Bad Dreams: A Twisted Funeral, Perversion of Birth, A Dinner with Dr Death, Tornadoes in Jars.

Close your eyes, say good night
Hope to dream of a world
where every thing is all right.
Wake up and hope to see the sun
But find the night has only begun.

Draped in tears mixed with blood
A creature born to writhe in mud
(Dredged from the gutter
Adorned mostly in a moth’s supper)
Commands your vision in a world twisted
Created by hands old and blistered.
A mist wrapping itself like velvet
Around several corpses in a small box, so well lit,
Poppets assembled in funeral lines
Dressed to depress with pins and needles in their spines.
Mourners painted only with frowns
No eyes, no nose no hairs on their crowns
Lest such jewels detest the grave fixation
And bring sick smiles to this sombre celebration.
Hand wringing attested by this motionless charade
To the wake the bones did shake for a death rock parade
All precepts shot dead along the way
The scene finished with a necromantic cabaret.

All was washed away
The singing silenced,
The dancers flew away.
Moving into a room so quiet
Except the screams and streams
of blood on the walls.
You wail to the fates for this birthday to begin
faces stitched into the bedposts chirrup and sing.
Organs push, your flesh rips and tears
Blood pours out, death sits by and glares
waiting?

Your words burn ear holes
whilst faeces exit others,
Bowls of the abyss give up their payload
Death sits by, eyes wide like the gawp of a toad
Waiting?

A pair of scissors exit your vaginal slack,
cut deep and thick with blood
two dismembered heads soon joined by others,
exit in a hammer horror flood.
Screams from your bodiless babes as they enter the world
followed by the exodus of rotten limbs, blackened and curled.
No surprise from the faces on the bedposts
or from death, who sat silently in the corner
waiting, eyes bored like 10,000 year old ghosts,
Just screams from you
As the last thing does awkwardly emerge.
A full grown man dressed from head to ankle in white
black shoes and dark red gloves
“There you go madame, I finished the great purge”

Arisen from the torturous scene
Death stands head to ankle in black
White boots and gloves quite clean
“thank you good doctor, take my name for I have no breathe”
and with the kiss of the hand the doctor had become death.

Bad Dreams: A Twisted Funeral, Perversion of Birth, A Dinner with Dr Death, Tornadoes in Jars.

Hilton Briscoe

Coventry, United Kingdom

  • Artist
    Notes
  • Artwork Comments 4

Artist's Description

I shall add more poems later, I just have to write them… lol.

Artwork Comments

  • kamel
  • mark tizard
  • HeatherTS
  • Hilton Briscoe
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