Killing JokeThe walls of my roost, they sigh;For awake and prowling within,A purpure silhouette writhes;Hoarsely, he beckons me to begin;" Be gone." Me thinks aloud;Yet, an exemplar of glory is he!Such exquisite chaos, endowed;Manners of dementia sold comely;" You complete me."Hastily, he stems blaring a glare;Books, pens, dust rattled off the desk;His stance culled of a nightmare,Now looms he, droning my neck;Seated I, eyeballing the screen;Naught a twitch for an itch,As leathery hands locked keen,He acquaints me own hands to script;A fool I felt, a Puppeteer's aid;'Tis then he bent, tongue in me ear,Grains of a chalky mask fade,Abandoned his visage with a sere;His tale enraged of muted irony,Etched for keeps, a laugh so rubious;I withered, as his lips rasped cruelly-" Why so serious?"
Deluder's DelusionMake haste! Make haste!Naught a minute to waste!Shovel those bittersweet coals!They be warrant for your souls!See now! Harken titian fields!The laborious aria it yields;Of rancid sweat and bloody tears,To condemn tables of miserly meals!-Spake my spirit-Thou art of age, twenty-six!Drunk by thine mother's bosom,Thou hast clasped thine lips!Varlet! Thou most loathsome!Thou art treacherous scribe!Merchant of baneful plums;Thou lyest, borne of foul tribe!Bard of swindling poems!-I contended myne voice-'Tis true yet 'tis naught;Ye sought well to ravage,Of myne repreve from the noose!I canst no more hide and rummage;For bittersweet coals charred my bliss;And miserly meals churned my shame;Fiendish words to the earth, my kiss;Grisly tears suckle my blame;Make haste! Make haste!I shall soon come undone;For naught a minute I wasted,Dashing my foot against a stone;Alas! Alas!Of a much modest price!Be myne burial,Than of my sombre life!
An Army BeforeThey stand as Pillars of ravenous claim;Pariahs of Asgardian pathos,Ever-ready moths to my game;Seething desperation embossed;Sacrificial armoured wounds,Nations borne of savage feasts! Hark!Paeans of kindled tongues resound!As crushed knees love their Monarch!My feet of assembled bargains,They shall scorch the graces of Odin;For Thor, my
brother, Jotunheim awakens,A mate, they seek! Oh! Dear Jane!My fate of a hateful life,To rule giants and mortals;With a leeching scepter as wife,Yes, with the boot, an ant has no quarrel
My army courts menace,Splitting skulls for only me;Glad tidings flow intimately,Slowly, by the scream of my name