Conan
Tag Archives: Kind
Ink&Iron Heroic Fantasy
Henry Fuseli
Ravioli Knights
–
Infidelity
a Broken Ring,
a Vow
That Means
Nothing Now,
Lies
Like Spread Thighs;
Cottage Cheese For Seasoning.
True
That Should Have Been
Like Glue,
Not
Like Rot
Seven Seasons Dead.
In This Room
I Have Been Held
For the Murders of you
I Thought a Friend
& the Mob Who
Bought It
Trying For my Head.
Just me you See
With a Canned Good
Against you
& Three.
the Misery I With Stood
2 To the Chest
& One Beside the Eye.
Yes,
the 45 Caliber Kind.
to Drain & Die
On This Kitchen Floor
Was Not What I Was Made For.
If I Was to Die
It Was to Be In Battle Sweet
or Between the Legs
of a Lady Riding High.
Not Treachery
Both Foul & Deep.
Luring me With Sex & Song
to the Valley of Sleep;
Having Done
I Went For a Bottle of Beer
& Surprise Who Should I Meet
But 3 Long Shadows
Waiting There For me.
Flash,
Flash,
Flash,
Down I Was InDeed,
Blood Red Agony,
Not a Breath to Breathe,
Pain Bright Dizzying.
Laying There Wondering
If This Was the End For me,
the Vest Had Not Held
& Crimson Was Blossoming.
They Left to Check & See,
To Get the Stuff to Dismantle me.
In the Tub to Bleed
& Then the Cutting;
No, No,
Not For me
As I Slipped Ravioli In a Sock.
First,
I Came to Crush your Skull
my Lovely Little Girl.
Then the Man
Who Came to Gut me Like a Pig
& Then the 2
to Help Move.
It Was Such a Gristly Scene,
Had to Be Burning.
I Will Never Forget
That Night.
Standing Above
Those Broken Things
Screaming Triumphantly
As the Kerosene Burned Bright,
Ravioli Nights
#B27321
–
https://theprose.com/post/154950/ravioli-knights
Filed under Prose
Ink&Iron Heroic Fantasy
Spencer Stanhope
Crimson Queen
–
Satan; Adversary,
Lucifer; Morning Star,
but She was Older much Older.
Older Than the Castrating Cult
of the Great Mother;
Cybele,
She Was the Oldest
& Greatest of Gods,
She Was Eros;
Desire,
the Crimson Queen.
& We,
my Family & I
Have Served Her
Since Man
First Crawled From the Wild.
We Who Have Suckled From Her Tit.
Who Have Known Her
As Pandora
& Again
As Eve.
We Were There
When the Walls of Troy Fell
& Again
When We Pierced the White Gods Side.
We Are the Ones
Said to Wear the Mark;
the Mark of Cain;
the Spear
& to This Day
We Are Still Known
As the Sons of the Dragon.
Yes,
Even He
of the Impaling Fist
Served Her;
Her
Blood Red Bliss.
She Who Came to Us
When the Moon Was Swollen,
Swollen With Sin
& Desire
Desire
Like Fire.
a Fire to Sear your Soul
& Strip your Sanity.
Bacchanalian Rites
of the Blackest Kind,
Orgies
of Mutilation & Murder.
She Would Stroll Through
Some Times Stopping
to Touch a Subjects Head.
As Her Worshippers
Offered Up Their Bloody Sacrifices;
Dripping Mangled Manhood.
Blood Wine
Heaped With Herbs
of the Darkest Sort,
Flesh of the Fallen;
Man,
Beast,
or Child;
Was the Feast We Had.
Screams of Agony & Ecstasy
In the Torch Light,
the Scarlet Flames Illuminating
Hellish Flickering Scenes
of Satanic Night.
She Covered In the Blood of the Devout,
Licking Her Fingers
Bouncing About
All Eyes & Thighs,
Tits & Ass.
Tonight I Was to Receive my Birth Right.
Ouroboros; the Snake Circle,
So Driven by Desire
It Eats Its Own Tail;
to Take the Place of my Father,
I the Oldest Surviving Son In an UnBroken Line
Since Life Began.
I to Sit Upon Her Left Side
& He
to Cross Over
& Serve Her In Her Own Land;
Hand Picked Children
In the Image
of Lillith.
#B27321
–
https://theprose.com/post/147052/crimson-queen
Filed under Prose
Ink&Iron Heroic Fantasy
Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres
Mercy me
–
a Mad
Tea Party
&
you
Invited me
Oh
you Really
Shouldn’t Have
Cause you
See
the Hatter’s
Kind
of Lame
&
the
Tea
Is Kind
of Tame
Not the
Kind
They Use
To Serve
To me
Where
the Rabbit
Would Be
Packing
&
Alice
Would Be
On Her
Knee’s
&
Mercy
Would Be
the Furthest
Thing
you See
That’s
the Kind
of Party
For me
#B27321
–
https://theprose.com/post/48076/mercy-me
Filed under Prose
Ink&Iron Heroic Fantasy
Arthur Rackham
Luck
–
Luck
a Lady
All Ways
Easy
On
the Eyes
Luck
a Lady
As I
Slip
Between
Those Thighs
Luck
a Lady
As I
Listen
To Her
Cries
Luck
a Lady
As Every
One
Else Dies
&
That
Is How
I Fared
How I
Escaped
the Electric
Chair
How I
Dared
With Out
Even
a Care
As She
Rode
By my
Side
She
Of the
45 Caliber
Kind
#B27321
–
https://theprose.com/post/42765/luck
Filed under Prose
Ink&Iron Heroic Fantasy
Félicien Rops
What Should I Compose
a Story About;
a Loner,
a Woman,
Child,
Dog…
–
How About a Goat,
See; There was a Goat
Walking Down the Street.
Yeah, a Goat
& It Came Up To me
& Asked For a Smoke.
So, I Put One In Its Mouth
& Lit It.
Cause, you Know
Goats
Don’t Have Hands.
Well, If It Did;
That Would be Some Kind
of Freak.
It Stood There Puffing
a Way
& I Must Say
the Most Disconcerting Thing
About the Whole Fray
was Its
Eyes.
I Don’t Know
If you Have Ever Had
a Huge Black Goat
With a Devil’s Pentagram
Branded In Its Fore Head;
Stare At you
With Those Black;
Soul Less
In Humane
Eyes.
Well; If you Have,
Then you Have
a Notion
Of a Very
Startlingly
Occurrence.
#B27321
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