The Mind And Imagination of Beast Xeno

Devils, Demons, Sex, Magick, BDSM..

The Prose, Poetry, Stories, and Portraits birthed from a wretched place...


Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Calter's Clash

As I open my eyes all has altered
The sky is black and hangs low
A sinner has died at the alter… Never forgiven
Demons in legions raid near and far
The poor who’ve been looted have nothing to show
A man named Mezillian Calter kills in sevens
As I hold my aspirations in my arms
 she has turned purple
Frozen while still screaming
I hear chaos in the streets
Men hide in fear, silently whimpering
Help me, help me!
Then suddenly a loud roar
And then?

I find pain in the corner and under the table
I watch the smoke rise as the inferno scorches the stable
The beggars and thieves wait for the last cinder,
Watching in shiftily eyes, eager to plunder
The night cold and frosting with specters of screams,
Just a few hours before, a man soaked whore was violated and beaten,
Raped and left be eaten, in a forest near by the fire,
She gasps for breath, half frozen to death on this chilling and haunting October morning
He lurks in the darkness depth, drinks of impurity and malice
His smirk fastens, as he crumbles the bones in the neck of battered mid-west bride
The smell of timber and roasting flesh tantalizing, his desire for mayhem
And the thirst for the most unholy souls, a scurry, a snap, a rustle out back
The eerie sensation that someone is watching
Unsettling your slumber

Evil creeps in untold places
With shifting faces
Most mayhem spreads for the practitioner’s gain
But one spills blood just to see the splatter’s stain
Entranced with a grin, sharpening his blade
Hungry again before the last screams fade
“Crows flock in seven” he chuckles out
Headlines and clippings posted to the wall
Across his mantel a collection of bones
Aging back to centuries of old
Mezillian of mayhem, Calter of chaos
Born half jackal and half cobra
All doom, all demon, hell’s champion
His favorite flavor is panic
He savors the smell of fear
A spine chilling sound as he chafes the flesh from the bone
Whittling the bone to pleasing form
Taunted with visions of the end of the world
He prepares to greet his king

So tonight you’ll feast
With a dying god
His rays of light
Blacken the crowd
Flesh burning smoke
Stains the crimson heavens
The angels of fire
Set down tonight
His gestures so wicked and becoming
His children spread blood thirsty mayhem
His brow rises, as the river distills
His smirk fastens, as the fishes carcasses wash to the shore
Shallow graves find wicked men
Hell swallows them up, and bores them again
They reek of hell and the stench is ripe
A devil’s man, a demon’s knight
What man finds pleasure in eternal pain?
A twisted man with morbid thoughts
His thirst is greed, his hunger blood
Your pleads for mercy, his choice of drug
Your pains his pudding, your tears his wine
Your desperation a dry martini with a twist of lime
Your souls the main course in his wicked feast
His keeps the company of all who love the beast

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