Tag Archives: Own

Ink&Iron Heroic Fantasy

Howard Pyle

Mickey’s Christmas Hit Men

Empire

Walt
is your
Daddy
&
Mickey
has Come
to Collect
#‎B27321

Mickey Is
What He’s All Ways Been
a Hit Man
For the Disney Mob.
Whether He’s Playing
the Pencil Pushing Hapless Scribe;
Meek & Needy,
So Poor He Doesn’t Have a Dime
or As an Enforcer
For the King of Crime.
He Was Working
For Ebenezer
the Richest Duck
In All the Land
& to Get the Money
for Walt
He Had a Devious Plan.
Drive That Scrooge
to InSanity
With Pity & ReMorse
at All the Dirty Deeds
That Have Bloodied
His Red Hands,
Because you See
Wealth
Was the Source
of All His Wicked Pride.
Forcing All the Children
to Work For Him
Not Disney
In His Hellish Mine,
Starving
as They Worked
Cannibalism
Would Break Out
From Time to Time.
Laughing At the Shillings
He Would Save
When the Killings
Began Again
Maybe Even
This Very Day.
Did He Reminisce
About the Many Rivals
He Had Killed
aLong His Long Black Past.
Namely,
That Goofy Jacob Marley
He Garroted
With His Own Two Fists
or That Whore
He Loved
Named Daisy
Who Gave Him
a Horrible Fit
of the Drip
& How About
When He Sold His Soul
to the Agent of Satan;
the Mighty Mr. Toad.
Who He Killed Out of Envy
to Gain the Formers Role
to Live As Long As Ever
If He Never Lost Control.
He Had Minnie
& Timmy
& Even the Giant Willie
to Help Him Carry Out
His Evil Scheme
to Put That Duck Through the Ringer
& Squeeze Out Every Thing.
For Only Two Choices
Does He Have
Visit Him
With Three Dark Sins
or Put Him In a Can.
#B27321

https://theprose.com/post/149484/mickey-s-christmas-hit-men

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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

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Ink&Iron Heroic Fantasy

Howard Pyle

Rejection; Depression

Rejection
a Word
I Know
All too Well,
a Word
That Has Burned a Hole;
Marked my Soul.
Driven me To be a Lone.
Never to Know Home,
to Own Nothing,
But Scars I Can Not Hide;
That Multiply
With Each Passing Day.
They Weigh One After Another;
Suffer.
That Is the Bread I Break,
the Ache
of Never a Praise
or a Raise
to Lift me a Moment
From my Torment.
my Eyes Search
For Why
This Has to Be my Fate
& May Be
I Cry
Just a Little
When I Remember
It Is Too Late,
To Begin a New;
to Bloom.
So I Huddle In my Covers
& Dream Dreams of Death.
For I Have Not the Courage Yet,
to Die;
Sublime
& In my Mind
I Find
Depression At Its Best,
a Laughing Joke,
Another Poke;
That I am Neither a Live or Dead
Just Shambling Through
One More Room
In This Tomb
I Call Life
& I Wonder To my Self
Could This Be a Test;
Then I Smile;
Liar.
Don’t Bother Trying
It Will End
Just Like the Rest.
So Don’t Sit & Fret.
It Can’t Be Met,
Perhaps It’s Time
to Rile Up
the Demons In your Breast;
To Summon Up
All the Angst & Hate
& Serve Them Up a Bitter Plate
Rife With Gun & Knife.
So They May Share
the Loss That Is my Life.
These Are the Things
That Swirl Through my Brain,
That Drive me InSane;
Red,
Raw,
Murder.
Shall I Take your Hand
ForSake This Land
or Am I too Weak,
Another Loss I Think.
Another Rejection
to Add to my List of Depression,
a Debilitating Disease
That Will Have you On your Knees.
Not Good For a Thing
That Is How It Has me
With Out
Hope
#B27321 

https://theprose.com/post/146018/rejection-depression

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Ink&Iron Heroic Fantasy

Antonio da Correggio

Die For me

Do Machines Dream,
I Only Know
my Sex Machine
Died For me.
I Know
Who Writes
About Such a Sick Thing;
a Sex Machine,
a Vat Grown Organic:
She.
I Did Not Invent
The Technology,
But I Did
Pervert It
to My Own Need.
Why you Ask;
Simple,
Loyalty.
They Would Die
or Suicide
Before They Gave Up
On me.
I Kept 5
I Wanted 10.
Only One;
Gemini
Was Better
Than the Rest,
One I Intended To
Put To the Test.
To Afford This Lavish Life Style,
to Afford my Pets;
I Did Things,
Things
Some People
Would Regret.
Mainly
I Killed;
Poison, Gun, or Knife;
That Was the Road
I Stood.
She Would End Up
Giving Her Life;
She Who Was Like a Twin,
Like a Second Skin;
Who Could Have Been a Wife.
Will She Be the Same
When She Down Loads
To Night.
#B27321 

https://theprose.com/post/144636/die-for-me

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Ink&Iron Heroic Fantasy

Paul Stade

Paul Stade

Cold, Maybe So

you are
Alone
Trust
a Broken
Bone
Cold
Maybe So
But
When you
Are There
Sitting In
the Chair
After
They Have
Shaved
you Bare
Who Shall
Take
your Place
Fate
you Are
On
your Own
&
It Is
Written
In Stone
That you
Have
to Deal
With
the Past
you’ve Made
Sit
as Though
On
a Throne
Knowing
In
your Home
Nothing
Was Fake
#B27321

https://theprose.com/post/49456/cold-maybe-so

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