I hope this doesn't sound like anything but a compliment, but your writing seems to be improving so much, Percy. I'm very impressed. Not that I'm the one to impress around here, but you get what I mean...

Anyway, here's something that's incredibly dark and creepy. And, I would hope so, as my main inspiration for writing this (though there were many) was a carnival-type dark ride we used to have at our local amusement park, until it got torn down about ten years ago. Here's some info on it, if anyone cares. (This is the second page of info because it addresses the incarnation of the ride that I actually remember, but the first page is pretty interesting, too.)

This poem is basically an eerily-executed warning about fearing time and hanging onto the past so much that you fail to live in the moment. Also, it's about the "price" of the overcompensation - living with abandon, being thoughtless, because one feels they have no higher power to answer to and that life is just one big joyride.

(Don't mind the gratuitous elipses. I did that because TW doesn't seem to recognize indentations.)



I heard time chattering inside my closet
.............Tittering
At the expense of my own stunted laughter
.............Stunned
The runt amongst the litter
Of dry bones
That shriek, like flutes
Like hollow bamboo shoots
They still chime in
The illusion
Of oxygen
The thought that made me pant with panic
.............Hah, hah, hah

Time was gnawing on my toys and shrunken gowns
At once, I thought,
Because, they taste of me
.............Tick, tick, tick
And, soon he'll have a thirst for me
That can't be satiated
In a scent
He'll crave and come for my own flesh
He'll lap the salt from my own skin
As if
.............Lovingness
Had overcome him

So, I upheld the pretense;

The living dead can dance
I'm free as free can be
Spinning in the dark
With me and me

I did not notice
How I waltzed
.............Creak, creak, creak
Only but a whisper hovering over the parquet
Feeling cold as clay
To the bottom of my soles
With my toes
Pressed so crisply into his
He dipped me into the abyss
Into dismay
Into decay
Where all is nude
Within the design
Of his dark decrepitude

And, there I sensed his silhouette
Which never left
It mastered every movement
Every languid motion
Of my porcelain
Marionette;
Clamoring and cackling

Time is cachinating
In his cold and calculating
Machination
Convulsing
In repulsion
The everlasting echo
Of my maturation
Rendered hopeless
By means of its late achievement

.............The tragic fault in my living bereavement

The laughter in the dark
Was me
For, when I breathed
My seething fears
Into the night
They seized me tight
Strangling me inside the grasping fingers of my ribs;
I could not sense his delicate, skeletal grip
Which rested on my hip,
Until I felt his pointed finger pressed
Into my lips

I am his twin
I have no choice, now
But, to grin, for
Time is grinning
As I'm spinning
Into Le Cachot
With nowhere left to go

.............Click, click, click


I have a couple of fag women I go hunting with. - Altoid