The House Of Gryhm



By P



Your lying face,

Fake and unreassuring.

Speaking down at me

Like a small child.

Want to smack you ‘round a bit.

Show you what I could do to you.

But I must restrain myself,

Societies laws and all.


Dam laws.

Always getting in the way.


You know,

They’re the only thing

That keeps you safe.

The only thing

Standing between you,

And Me,

Helping you meet god.






A backward glance into the possessing persona

By P


Who are you?

Who stares back at me?

I do not know you,

As one should know one’s self.


From what depths of Hell’s great rivers have you arisen?

What is this I look upon?

What horrid smile drenched in blood

grins at me in this mirror?


I do not know these eyes, this face.


But still I know it is myself who I see

For you wear my clothes

You are standing in my living room


Holding my knife.


But who’s head is that?








An accident

By P


Why cant you erase yourself?

I obviously can’t erase you.


No matter how I try,

Your memory,

Your face,

Will not leave me.


Haunting me at every turn.

Like some banshee in the night.


I am without a path to follow,

I have nowhere to turn.


Always you are there.

And I can never forget

The sight of you,

The memory of your smell.

The taste,


Of your arterial spray on my lips.







A glance on a walk

By P


I saw the posters the other day;


Missing three weeks

Call local police or FBI offices with any information


They made me laugh.

The picture,

They hardly captured you.

Though I suppose,

I’ll always picture you the same.

In five pieces,

Your eyes staring up at me from a jar.










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Copyright © 2012 The House Of Gryhm


Counting The Dead