#catcrazy987

[tenebrous2099]

My first poem I've written in a while

Yes this may be mildly autobiographical, but still exaggerated (after all, it's what we writers do)

what to do...what to do... the cripple has to dance. I guess I'll get up on my legs and have myself a prance

Pick up the crutch laugh off the pain but for the love of a girl i'll just have to feign

wintery wonder a theme of the place but what to wear where to plunder This is like a race

what to wear the cripple he thought he has no white he's going to rot

so I'll go cool, chilled and black just like a winters night I'm gettin' the groove back

what to do...what to do... the cripple has to dance I guess I'll get up on my legs and have myself a prance...

[tenebrous2099]

Look what gem I found again today

[tenebrous2099]

Another writing project of mine, Pale studies.

"Please sit sit, I implore you, don't call me a bufoon like those fools at the university, and don't pity me with the sad look those poor sods of nurses. The events I will recall to you are completely true, no matter how insane, irregular, or incomplete they may seem."

"It was a gloomy, dark, and chilled saturday night on the evening of june 10th. I remember the odd sensations my body experienced with almost perfect clarity, the air was extremely crisp in the form of a strangely bitter wind, this was odd because the day was an extremely warm and miserable day. I remember my nose caught the ghoulish, charnel, rotting stench of something awful. But most of all I remember the sickly pale glow of the full, spectral. I don't know why I was in that damned place, nor why Edmund dragged me into his infernal dealings. In the past months, something changed in him. His once brilliant eyes, filled with conquest and an almost childish curiostiy for lore and education, have since glazed over and his once ecstatic personality has become bitter and envenomed with hate. I didn't dare question his expeditions for fear he would kill me..."

"I'm sorry, a dottering old man like me must be rambling on. You look fairly pale, would you like a drink? Here, have a glass of gin, my one true vice I admit"

"As I was saying, Edmund had dragged me out to some unmentionable and godawful crypt to dig up who knows what. he had a bizarre look on his face, one of less childish curiosity and more corrupt lust for knowledge long lost to mortal man. He seemed to believe he could steal knowledge from a long rotted corpse. I thought he was a fool, but I didn't dare tell him that, I did make the mistake of asking what he wanted so damn badly. Almost immediately his black haired head shot up and gave me a look out of his dull,bloodshot eyes that contained more hatred than any mortal vessel should ever enclose within itself and looked down just as quickly, without looking up again, in a low, gravelly, weary voice just two simple words. "keep digging" "I'm sorry, I haven't been up this late in a very long time, allow me to open up a window" "*ahem* sorry, continuing on. Edmund and I continued in agonizing silence for some time, it felt as if we had been digging for hours with no fruits for our brutish and ghastly endeavors. But I was ecstatic once we felt our spades strike the solid relief of a coffin beneath the dirt and ancient muck. With as much strength as we could muster, we reached our strangely frigid yet oddly sweaty hands down and pulled off the lid enclosing whatever wicked and nefarious enigmas lie within. What I saw on that dark and frigid night would make even the most seasoned mortician gasp, it was a corpse that, while still ravaged by time, was unnaturally preserved so that some minute details were still slightly discernable. The most horrible thing about it though was the inhuman nature of it's structure, almost as if this had been done unnaturally by itself in life, the legs and torso were extended and thinned as if they were put on some sort of horrid machine, the skin was pallid and dull as opposed to the rotted brown it should have been, the fingers were cruelly sharpened and the skin shaved off the ends, and its ancient skull appeared as one of a sleeping man that was the victim of horrid trepanning with dried blood still calloused along the edge. But as I watched, aghast and in horror at this grisly site, Edmund had found exactly what he was looking for. A small note clutched in the greusome hands of this fetid corpse, and as he groped at the yellow roll I got a closer look, and realized it was not human skin, but appeared to be of the same material as the Al azif, an abominable book written by some arabian pariah. He held it high above his head, the moon was at it's peak and had begun to shine brightly with an almost malign sentience, and he spoke the words written on that vile note, and while I know not what it means, I remember it with perfect clarity as it came out of his lips, he spoke. "Mai ghusapai ki Kamana Li'e bhagavana ke ghara kulaa" And as the last gutteral word left his tired mouth with an almost echoing tone, thunder boomed and it began to rain. Edmund repeated the words on that damned note god knows how many times! Over and over in the same damned tone of voice, but then dropped it, gasping for breath and he looked at me with the curious and soft glance I had known before, but still not full of conquest or wonder, but instead filled with tears and depression. He began to weep, his watery tears streaming down his face faster than the rain, and through his moaning and wailing cries, I began to hear a music, one that I had never experienced in my life, it was ethereal, almost dreamlike, and as that music played, Edmund looked at me and out of his puffy, night stained face he bawled. "god what have I done" as he spoke this through his tears the music struck a sour note, and I noticed it had changed from a jubilant and angelic chorus to a deep, slow, gloomy dirge. The wind grew faster, the dirge slower and louder, and Edmunds berzerk cries grew louder and more indistinct, Then a flash of thunder struck, my eyes were blinded by this sudden shock, and when they recovered, Edmund, the music, and the rain were all gone. The only thing that remained was the opened coffin and that accursed note. I replaced the lid to the coffin, re buried it in the ground, and left without a word, no one since has asked about Edmunds death, and anyone whom I tell this story to believes I should be put in the asylum. So here I am, living with the memories and telling my story to another young man who thinks I'm a damned fool. This night has been really taxing on my brain and mental well being, I would appreciate it if you left my house...OUT!!"

[tenebrous2099]

The lonely telegraph

People spit in my mouth daily, jabbering on and on, they pressed their ears to mine, hoping for a response, they jammed me down, they shouted at me, I hated them, They called me a “telegraph”, that’s not my name, it really isn’t, I’m something far worse than they imagined. More and more they jabbered on, I learned the schedules of every move the apes made, I learned about the powering of this mighty ship, a wonderful vessel for my living in, I learned who had affairs with whom, who had jobs, what they did, what their name was, what the two legged barbarians ate, what it was like outside my metal prison, in the waters of my home down below, but every day they just wouldn’t stop! I hated them, I hated them! With their constantly moving jaws, their grasping bony claws, Their hairy heads, their noisy, lazy, good for nothing spawn (children, I think the word was) ah yes it was horrible. But I kept quiet, I did, it was hard, I really wanted to make an outburst, just a single noise to show my mind and intellect, the intelligence I knew of them, the sins and transgressions each one had made, from the gluttonous chef, to the greedy thieving maid, to the lustful captain, I knew every little inch of their treacherous minds, but they also had one thing in common, they secluded everything and everyone that was “different” than their meaty sacks of bones growing wrinkles from age, because they were perfect, but I, I was just a machine, a pawn in their big game. Trying not to snap I waited, entertaining my higher brain with little games as the hours added to hours, every second just another eternity, but I succeeded, I hadn’t snapped yet. I heard they were going towards an iceberg, they could have easily gotten around it, but I played a little trick you see, I can imitate voices (how else would everyone’s voice travel through me) I said, “drive right into it” to the captain, in a voice he always thought was right (I wouldn’t want to say, he did find it quite embarrassing if I do say so myself). And ignoring common sense he went straight to it! I did find myself overjoyed, I’ll finally be rid of these fleshy grunts, these horrifically stupid meat bags, They can die, all of them, making them obsolete, finally, in sweet solitude I’ll be. I can hear it now, the cracking of the ship’s hull as it’s falling apart, going into the sea, people are terrified, I’ve caused chaos, entropy, and fear among these people, causing the same horrors that they put me through! I’ll finally be alone, blissful silence will be mine. Wait…this isn’t working, now they’re wailing for help, screaming and crying, NO! THIS CANNOT BE! This isn’t what I wanted! Now they won’t even stop, just shrieking, must they torment me so? What have I done? What have I done!? The couple having an affair, having one last kiss, the maid, taking one last dollar, the captain, oh god the captain, all the children crying for their mothers as they slowly drown in the darkened waters this night. I wanted peace, not guilt, I wanted silence, not their cries. The guilt I am wracked with tasks me, it tasks me, it makes me want to die! I am forced to live forever thinking of the last things I heard, restless nights wait here, no one talks to me, no one listens to me, the water, plants, and sand blow about through the ocean, but nothing is here to listen, I am not a machine anymore, I am a monster…being a slave was better, listening to every little thing, but now…now I’m all alone, why won’t people listen, why did I kill them… WHY…why…why…why...why…why…why…why…why…why…why…why…why…why…

[tenebrous2099]

The sniper

Up on a tower, the sniper stands still Watching over a town, sitting on a hill His hunt begins now, as dawn begins breaking ‘Til twilight he watches For no sound is he making The man he is hunting Is convicted of punting A child of six and a half Such a bad criminal will give sniper a laugh For mug after mug after mug he drinks Sitting on top of the tower And “no sign of trouble” He sighs to himself As the clock strikes upon one more hour But wait there he is! sleeping in the shade Where he was just hoping to lie there and fade but sniper concentrated, his breaths had gone deeper and *click* ends the tale of the criminal sleeper

[tenebrous2099]

One shot...

Flash from the muzzle Of fire that’s fizzling While out in the fields The rain that is drizzling

The canister leaves It’s chamber-like home And flies out into the air Where it will truly roam

Into your skull, the bullet flashes For in a few days you’ll be nothing but ashes The gunslinger leaves And with one last grunt As he goes to his home As he ends his hunt

[tenebrous2099]

Little jimmy's halloween

All night Jimmy gathered sweets Tossed upon the growing heap Don’t eat too much his mother said And he had wished that she were dead So with determination, listen he did not “this is so much better” is what he had thought But he didn’t realize what he’d done For he had not been having fun… And with a horrid, startling lurch His childish frame stood bye a church For god or Lucifer he angered “puke your guts out” was real danger Vomit, blood, and candy galore The air, the walls, the trees, the floor The gore of snakelike guts, it splattered Jimmy fell down, he felt battered Dead but conscious he looked on At the creature he had spawned Lengths of sinew, blood and flesh Smell so ripe and deathly fresh For little jimmy eyes a-flood As it wrote this out of his blood

[tenebrous2099]

A winters night, and a winters morning, a two part poem that is one of my favorites I've written

Part 1:

One chilled winter’s eve I rose And sat write down to writing For none had bothered to entail To anywhere, my inviting

So as the snow and darkness came I took and scratched my pencil For then it sank as though it broke I needed another utensil!

So using my wits I began to search I skulk to skulk about But then my stomach gave a lurch So I gave a silent shout

Oh how I pondered many a college students’ meal Hot pockets, Twinkies, all unnatural creations But later they came to reveal A horrible abomination

For there I sat as still as ice Yet all within on fire I decided some drink I must have I’ll die should I get drier

Oh it didn’t help at all, not much The sickness creeped in more coldly For this would be the end of me I feared this just as such

So then with zeal I greatly fled To bathroom, chest in hand I became sicker Even quicker Yet I was dry as sand

So what horrid curse have I now suffered From pantheons long and lost For no medicine worked, nor did it buffer I sat with fingers crossed

I quickly began searching more As retching started now For figured I did that it would work

For I looked with sweat on brow For work it didn’t and then I died So promptly I did so But I whilst never ever know Where did my pencils go?

Part 2:

For woken now have I this morning In sweet and silent bliss For chill of winters night is gone For now I feel a kiss

My body’s gray and dead a lot In afterlife I am For I will now begin to rot

For in the void of death is silent Neither heaven nor hell And nary a creature in my sight For far from life I fell

This silent blackened room I’m in Has no one else but me It is not fair at all I think Alone for eternity

I need a way to bide my time Except for dance and sing and rhyme For with no audience it’s a waste But I have time…I’m in no haste So whistle I do and whistle I shall Whistling wistfully of wintery wings