Do I Dream of Electric Sheep by Dominion-of-Cain, literature
Literature
Do I Dream of Electric Sheep
Have you ever been unable to sleep?
It’s a horrible feeling, being awake at four a.m.
I have tried the trick of counting sheep,
But they are all electric.
I am lit by the laptop glow.
I stare at words – insomnia, sleep deprivation.
They fall around me like snow,
But it’s synthetic dust.
The woman at the counter is a picture of sadness.
She hands me my purchase, morose.
These slipping pills should stop this madness,
But they tumble like grenades.
The mirror in front of me is not real,
I know this for a fact.
It is merely polished glass in steel,
Like computers, or feelings.
I am plugged into a computer,
Trappe
A Feast for the Flies by Dominion-of-Cain, literature
Literature
A Feast for the Flies
Do we really think
That the maggots care
What we look like
As they burrow
Through our flesh?
Have they grown so
Used to the taste of
Rotting flesh that they
Need a silicone starter
Or a collagen cocktail?
The flies don’t give
A fuck about what
We look like; as long
As we’re dead they
Are content to feast.
Cockroaches don’t care
About how big your tits are
Or how high the cheekbone
That it’s devouring is
Do they?
Because at the end
Of this pitiful existence
That’s all we are – a four course meal
For the cockroaches, the worms
The maggots and the flies.
And if a creature
As small as a
Totalitarian Lover Boy by Dominion-of-Cain, literature
Literature
Totalitarian Lover Boy
The poet sits in the corner,
Spinning words like fallen dreidels,
Caught in the headlights of an SS van,
Prized in the Gulags by a Chinaman,
With a cold black heart and twisted hands.
The pen scratches across the paper,
Ink bleeding through like blood on bedsheets,
Of a girl, six maybe seven, who walks to school
With a black eye, broken nose, split lip, and pretends
They didn’t hurt, because her Daddy said “I love you” after.
The silver bullets on the nightstand,
For the werewolf in the closet, or
Beneath the sheets – oh Grandpa,
What big lies you tell. The pain flies,
Like crows, black and writhing –
Blood stains the ground
though it has begun to fade,
like ghosts, the memories flicker
and the Earth still remembers.
The taste of a mothers tears
long forgotten and the bones of children
paved over, buried now deep beneath the earth
to give way to fairy-tale traditions.
Conveniently truths may be neglected
and history rewritten
as if the suffering could be erased,
refusing to allow the pains of those
before to interfere with their gluttonous,
materialistic pleasures.
What a mockery, the masses
huddling upon their Black Friday of
luxury and waste, without a thought to
the black days of the savagery of war,
where no
Abduction.
Another convicted paedophile free to walk again.
Currently living by a primary school looking for some new prey to stalk again.
Masks himself as a confidant, someone that the children can call a friend.
Specialises in seducing and lulling its victims in to a false sense of security.
With an ulterior motive driven to defile and desecrate their innocence and purity.
How is this ungodly predator somehow able to evade all configurations of authority?
No one is capable of figuring out why this predator has these vile and vindictive thoughts.
No one can possibly understand how much torture and suffering his actions have brought.
You are not Jesus; you are not my God.
I may be Judas, but that is not my fault,
and darling, you are not worthy enough
for me to kiss you thrice,
because you cannot understand
the meaning of what is right.
So please do not forgive me;
don't say you understand
because I don't want any part
of any of your vicious plans.
There is no silver rattling in my pockets-
nothing echoing any guilt-
because I have none; you don't deserve it.
And if you bleed, rest assured I do not care.
And when you die, I'll smile 'cause you're not there.
For you came not unto this world to save this world,
but that the world, through you, might be conde