Agnat’s Choice

Agnat could not believe the flesh he bore; the way it hugged his sinewy hide. He was overwhelmed with pleasure at the utter humanity he felt within it: Pain, pleasure – all of it was at last his to be had, but all this at a monstrous price.
Agnat the Defiler was of course a half bred demon from the black realms of Hell. Within him he carried the hate of the Ancient Ones, the ones who gnashed their teeth at the accursed Christ God. But it was his other half, the half that was raped and tortured as a flesh soul that triggered Agnats earthly curiosity. It was the dreams of the flesh that truly tortured him so.
And now, after a harrowing flight from his kin, Agnat had found himself surfaced. His rotten heart – if he it was indeed a heart at all – had instantly began beating rapidly as he sucked in the air, and strangely, despite the hissing from his brethren below, found it to be sweet and refreshing. But he had no time to enjoy his new surroundings, for he had to find the girl that plagued his dreams.
If he was correct, the girl would be sleeping somewhere in the French Quarter of New Orleans – she was a poor girl without shelter. This would make the possession easy.  But until then, he was already rogue —I don’t get this. consider rephrasing.
“If word had reached Master, he would surely surface and devour me whole. “
The thought of his master in the flesh made the crawlers in his stomach slither uneasily.
Pulling his victim’s shabby jacket closer to himself,  Agnat began to slowly dip in and out of the shadows that draped Royal Street. To his left, he heard the drunken sinners on Bourbon street, an ocean of sin that called out to him like a hungry voice.
If he stayed in the presence of the girl the sentinels of hell would easily overtake him; they, of course, had no true idea why he left. His dreams, a curse of the flesh soul, was his and his alone.
After a few blocks, the presence of the girl had become so strong he could literally smell her stink. It excited Agnat to the point where he abandon ed all sense of fear. The girl was located on the top floor of an old brick building that occupied the corner of the street.
Running, Agnat jumped on the ivy covered wall, and crawled his way to her balcony. Shaking with delight, he slowly opened the window and slipped inside her room.
There she was; sleeping alone in a heap of dirty blankets. In a shadowy stride, Agnat was next to her, kneeling, sniffing her body. It was too much for the agent of hell. A smile erupted upon is borrowed flesh face, and the smile ripped the cheeks like thin slices of meat, leaving two large slits that gave him permanent smile. Without hesitation, Agnat whispered deeply in her ear.
It all happened so fast. Like a black tidal wave, Agnat was transferred to the girls body – her soul chained deep within his stomach. She had no time to scream or even protest, which made Agnat uneasy. But before he could contemplate this, he felt it; the Godly burn of Him, the all-powerful, the white light, the purifier, the creator.
And before Agnat could flee to the cover of night, he found himself transported to a blazing white room, and in front of him stood the Great Father of heaven and earth. With a voice as soft as snow but as strong as a hurricane he spoke.
“What is it that you want, Agnat?”
Trembling.
“To live…the flesh”

The Devil and His Horse

I’m looking to the west but the sun is getting hotter and hotter

Somebody cried out, “give us a savior or give us death!”

Nobody dared to agree but all held their breath.

 

The rolling stone in cotton white sits dry as a bone

Since Sunday burned into Monday the sky held it’s tears,

the town below rusted and crumbled as the children ate their fears.

 

Those who talk to the night turned off the light.

Yet the wagon wheel continues to lay still,

and the wind whispers for a kill.

 

All doors and windows are locked up and boarded.

From the shadows of the yellow cantina comes forth a child of God,

on bended knee he joins the red kings killing squad

 

Lo and behold the sun has fallen!

Goes out the chosen one with the ring of the bell,

opens up the chasm,  the gates of hell.

 

All able bodies prepare for the battle.

History will call it the fifth local war,

nobody remembers three and four.

 

Dead Dog sucks on the bones.

The Red king’s Preachers demands them to bow,

with bloody tears they all ask, “how?”

 

The sun blisters the softest skin

Evil is here and is on course

Here cometh the devil and his horse.

 

All Hallows Eve.

Here lies a poem inspired by HP Lovecraft. I’ve finally did some nipping and tucking to come to what I believe is the final piece. Enjoy!

– The Gaunt

Rubescent moon waxing o’er ghoul infested bayous

Spears of light thro’ haunting cypress trees

On Howling lupine creatures of ancient lore

As devils dance ghoulishly over hells open door

       A chthonic masquerade

Borrowed flesh masks hath been made

To celebrate this, All Hallows Eve

And hold high all those souls who still grieve

 

Can ye remember, if truly tried

Ere the crown of thickly thrones

And the showering of golden horns

The bygone nights danse macabre

            A  waltz for the skeleton crew

That drank freely the cemetery dew

Whilst feasting on the living glow

With the raven and the crow

 

Infinite was the torture of time

Dagon and dragon struggled to survive

Even the monsters that you fear

Can shed a despairing tear

          A nightmare for nightmare makers

But lo, a pact was struck with  the undertakers

All the damned were set free

With the slow turn of the God key

 

Hell night hath returned upon the mortal shores

Begin again the screaming of the earthwalking whores

And on reapers hill the factory of doom,

Smoked and coughed again the smogs of gloom

           A grand party, a monstrous affair

All the living will fall into despair

As we celebrate this All Hallows Eve

And hold high those souls who still grieve.

The Boy Who Whistled Past the Graveyard.

There Once lived a fat little boy who was not much of a boy since he was in his twenties. The boy who was not a boy, decided one day to go whistling past his local graveyard just because another kid had done it first. The boy who whistled past the graveyard had evidently received such high praise from the other kids around the neighborhood.

Well, the night was dark, and the night was damp as the fat kid who was not a kid trampled along to the graveyard. Upon arrival, the boy heightened his slacks, sniffed the cold air, and filled his fat head with implausible courage.
You see, the kid who did it first really didn’t do it at all.

No sirree.

He never whistled past the graveyard, or any land the contained corpses under his feet. Why? Well, it’s simple — everybody knows that any mortal that whistles past a graveyard is doomed to die.

Folks, the kid lied. And as for the fat boy who wasn’t really a boy but a slacked jawed, no faced, apple head – he died.