Tag Archives: Room

Ink&Iron Heroic Fantasy

Henry Fuseli

First Timer

My Worst One Nighter
Followed me Down the Line of my Life.
When I First Fell Down That Well;
Old Was I Having Spent Most of Life In the Pen.
She Was a Present All Willow & Wine,
Fluid In Motion & What a Slick Grip.
a Real Home Coming In True Gangster Land Style
the Party Lasting Well Into Night.
me & Her Going At It Not Caring the Sight.
Stabbing & Stabbing With my Long Knife.
Dripping & Spent Then Into Her Mouth
a Grin Full of Sin & Back To the Mill.
Tired Was I After We Toweled & Dried.
Getting Into Bed I Thought This the Best It Ever Been.
It Was All So UnTrue As They Crept In my Room.
To Silence the Things Never Mouthed But I Knew.
Shoot Us They Did As I Used Her To Defend,
Bullets Cutting Through Her Turning Living Flesh To Dead.
Her Eyes Wide In Surprise As They Dripped Down my Thigh.
Night After Night That Is What I See
Endlessly Reminding That the Chunks Were a She.
An Ash Tray Was All I Could Find As I Used Her To Hide.
Kill Them I Did Again & Again
But Never Was I In Time.
#B27321

https://theprose.com/post/168922/first-timer

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Ink&Iron Heroic Fantasy

Howard Pyle

Rusty Cage

I Was Attending Worden Alternative School
When the Grunge Scene Hit Full Swing.
Still Jamming to the Misfits & Glenn;
to Seasons …
& Cliff & the Anger At His Loss; Justice …
So Cobain & Chains & Even Garden Were No Maiden;
They Didn’t Even Make my List
Except For a Few Hits.
Just, the Echo of the Seattle Drug Scene;
the Cold Dirty Streets,
the Need,
I Too Have Known the Grip of Addiction,
the Bottle,
the Pill,
the Needle,
the Knife;
But my Oldest Friend
She Be Suicide.
She Came To me In a Darkened Room
While I Attended That Fucked Up School
Whispering In my Ear
Come With me
With Out a Care.
Contemplating What He Did Do,
the Marks On my Hide
Earned me Juvie Time
Not the Big House Yet
That Was Next.
It Was the Epiphany
That Life Had No Place For me.
She Did Not Lie.
Like Starving Rats In a Trap
How we Climb,
the Filthy, Clawing,
Beast That Is Man.
Some Say It Is Cowardice,
But Is It Not
the Biggest Leap of Faith
a Man May Make
to Flee His Rusty Cage
& Soar Free.
I Do Not Know
Nor Have Any Returned.

In Parting
I Will Close This
With a Piece I Wrote
Concerning the Death
of Robert E. Howard.

How can
we Fathom
another
Mans
Soul
or what
Brought
Him
to that
Door
To Live
the Endless
Dream
#B27321

https://theprose.com/post/167233/rusty-cage

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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

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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

Pierre Juilien Gilbert

Pierre Juilien Gilbert

Burn

Burn
Was the
Echo
In my
Head
Burn
Was
What
the Board
Had
Said
Burn
was What
the Candles
Did
As
the Room
Was Set
a Light
Burn
Is What
She Said
As She
Melted
In
the Night
Burn
Is What
the House
Did
All
In Flames
Burn
Is How
the Memory
Remains 

Burn

Was

the Baby

In

It’s Bed,

Burn

I Would

Rather,

Than Not

Be Dead

Burn

Is

the Planchette

In

my Hand,

Burn

I Know

I Must

Be Damned

#B27321

https://theprose.com/post/51900/burn

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Ink&Iron Heroic Fantasy

Howard Pyle

Howard Pyle

What Had
Happened To me 

I Had Never Been to a Séance Before.
Strange Things

Were Going On In This House.
I Had to Admit

If Any Place Had a Right to Be Haunted
It Was This One.
They Said the Foundations Were Pre Roman,
Old as the Stones,
the Story Goes.
Dreams of the Screams,
Those That Died Here by Flame, Plague, & Torture;
Haunt my Sleep.
The Dark Man,
All Ways In the Back;
All Ways.
Like Puppets In a Play
& He Holding the Strings.
They Started to Weave
These Dreams

Into my Waking World.
I Had to Get Some Sleep,
Some Release.
So I Took It Up With the Proprietor,
the Count;
a Family Friend.
His Haunted Hollow Eyes
Saying Much More to me
Than we Shall See
What This Meet Brings.
It Was I,
the Count & Two Gentlemen.
One a Learned Doctor of Court,
No Stranger to the Bizarre,
The Other a Professor of History
& the Occult Sciences;
He Would Be Leading Us
Through This Strange Ceremony.
No Sooner Had we Began our Introductions
Over Brandy & Cigars,
Then a Manifestation Became Evident.
A Globe of Brilliant Light
to Turn the Night to Day
& Say your Payment Is Due,
Entered the Room.
The Count Pointed to me
& Said you May Have Him.
For 13 Months
I Know Not What I Do,
Till They Pulled me From the River;
Ran Through.
6 Months In a Hospital Half the World a Way,
Tomorrow Is the Day;
the Count Explains. 

Taken From
the Private
Journals
of #B27321
Last Son
of a
Fallen Line  

https://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/1340827-monthly-short-fiction-contest—win-a-50-amazon-gift-card-or-paypal-pri?comment=141953921&page=5#comment_141953921

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