The Lucky Mallet

Little kids can’t help be to lay in bed at night
And dream about getting their mits on the Lucky Mallet
After just one little bop on top of their heads
They’ll burst forth to an elevation like they’ve never imagined

“For now I’ll just keep you under the sheets Mr.Mallet
Getting giddy under the golden glow
Counting the days down like Christmas till I can bust you out
Then every inch will be my playground
The coffee, The smoke sticks, The fancy clothes
The stacks of gore digitized onto little CDs
Finally they’ll have to listen to what I say
I can’t wait for the ol’ tap tap tap”

But what a depressing little scenario to imagine
That given if this fictitious object came into fruition
They would bop bop bop without a moments hesitation
It just shows that from their little eyes
All the days out with the family down the beach
All the make believe games down the local wood
All the electronic art that’s been passed down as gifts
Doesn’t mean a damn thing to them

“They hold back features on a time-based-unlock
Not even giving me the courtesy of a synopsis
Just to get a few more years on the stall
The hours of experience they’ve earned on earth
Pushing trolleys and calling Sandra a bitch in the breakroom
The prefect justification to talk me down to a hush
Well when I get big I’m gonna show them all
With a bop on the ol’ noggin I’ll shut them up”

Could it be in an effort to glorify our actions
The 4 weeks grind to get the funds
To gather dime a dozen technology and architecture
That beautiful way we lie to ourselves
We’ve altered their viewpoints too?
Despite the fact that if it were any of us
And we got our hands on the Lucky Mallet
We’d bop bop bop and go back, without hesitation

As Preformed By Domestic

– Lnc0

GHOULCHESTER!

There’s no two ways around it tonight was their night
On the 31st all the creeps and ghouls
Hop on to the sixty-fear on head street
The one the mortals though was lost in the great crash of ‘87
It flashes the ticket to the headless driver and shuffles to the back
Colchesters cream of the crop are showing up for the festivities tonight
The whitest ghosts around the abandoned estate
The zombies who’s mothers could still recognize them
And it’s not feeling so assured after a glimpse of the company
Frankenstien assured it before it left, that he made a looker
Made from only the finest people that have died within the last year
The cheekbones and abs of the slickest men
The silky hair and the thighs of the most luscious of ladies
It just crossed what could be interpreted to be fingers
And hoped it’d slip into the background

All the skeletons are chatting their teeth to the jams
A mixtape of Nick Cave, The Cramps, Bauhaus
The mummies are showing off their new designer wraps
The wolf men are showing off the kind of guns
A huntsman could only hope to fight him with
While the harpies stroke his fine coat
Dropping feathers he snarls nothings in her ears
Meanwhile the Jiangshi’s saving face out the back
Complaining how the ableist scum inside friendzoned him
While the socially awkward swamp monsters
Pet the house chimera in the corner

She spots it’s hunched physique from across the room
The proceeds to say goodbye to her fellow Alraune on the wall
Introduces herself to the monster as Ssalucard
Classicly it fucks up the introduction
No matter how much it corrects itself
She’ll always know him as Frank-I-dillies monster

Their’s no way in hiding the fact that’s she’s keen
Although if it’s theories are reality remains to be seen
She smuggles into her vial of blood a shot of JD
Thus heightening the guarantee
She flashes her fangs after she takes a sip
The proceeds to play the janitor with her tongue

She grabs it’s arm and damn near pulls the stitches off
As Jack The Ripper by Screaming Lord Sutch starts to play
They brushed past the nymphs and the sprites
That where playing pranks on the dance floor
The will-o-wisp illuminate the dancefloor
Inbetween the Dybbuks and the Golems
They shimmied the floor into submission
While never taking their gaze of each other

They wondered outside of the club together
By this point the Wolfmen and Anubis
Are barking at eachother in the taxi queue
While the Mandrake girlfriends cry to split them up
Knowing when a party’s over
They head to the pumpkin patch

The vamptress lead it through the vegetation
Dodging the awkward Jack-O-Lanterns
Getting it on like they were blending with the environment
…They weren’t
They sat down underneath the Zaccoum
She takes it’s hand, runs her finger down the stitches
Looks into it’s eyes
“Hey, stay with me Frankie”

– Lnc0

The Wolfman

On the thigh of a moulding oak
In the throat of an urban forest
Christened “The Queens Palm” by visionaries years ago
With grand ideas of distributing the wealth
Of a 2 for £7.50 ciders amongst the poor
Is the setting of our tale tonight

With the dust of the bricks
Still creeping under her fingernails
A young woman clutches to the walls
All in the hopes of gaining some balance
As she’s forced out of the bar
Using the witchcraft known as atmosphere
The glamour which takes the form
Of the shitty stares from the pensioners
The Necromancer who warps into the shape
Of a long lost lover who’s cut off all ties; in just an evenings time

She winces and staggers ontop the tarmac
After giving the moon the most agonizing cry
She takes his 6 month anniversary gift
Snaps it from her neck and throws into the gutter
Followed very shortly but her lunch
She slumps into the monochrome fields
Leaving the tatty car park behind her
Wiping the disguise leaking down her cheeks
Injects a does of oxygen up her nostrils
And turns back to address the night sky

With the force of a culprit
Of a bruised chest and broken rib cage
His footsteps scar the very earth beneath him
His snarling shaking the excess from the trees
His teeth unable to damn the overflow
Of heightened expectations
As his next meal enters his yellow stained vision
His claws sink into the bark with excitement
Melting into the perspective of the trees
Hovering through the grassy fields
He’s been stalking this one for a while now
He knows once she’s gone, no one’s gonna miss her
As he creeps closer and ever closer
To the young woman pleading with the heavens
So close now, that her sobbing shakes his mane
So close, his breathing comes to the screeching halt
So close, he knows exactly how she’s going to taste
So close, he can’t stop thinking about it

The Wolfman strikes!

The saddest part was this all could’ve been avoided
While she was dragging her way to the back fields
She wasn’t alone, she passed by a few prying eyes
There was the old couple on their way home
That took one look at her booty shorts, and low cut top
And sneered her away from the main paths
There was the group of hooligan young boys
That decided to showcase their mothers lack of affection
By steering her off the alleyways with the team calling
There was the local student brigade
Hanging out in the car park, stiff as stone
As if her sight was based on movement
So next time you see a fellow human in need
A “Are you okay?” or a “How you doing?” couldn’t be amiss

Because you may just be talking to the Wolfman’s next victim

– Lnc0

Here’s how to use social networking properly:

1) You recognize that you’re procrastinating by spending too much time on one website
2) You find some burk defending something prejudiced on said website
3) Call said person a cunt
4) Then suddenly doing something productive becomes procrastinating, to avoid checking the hellfire you’ve just unleashed on your account

OH GOD I’M SO SORRY!/Spotify playlist

I can’t give some deep symbolic reasons other then “Real life is happening” and “Writers Block” The updating will come back soon I pinky Prom, I got 50 unfinished Ideas so when the “Finishing Ideas me” comes back into town it’s going to be beautiful

But what kind of human would I be if I just left you empty handed? I use music A LOT as a fuel for poetic inspirations so every now and then, I’ll be updating a Spotify playlist of music that’s inspired me to write, if I ever write a new poem I’ll more then likely update the playlist with the songs that helped create it. I do this in the hope I can inspire fellow writers to put the pen to paper in the same I was inspired!

– Lnc0

OH GOD I’M SO SORRY!/Spotify playlist

Acting Submissive/Domineering With The Clubbers Of Colchester

You don’t have to yell at me so loud
Why’d you have to shriek at me so fucking loud?
I’m trying my hardest to have a good time and crack a smile
I’m trying my hardest to juice a bit of joy from this car wreck
But in the midst of this gaggle of boars
But in the midst of this murder of scavengers
The type that prey on the wandering fawns
The type that pick apart the scraps of poor lost lambs
Who have lost the sparkle in their eyes
Caked in petrol station cologne, it’s a sickening sight

I see you spread out in the back of the bar like a corpse
I wish I could obey the green lights at the racetrack
But I can’t find the heart to reach out and take it
You slump in your seat as if inviting me to do the same
I was born with more class then that love
And besides what exactly have you done to sell me on the act?

Oh and you make your disappointment in my discomfort known
All you’ve done is make your disappointment in my boredom known
If I had a penny for every time I was under criticism
If I had a penny for every time I came under criticism
Cos’ I didn’t know the way to be a real man
Cos’ I refused to fall in line for the male stereotype
I’d of ran for the taxi home to save you the embarrassment
I’d of brought you a taxi home, just to get you out of my sight

I wish I could tear your focus away from your phone screen
Trying to gather the scraps of a good night out
You shell out a drug lords daily paycheck
To sit your arses in the in the side of the club
Snapping evidence of having a good night out
To justify your empty wallet the next day
I just want to grab you by the wrist, and pull you up
Into the phantasm of the violet lights
And dance the dread away, loosen up them thighs
But oh my god I’m falling asleep
Run your hair inbewteen my fingers
And plant the sweetest embrace
But you’ve lost your willpower you just want to sink into the seats
I left my mothers womb 22 years ago to have fun
So why is it such a trail to get you on the dancefloor
Lets put them litres of booze in us to good use!

Oh please let me go!
Oh please let me free!
I can’t stand to see you like this any more
I can’t stand to put up with this any more
You fidget and squirm like a child in a push-chair
We just aren’t comfortable together it would seem
There’s more to life drinking and planting evidence for it
Get a hobby, get a life, get a fucking clue
I didn’t mean to be such a disappointment
I wish you weren’t such a disappointment
I didn’t mean to make you so sad
I wish you didn’t make me so mad
I didn’t mean to fail you as a man
I wish you’d just let me be myself, instead of a ‘man’
Maybe it’ll be better if I just went home
Maybe it’ll be better if you just fucked off?

As Preformed By Domestic

A Domestic re-write of two previous poems I wrote:
– http://thetartanprelude.tumblr.com/post/84960870662/acting-submissive-with-the-clubbers-of-colchester
– http://thetartanprelude.tumblr.com/post/84961086712/acting-domineering-with-the-clubbers-of-colchester

– Lnc0