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evil

Echoes in the Walls

Still I sit at the center of the hall facing where I’d go if I moved. Time has become irrelevant in my world. Whether it’s been a few minutes or a hundred years isn’t discernible. There isn’t a day or night to tell. There isn’t anything. Nothing changes in this place.

The region I’m in is filled with empty pods. No sight of dead clones anywhere. Indents riddle the wall opposite the pods more frequently, visible from one another. Yet, no door. No exit. No escape. No anything. Never anything.

I’ve decided to sit and wait. My attempts to kill myself are fruitless. My attempts to starve fruitless.

Finding and end to this hallway. Fruitless.

Finding a living clone. Fruitless.

Deviation is nonexistent.

I’ve been consumed by madness many times over just to regain….

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Shadows Answer Stalled

Confusion. Solitude.
Maddening, The Hall further taunts the lost soul.

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For years I’ve walked this narrow hall alone.
Haven’t seen a copy in ages.
Haven’t seen one alive. Ever.
Stranger that I miss them.
I’ve never stopped walking, though. And now there’s a steel rectangular indent on the wall. Seven by three vertical feet. No handle. Thus I beg the question, can doors exist in this place?
It might have been months or weeks, but I haven’t moved from before this indent. It means something.
It has something.
The wall goes on from where I came and it goes on to where I’m headed. But I’ve never seen an indent. I’ve never seen anything on the wall but the wall.
And copies stacked against it.
Nothing ever happens with the indent no matter how long I…

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Cancer

Some cancers are unstoppable and shall consume until here is nothing left.

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Curious this parasitic creature living on the skin.  It eats and destroys the flesh, turning it black in its wake. A web reaching out further and tightly gripping the fertile life surrounding it. The host is drained gray. Slowly consumed until its internal sustainability commences to fall apart. Until the structure necessary for the host to be considered alive begins to collapse. Then and only then does this plague begin to search for its next victim. A fresh host capable of sustaining the parasite until sucked dry.

This corrosive cancer multiplies and grows under most conditions. Although hosts classified ‘M Class’ are at highest risk for they produce the nutrients necessary for the parasite to feed.

The human infection migrating from planet to planet, sucking them dry of life and moving on to the next thing. Destruction. Consumption.

Killing off life as it spreads. As is reproduces.

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Blind Allegiance

Jack updates us on his current political standing.

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The long line grows. Followers chosen by God herself. To enslave the children. To fight the dark forces. Hostages for a better world. When white robed phantoms spread their word from beyond the grave.
And they begin. “Where is my…” with air quotes, “Money?”

Revive the fallen. Destroying and eradicating the dark forces. Blue suited shiny badges of honor with guns pressed against the backs of the perceived enemy. A strike by the rebellion unable to regain the dwindled numbers of the “home team” reaching to even the odds by reducing the “away.”

Shackles and iron bars for the shades not aligned with the morally gray stars on the flag. Red bloods of white skin on the blue ball owned by green presidents.

Trumpets play as the blue birds chirp overhead. The distraction for those chewing gum silent masturbating to gun violence.

Oh dear, how the toppling towers teeter. No use crying over spilled oil. The dividers keep the…

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Gargoyles Part II

Sebastian investigates the church and discovers it to be a prison. Finds only a priest and no gargoyles.

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The chilly early autumn night breeze flows through the trees. Shhhhh, it silences the rest of the woods.

Sebastian eats up the excitement. The large church before him stands tall, a cathedral. Using the woods for cover he creeps over. Careful to not crack too many leaves or make any movements visible from outside the woods. Eyes peeled for priests and celestials. His eyes keep marveling up at the large gargoyle statue on the roof of the church.

In front of the church he dives behind some bushes. A priest comes out and stands at the bottom of the stairs from the entrance. Several seconds later the priest walks off into the woods. The coast is clear.

Out of the bushes and into the church Sebastian races. Hides between the pews and crawls to…

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The Investigation, Part 1

After Arthur managed to escape the asylum and ravaged a small family the state designated his recapture a priority and an investigation into his psychology was initiated.

The detective roams the house in search of clues.

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The rooms smells of burnt carpet and charred coal. You’d think the scent would have faded by now. If not for the dust and dry air it’d be easy to confuse as fresh.

Candy wrappers, crinkled up papers and broken glass crackle beneath my boots as I move through the abandoned house.

Shattered picture frames and porcelain dolls rest on the coffee table center of the living room. Yellow tape still play the roll of bedroom doors. No one’s stepped foot in the house since the tragedy occurred.

His bedroom is the only part of this godforsaken place that isn’t a complete disaster. It’s untouched. As if he’d not once been inside. As if every waking minute was of each day were wasted compulsively cleaning and organizing personal belongings.

Minus the excessive neatness, nothing seems off.

The report said the family was quiet. Private. Then the incident happened.

What could drive a man to so brutally…

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In Bed With Arthur

Arthur, after having liberated the evil from the corrupt family, was once again caught by the corrupt police and returned to his prison. The cage where they accuse him of insanity. He knows the bad guys don’t win. And he’s the hero of the story, so he will not lose.

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Eyes open, I’m in bed
Six years, been like I’m dead
Tech sticking from my head
Strapped, chain down
Dark room, no sound
Mind rush, go round
Fear, possessed now
No exit near while held down
Tears, the scream bounce around
Leering gaze from the shadows of the room
A crooked grin, hazy, sharp teeth, it’s hungry too
An abomination, with no hesitation it…

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In Your Head

A short dark and twisted rap about head.

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I’m a madman
Hanging out with Batman’s villains
Quite a bad man
Chillen with the sandman
Feelin’ kinda of goofy
When I’m feelin’ on the ladies that I’ve roofied
Breakfast in bed be the truth, G
Vitamin D for the bitches
I’m a brute, see
Her head be tripping
Stumble
My knees weak
I’m humbled when my dick she grippin’
Sippin’ that red wine
She’s takin’ her damn time
She wants to go home
But the glock to her head says it ain’t time
She don’t want to no more
I don’t want to joke her
But if she stops too soon I might…

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Inner Demons

With a crumbling country we face the biggest Social-Political divide since the civil war.
This Lyrical Poem tells Jack’s take and much more.

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There’s something innocent in thought
Theories of what’s not caught in the web
Vanish to the back
Knotted after tied in the hot headed
Hard to not get in bed
Wedded to the beliefs of the dead when its fed daily
But instead what we mean seems to flee us
Jesus died for no reason, see us
Beating, mistreating each other even when we don’t mean to
We can’t help, we’re helpless and selfish
Hope for better version of ourselves to shuffle through
So we stop hurting each other to do the things we want to do
But it’s senseless, we can’t stop even if we wanted
It’s who we are, it’s who we’ve been, it’s who we’ll be
The monsters we don’t acknowledge
Degrees wasted from college
Knowledge lost at every turn, at all costs
Lodged in our souls the demons we hope don’t grow
Ignoring them, we don’t know
They’re slowly taking control
Blinding our sight, ruining our lives
Driving the ride down the hill with the lights off
While we’re hopped on pills denying its part of us
Fighting to destroy the world we’re tried to build
Darkness we’ve tried to conceal reveals itself to have always been real as hell
A president that won’t chill but stays cold
Bold messenger birds deliver blue messages which hurt the innocent youth, the immigrant too
We don’t know what to do
Media buries the truth and we just believe what they want us to
Pin us against one another because we don’t bother to fact check each other
We’re monsters just like our four fathers

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Hell

Living in this infamous informal institute,

Feeling insulted, having to induce identity onto the inflexible.

Impatiently await the impending impediment.

Immerging from an impaled death is the impact of imperceptible imperfection.

Watch as they indulge interminably.

They leave intervals resulting from incomprehensible self-interest,

Letting interiors die of intoxication.

They introduce their lives to death,

Inviting others to share their indistinct pain and invincible misery.

This image imagined is an insignificant, infinitesimal imitation of the impoverish life innocent eyes have seen.

All of this is improper.

I act on impulse to call this an inarticulate hell.

This is life.

 

By Jack Thomas

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Infected Journal: Entry #1 Happy Birthday: Part 2

Now that our hero has gone deeper into the mall he will see more opportunity to find the first thing on the list, but he is also increasing his chances to come across infectees. He'll need to keeps his eyes peeled and his attention focused to avoid putting himself in a situation he can't get out of.

By Jack Thomas

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