“The bagpipes are placed now
The chapel’s bell blazes and chimes along
It’s time to work now
Follow sundown
It leads to the sanctuary”

Do not begrudge me
Just a man in a savage crowd
Engorged
Lonesome and hollow

When twilight swathes the sky
This dreamy fucker falls down
So tired and fed up
Staring at Le Triste Ciel
Laid down, I sweep the snow with
Legs and arms
An angel has been carved
And all seraphs
Hide among the clouds
Catching timid glimpses
With scrutinizing crow-feather eyes.
God takes a brief look
And wonders about human misery
But soon his attention turned away.

I am POGO the clown
Back to life from a world where the departed dwell.
My life sucks since
Madame Camilla left me
Hopeful I stand upon the skeletons
Burdened with your broken promise.

She told she’d be back!
Such a long time elapsed since
I still wait in the underworld
But meanwhile…

An evanescent voice
Steps from the void
Bathing me in curses
My hoarse voice pleaded guilty
Guilty of buggery, witchcraft and murder

I desecrated thousands of graves
Used up human bones
So much better than ivory in necklaces
I just do my job
And on the other side I startle this fucking village
I hold the upper hand.

The little children love my jokes
They love POGO the clown
They gather near me to salute such a lovely guy.

I hew the little children softly
It looks like the bleeding will not stop
Their knees are the hardest to saw
Today’s youth drinks a lot of milk.
Dreadful shouting cast to the night
The dismembered kid faints now
Soon his guts shall enwreathe the door
The rest will be dumped on the streets.
I love to see the scared faces
Of parents mourning
By the graves of their ripped spawns
Under the cold dew of Sunday Morning
It makes me feel so lewd.




Lethargically shocked
Thinking of you as usual
Like opiate dream.

Frightened
Ashamed and asleep
Confused and nervous
Obsessive and sick
Raped… molested…
Wishing upon the harassment of the rotted away
Slicing the children
Like the king of Huns.

Why are always coffins there when I write?
You know,
The soulless are supposed to be maggot-eaten
But behold me,
There is an undead among you all.

The night and its guiltless blackness
Has arrived at last.
The witness of my sins
All of them were buried under her lunar sight
She keeps the filthy secrets also underground as well
Only the Moon sees
And blames so bad.

Is there anyone able to breathe this way?
Enraged by the cherished ones
Mistreated in childhood
Taught to be a monster.
But deep inside, I am an angel
Frankenstein, Modern Prometheus
I know it; I know they wait for me in Heaven

Gory thoughts grind my head
The pig of my father
Hung himself with the whipcord.
He hit mom with that thing.
But she one day came along with a hammer
With blood-injected eyes and rage
Unleashing ill swears
As the hammer swayed brutally in the air
Again and again against the misshaped cranium of the pig-man
Bashing the head, spreading the brains
Like a doll filled with candies.
The first Sunday of Lent
A hideous bloodbath stained the linoleum
As my raging mom laughed in sign of madness
Facing and staring the lifeless corpse of my pederast father
She took a gun hidden somewhere under the bed
Placed it between her lips
And stained the wall with her rank brains.
She was nothing but a filthy whore
And I was so glad
Those fuckers were dead
My dad wouldn’t harass me anymore
Wouldn’t be his sex toy any fucking more.

Memories stab,
I can feel the cold blade
Sinking in my flesh
Stirring painfully into my chest
Avoiding the ribs to pinch the heart
And cause an internal hemorrhage.

I feel so wicked and fucked up,
Nasty, a bag of shit and rotten carcass
I cannot believe I am writing this sick stuff
Unutterable things disguised in poetry
This is not poetry.
I guess I deserve the Eternal Fire for my writings
This fetid bunch of blasphemies.

You look at me; you look at my nocturnal eyes
A assure it’s hard to believe I am the creator of this
I am just so normal in life.
It’s the way I purge demons out of my heart
It’s the way I keep my soul clean
The excrements of my soul.
This is the reason of my perverse literature.

I won’t pee on my pants again, I promise,
I swear not to soak the bed, mom,
Don’t call me I’m a freak, it hurts
No! Take those scissors off me
Do not cut me please!
It is not my fault to be so ugly
Please mommy!

She whispered:
“What kind of hellish spawn
Brought you to my fucking life?
Those were her last words she spelled to me,
That happy day, the day of their death.

Forgive me my dear Camilla
I had to do it because you cheated me
I murdered you, I know
But I buried you under the roses of Versailles
For the day of your resurrection
You’d come to love me again
But thy soul has earthen it seems.

I still wait for you
As my eyes get lost in the immense dawn
With hope still burning in me.

I lay down upon the white snow
Fitting with my skin
Shaping angels
For envious archangels enchained to peer down.

One dreamy night
A crow posed on my hand
And told me that Camilla was kidnapped
By a dark prince who fell in love of her
Of my graceful Camilla!
She is locked in the damp and gloomy dungeon of the castle
Tucked in a forsaken prison
Like Érszébet Bathory.
I must rescue her
With the aid of fauns and empusas.
Guiding me through the forestry path
Leaving behind breadcrumbs to find the way back
Uphill to the Dark Castle
With the Sun shining in my raven eyes
Snow starts to melt,
A long Journey is about to begin.