Freewill Writers Asylum Challenge – The River’s Edge by Richard Bell

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Friday was the day that the fleet came ashore.
Despair.

The road is rich pickings for backpack meat. The hopeful, the desperate, the tragic and the restless. They’re dead as soon as their butts hit the seat. Poisoned quills pinch the vocal chords and then a choking fit and then paralysis.
Awake, asleep, numb but aware.
No birds sing in the cutting woods. Bloody handprints make a hideous hide across the tree bark.
The Floating Butcher is my media handle. Little rafts with parts of different people pieced into one freak carrying a devil poem in their teeth and a ram’s skull for the figurehead.
‘Hot tar blood in slice scar slit Bad meat drifter’s a dead pieced kit
Wolf jaw goat creep slays the lambs
Kill your beliefs in god made man.’
Their final breath seal’s a note to the last important person in their lives – ‘lost at sea’ and the lyrics to Come Sail Away by Styx.
I sit in my office vehicle, day after day and I hate the world that is not the river. I hate it more than my scars and my shame and the dirty things they did to me on the river bank.
The river was hell for me and it will be hell for them.
My scanner lights up with the furore. The fleet landing up and down the river and the whole force getting the call, scrambling to beat the selfie ghouls and necroweb scavengers.
Meanwhile, in the cutting woods, the bloody print trees has ripe backpack fruit hanging from the branches.
They didn’t need their feet inside my wheels so I packed them neatly in the bags.
When they find this place and the altar and the rafts and the packs and the pieces and the poem and the videos.
And the quiet.
No birds sing in the backpack trees above the red soil and saturated pain. They follow the meat on the rafts on the river.
On the shoreline.

Original written work by Richard Bell aka @rick_nightmare

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Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

 

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The Tallow Cadaver by Richard Bell

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Black mass empty altar strewn with bone and blood and balter
Woods edge life snuffed ritually sylvan hate crime done in spalt
Between the dead leaf sentinels
a channel straight to hell
Beneath a hunters moon the blue sky aspirations felled
Black candle spent and hollow mixed up grume and
devilled tallow
The power in the ritual is spectral and all hallowed
Allied to the shadow prince upended on a cross
Shepherd in the valley of the sunset stained with loss
Insidious in crimson cloak misdeeds meticulous and foul
Inside the star the pure heart bound they feed upon its gowl
Fashioned from the evil wax
a figure cursed, enslaved
Vengeance is incarnate
hell’s magic so depraved
Fear the Tallow Cadaver
Fear the hate that it invokes
Fear the Tallow Cadaver
Fear the beast that once was woke
Exsanguinated lost soul left
in dirt by dark apostles
One of now so many when discovered murder fossils
Anonymous and treacherous
the coven called to swire
A promise for a willing soul
to reign inside the fire
Fear the Tallow Cadaver
Fear the irrevocable spite
Fear the Tallow Cadaver
Fear the contract drawn in skite
Cold light silent carnage hangs a charnel house rank stench
Prostrate at the hooves of he whose thirst is never quenched
In a cruel hypnotic trance behest
at his awful beck and call
The wax commands the corpse defiled and ready for the fall
Fear the Tallow Cadaver
Fear the dark intent
Fear the Tallow Cadaver
Fear what made it shent.

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Original written poetry by Richard Bell

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

**Click on any Image to redirect to the images webpage/designer where it has been provided.
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I hold no ownership to any image used unless otherwise stated**

A Brush with Death by Richard Bell


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When the wind extinguished the flame, the house fell into darkness and death in scarlet robes climbed the stairs in hypnotic serpent twists
In my bed, in my final hours I can reach out and grasp the light of heaven, waiting for stillness as on my brow the reaper places a steady hand
Regret meanders in and out of my chambered heart and cloistered head pointing rudely at my life’s indiscretions as the staircase to the blinding light is revealed
A sight beheld my withering eyes, upon the blast of horns, he spread his mighty wings and smiled as an old friend would smile when meeting in Elysium field
“I’m glad to see you, sweet death for my heart desires the peace of passing and my soul prowls this flesh cage as an agitated lion would. Show me life’s events in brief before my judgement call”
But all at once death folded his black wings and gazed upon the polished floor for in his hand the hourglass was not spent of sand and quick he flew till he was set against the moon and small
Why was I spared what I was sure was my last breath this hour?
Could it be unfinished business calling that I had more seas to chart or mountains of the soul to climb?
I pondered this thought over. I mulled it like a winter tonic and all at once the crushing stone that was the fever lifted and a gentle voice said “You’ll be fine”
At night, I stare up at the moon to catch a glimpse of his silhouette, the hourglass and gleaming scythe blade. For those with failing eyes and shortened breath a welcomed sight
Life is such a fragile vessel, a bauble on a Christmas tree. It shines for such a brief time so make each moment count as three. Cling to it and leach out all it’s joy for eternity is the only gift brought to you by Death.

Grim Reaper

Grim Reaper

Original dark poetry by Richard Bell

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

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Martha Shamblebones by Richard Bell

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Inside the wings of the blackbird at dusk
Shining eyes fangs of the funnel-web spider
Skin pummelled lizard hide stretched over bones
That brood in their frame like a gnarled eyelash viper
Martha in ramshackle hut by the highway
Makes contact with dog saints and infernal shades
In potions of scorpion, locust and beetles
Bound in the black water scooped out of graves
Chant the death rhythms in slathered grume symbols
Her monstrous desires are a psychopath’s penchant
They welcome the sparks from the witch wood dark flame licks
“Come closer you wronged child and reach in for vengeance”
Her slashed purple tongue coaxes hellish addictions
She is a fable, a Mendes goat whore
A bête noir pulled from the black bible’s verses
And each curse is bound to the eye for eye lore
The shack lies in glamour a divine dissenter
Only the deep cut of loss can locate
She broods in the rafters where light dare not enter
To channel two kingdoms from ghost to flesh state
The black water binds the three into a monster
Swilled in a rum brew and spat in the dirt
What rises is demon that knows what they came for
By claiming the spirit still fresh from the hurt
Guided by Martha who stands in the dark flames
And calls to the wretch in the language of stones
Carved by a claw in the Babylon temples
Then laid at the feet of the beast on his throne
“Begone, be bad, be bathed in the blood
Be Baphomet’s fury, be Baal’s majesty
Be base, be bellicose, bedevilled beast
Be back, be bereaver, beholden to me”
Bent up and folded the red sky sits leering
As hours they butcher the night for the sun
The dark flames extinguished by agonised screams
The soul has been taken the deed has been done
Into the desert go wandering husks
Avenged and then emptied by Martha’s deceit
Like Babylon temple stones
The witch they call Shamblebones
Trading culled souls to sit at Baal’s feet.

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Original Poetry by Richard Bell

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

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I hold no ownership to any image used unless otherwise stated**

Slather by Richard Bell

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Piqué and pop my umami
More magic than a Swami
The scent it lingers on me
Oozes from me slowly
Slather the delight along
Caress it when undressed in song
The taste utopian to throngs
The flame it licks too long too strong
Turn around then turn again
Mark with an exquisite pain
Lights a city in the brain
More flavoursome when wild than tamed
Sizzle sweet my heated flesh
Melts inside the mouth when fresh
Sink inside a satiety wish
Like deep and long arousing kiss
The juices gasp and start to run
Hungry for another one
I lick my lips when I am done…
With my burger in its bun.

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Original poetry from Richard Bell

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Snuffwalk- By Richard Bell- Traumatized Challenge

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Bruno hired the girls from the squats around the city
His boss was made of shadows and bereft of love or pity
Cash up front, no questions they got a message from a burner phone
A warehouse by the riverside and proviso that no one must know
Was this art? Was it style? Was it ultimate expression?
The girls would walk in haute couture, the House of Style Excision
And those whom made an impact on the dark exclusive clientele

Weird lady
Would be dispatched by gunshot in their stride and stripped off where they fell
The catwalk a snuff runway for the decadent, the bored elite
The bold designs, materials exclusive to a murder meet
Every outfit purchased was a life dispatched with souvenir
The seasons colours bathed in red delivered with a part that’s sheared
“Walk my little sparrow, my waif with nobody that cares
Shimmer in the spotlight and glide like you are cushioned air

Ghostly woman
There and back and quick change for the payday of a movie star
With outfits on to die for that will never make the H Bazaar”
The pounding beat disguised the shots and crash of murdered girl
This fashion show kept underground and moved around the world
The height of clothing culture and a hunt are trophies for elite

Bone dress
Whose funds outweigh their morals incognito from their power seats
At the clubs and dinners, at their fundraisers and lavish balls
The bold elite display their finest threads that no one knew at all
The label non-existent so exclusive and so highly prized
If you wear Excision you know that somebody has walked and died.

Blood Trail

Story via Richard Bell

**Click on any Image to redirect to the images webpage/designer where it has been provided.
All images are found using Google Image Search and are not always labelled
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Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

**Click on any Image to redirect to the images webpage/designer where it has been provided.
All images are found using Google Image Search and are not always labelled
I hold no ownership to any image used unless otherwise stated**