places where they're brewed the most

How do you destroy a monster without becoming one?

To not end up like the thing you hate the most.

I ask this question as my time is almost done.

As I watch my personality become a ghost.

I watch the smile on my face become fangs

I see my eyes without their humanity

My heart ices through the pangs

This facade brought me to insanity

If I am a sliver of my true self, it seethes

It is an evil twin but internal and inhumane

The thoughts stay in my mind even if I leave

Because never being good enough haunts me night and day

The people are satisfied and the guests leave the house

As my evil "twin" and I play a mental game of cat and mouse

My heart sings a tune of happiness amidst all things great

As it heralds the dawn of a new day that draws nigh

The roses of summer grown on the fence’s main gate

Whilst the birds sing their lovely tunes with a sweet cry.

I love the breath of the flower’s fragrance so strong,

The smell of freshly mowed grass lingering in the air,

As in green pastures I roam and lie therein ever long

Within the flowering bushes and animals so fair.

I will whistle a song of love and purest delight

As I weave along my merry way and explore

With no one and nothing barring my sight

Until my eyes feast on my dear Geordie, whom I adore.

’Tis no wonder the delight of summer days well spent

Are the dearest of times filled with joy, knowing no discontent.

So toll the bells, the bells of Hell, my soul;

So when I hear the knell of bells from Hell

Then I can pay as well the hellish toll

To quell these heart-whole tears and say farewell

And so I creep and grope in Hell’s morass,

Up his steep slope Ephyra’s king still lopes

Where Ocnus shapes his rope to feed his ass,

Near pool and grapes untouched which Atys gropes.

So shall I find you there and pay the fare?

The ferryman shan’t wait for man nor child

Nor me, bereft, heart-sick, gone wild to bear

The loss of love, of you, unreconciled.

And lo! My steps will lead me back in kind

Without the one I went to Hell to find.

I had a dream I could not understand.

Be patient while I tell you what it was.

Take my hand and I will share my dreamland.

I will take a minute in between and pause.

I want you to know what I have been through.

And you can understand what I have seen.

And you can know me a little more too.

I've had some problems since I was a teen.

In this dream i found true love but lost it

The strangest thing was the man in my dream.

I met him sitting at a firepit.

But it wasn't as good as it may seem.

He took my hand and whispered in my ear.

You will push away people who get near.

Marnie is in front of me

She's giving herself a bath

No sign of a flea

It would feel my wrath

Today is a Monday

No rain in sight

Yet the sky stayed gray

Without a single beam of light

Midnight will strike in 60 seconds

And then I'll slam this laptop shut

My tired brain, it beckons

We must sleep to break this rut

I pull the covers over as I lie beneath

Tomorrow when I awaken it will be Tuesday, June 13th

Dry your salted tears my sweet simple dear,

Tell constables when death is at behest.

Aching bones stand limber under long years.

Cold eyes know there is no jest in your breast.

Life's foulest fell from foot to dirt cradles,

Bury them deep so none wake from slumber.

What bounty left, may only be tabled.

Those living are weak and easy plunder.

Sacred, wicked hands alike steal treasure.

Crows caw on iron wrought fences in mass.

Their greed knows no particular measure.

Plots of land, fresh to bodies grow no grass.

Only fifthly beggars, wanton letters.

Chained to despots with coined perverse pleasure.