Abandoned House by Richard Bell

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Larissa managed to crawl free from the wreckage and make it to the other side of the road, her bloody left leg and arm leaving a Jackson Pollock spatter across the wet tarmac.
Four mangled vehicles lay strewn across the winding country road and huge plumes of steam became ghost screams into the weak morning light. The sole survivor, Larissa Bartholomew, snatched a smirk as she remembered how much her boyfriend hated ‘last girl standing’ movies – with a passion!
In all directions, the Scandinavian countryside proliferated like a million biker beards and shrieking black birds darted across the gap in the skyline, bound for the other side with the dead from the catastrophic accident.
The Elk lived for a few minutes before succumbing to its massive injuries. Drunken Elks, wasted on fermented apples, often stagger into the road, unaware of the dangers.
She looked back and snatched another smirk at the tiny saloon car with a fuck off moose hood ornament!
The rains had softened the verge to mush and she slipped and fell into a gully that followed the road like racing snakes. Winter was fast approaching and the nights sunk to a madness-inducing damp chill.
“Ahoooooooooyyyyyyy!” She yelled from her supine position, fully aware that wolves and bears were the eyes in the deep black woods.
“It is a womb bearer and she sheds her scarlet waters.” The tiny voice seemed to come from behind her but she couldn’t see what it was in her blurred shock.
“This is the foretold in the parchment. Muster the unalive bearers and convey the delivered to Straahl. The ceremony has outnumbered one and ten black suns.”
A vague mist enveloped Larissa, lying in her soggy dip in the world and she wondered if the voices and the exquisite floral scent were dying memories.
She began to scream until…
The huge hand that covered her mouth was all that was needed to shut down this nightmare to a dark sleep and hiccuping breaths.
Her dream was a fast flowing river in the night under a clear sky and a myriad of lights. The stars seemed like Chinese lanterns released by the universe to remember the dead. The river increased the flow and straight ahead was a huge waterfall but flowing upwards! Her body sailed up the frothing waters as salmon swam past her at dolphin speed. As she reached the top and over the crest, her eyes widened in sheer terror as a giant hooded creature lay ahead. She could make out the glinting fangs as the river flowed right into its gaping maw.
“Wake me from this…NOW!”
Her body moved inside the great jaws and she felt herself pounding on the roof of the mouth, then the throat and all the way into the stomach, flames leaping and shrill voices pleading in agony and…
Her eyes moved independently inside their sockets as she slowly came round. She realized that her surroundings had changed but couldn’t see the skies above the treetops.
Faint pairs of pinprick lights, she understood to be blinking eyes, flashed off and on in the crepuscular tree trunk army surrounding this clearing. She could make out an oddly geometric shape in front of her but dismissed it as fallen branches and happenstance.
“Stand upright, you, child of dire misfortune. Walk of you own volition into my realm and sit by my fireplace.”
As she raised herself up, two black lanterns, suspended in mid-air, burst into flames revealing a beautifully crafted hut, exuding the mist in swirling snowflake patterns.
“Are you Straahl?” She uttered through chattering teeth, the chill nipping her extremities.
“Knock with the staff on the face of the beast and choose the number of strikes from your first instinct.”
The door was arched and blood-red with the most hideous black demonic face, tongue outstretched and brow furrowed to almost no eyes, except two deep Violet diamonds that pulsated hypnotically.
She grabbed the staff by the door, swung out at full stretch then brought it cracking into the tongue of the vile thing.
“Three more I think and we’ll see what you have in store for sweet little Larissa, crash orphan and shedder of scarlet water.” Her sarcasm rippled the mist into agonized faces and death grin skulls before returning to snowflakes upon the last strike.
“Let me in, I’m freezing out here!” She murmured.
The lanterns suddenly fell to earth, transformed into a huge black millipede and scuttled off into the inky blackness that the open door revealed to her.
“Take a seat by the fire and warm your scarlet water, crash orphan. I will join you after your refreshments.”
Larissa moved with cat-like stealth inside the dark space and, once a few strides in, the door slammed shut, cracked and disappeared as she found herself in a round room with deep red walls and a floor that was a still black pool of water.
The fireplace was a beautiful ornate stove fire with a large pewter tankard on top, steaming and smelling delicious. She sat in the chair, which was the lantern millipede, sipped her delicious drink and stared into the odd violet flames in the stove.
“This is unusual but hospitable and I thank you for saving me from the wolves and bears, Straahl. Whoever you are? Sorcerer? Hermit? Zombie Apocalypse Survivor? I thank you.” Larissa felt her wounds healing and a strange warmth fill her up from the toes.
“I am shocking to see, crash orphan…”
“Please, call me Larissa.”
“Larissa, I am an elemental. I exist outside your laws but inside your lore. I ask that you see me as something natural beyond your perspective not unnatural beyond your comprehension. They made Satyr and Devil of me in their nightmare texts, but I am the scales of the land and sea and skies. I am underneath world and high above world meeting to a harmonious tune. May I present to you, Straahl.”
The stove fire creaked and groaned and shaped into a hideous tall black cloaked creature. She instantly recognized it from her dream but it was too late. Giant jaws clamped around her torso and bore down, slicing her in two. Then a huge tongue picked up the legs and shoved it deep into its throat. Her last view was her bloody sneakers passing by to fall over the waterfall and into the flames of agony.
“Kids, they’ll swallow anything. Actually, so will I.” The creature bellowed with laughter then shot the tongue out to wipe against a rough tree bark.
“I really hate cocoa butter!” He growled before slinking into the blinking eyes forest and the realm of disbelief.

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Original written work of 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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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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Asylum Friday Challenge – Pet Semetary by Richard Bell

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The Challenge  – The title says it all.
Your story or poem or even lyrics, your way using this weeks theme. Pet Sematary

THE BURIAL GROUND by Richard Bell

Strange the misspelled burial ground
A resting place to be shown around
For beloved pets the bad road slays
Beyond the tangle, sour earth waits
Broken skull night visitor
Suicidal housekeeper
Bloody church, beloved cat
Stony soil in a man’s heart
The neighbor shows the secret plot
Returned from death is church, but not
Both estranged from family
Resurrected mystery
Idyllic day for flying kites
Happiness outshone sunlight
Cut short by a tragedy
Beloved son, a soul set free
But grief and loss and violence mixed
Turn a rational mind dead sick
Reburied in the sour earth’s filth
Returned a scarred and evil will
A killer tot plays twisted games
Lure the trusting by their shame
Cuts and kills with feline guide
Terror seeks the things they hide
A shot of poison is death’s release
Beyond the Semetary’s peace
Although each second with our loved ones matter
Sometimes, just sometimes,
Death is better.

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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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Challenge Yourself – 5 Sentence Short by Richard Bell

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That’s the good thing about a razor tongue stud.

You can wait until they’re all asleep and lick their veins open.

You can really taste the metal in sleep murder blood.

Just before the last spasm their eyes open and you can cut out the fright and swallow.

Who needs fangs when you have a tongue blade?

Scary-Clown-HD-Wallpapers

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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Freewill Writers Asylum – Friday Challenge – Nightmare by Richard Bell

Shrill by Richard Bell

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“Worthless, weak, stupid, pathetic, spineless, idiotic, dog shit!”
They pushed, they kicked, they knocked, they accused, they vandalised and slurred. They pushed and pushed and pushed and…
“It is time to show them the host.
Your good nature has suppressed this for far too long and now that nature is torn out of your soul.
There is no restraint on the creature.
You, now, are he.”
His thick fingers bent to meet the back of his hands. The cracking was masked by shrill, agonised screams of unbearable pain. The jaw dislocated and moved to the side of his head forcing his underbite to shear off the tip of his nose. Gargling and gasping for breath, the neck distended and lunged back with the head to the shoulder blades. As they met, he spat blood down the back of his legs and heaved as the spine snapped and folded him in a neat half. His feet facing east and his sawn off nose, to the west. All around the baying group, bones snapped like dry branches and blood fountains spattered the concrete yard. It was as though a hundred invisible strong men had moved among them all and began to fold the callous tormentors.
Silence like the centre of a cloud bank ran through the onlookers, only broken by the occasional crack or snap of joints and ligaments.
The great horn sounded and the folded mess of broken bullies rose to the feet and began to dance and shuffle as though they were hideous marionettes. The carnival music, supplied by a gramophone wound in a fury by bald cats, made the scene utterly absurd.
The blasts began on the horizon and moved ever closer, tearing up huge mounds of populated earth and vaporizing it in mid-air. Giant chariots carrying gods and waving royalty streaked above the blast clouds under a stampeding herd of white buffalo.
My body was liquefying and draining into the mouth of a bullfrog. I was glad to slide into his innards and the quiet dell filled with ferns and mossy trees, small waterfalls and great hosts of bluebells.
The last glimpse of the world was everybody as they were before the attack. They walked into the bright lights and were no more.
“Your true nature won the fight and here is your eternal rest. Not in the flames of horror but the pond where your family lost their lives when the car careened off the road.
Fill your lungs with the green water and sink into heaven, dear child.
You have earned that peace.”

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Original written story 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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Freewill Writers Asylum Friday Challenge – Cries in the Dead of Night by Richard Bell

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Your Writing Challenge:

Late last night you woke to the sound of someone crying. It was loud and frightening.
You wanted to check it out but there’s something in the room, in the dark, watching you…
Write a very short story of this situation and how you get through it.

Walk Again, Suzy Dead Legs.

“You shitting bastards! Come back here right now. Right now!”
Suzy sat in the creeping darkness and sobbed, desperate for her eyes to become accustomed to the gloom. Her isolation, now that her fake friends had brought her to this ruin and abandoned her at breakneck speed, was a pair of chilled hands around the throat.
“Breakneck!” She let out a shuddering giggle between the terrified sobs and thumped her shrivelled legs, delivering metallic twangs from her wheelchair to all corners of the cavernous place.
The rippling evening sun fell below the tree line and only shards of broken glass became visible, even to her black circles for eyes.
For a moment she thought she saw someone enter the smashed front door and glide across the garbage strewn floor.
She stared intensely, desperate to discern anyone in this salacious local landmark.
Her heart had made its way to the roof of her mouth, heightening the senses to the sensitively of a spider web.
What was that in the cor…
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrggggggghhhhhhh!”
Suzy’s fright spasm was so huge it tipped the chair sideways on the uneven floor, sending her into a pile of rags, leaves and old newspapers.
She was desperate to find out where the scream came from and if they had come for her.
She rolled herself onto her side and sat up against the freezing wall in the alcove.
“Is anybody there, please? I’m para…my fucking legs don’t work thanks to a drunk driver and I want to get home before I need to crap. Anybody there? ANYBODY?”
The bird song died with a gust of wind and silence shrivelled the echoes of the settling to faint cracks and pops.
Suzy fixed her gaze to the far corner of the room and stifled a breath.
“Hello…can you speak? I know that you’re there. Please talk to me, I’m scared and I can’t run and I don’t want to die in this shit hole.”
A deep growling hiss came from the darkness and a flash of light reflected from two blinking eyes.
Suzy tried to shuffle across the floor but her hands slid into large chunks of metal and glass and she shrieked loudly before crying uncontrollably.
The growl grew in intensity from the corner as the huge scream violently pierced the quiet.
“Please, I don’t want to die. Please help me. They took my phone and left me in this place and ran away and I want to go home. I just want to go ho…”
“I want your soul for company.”
Suzy thumped her legs again muttering profanities and imploring them to work again and let her run away from the horror.
“I want your
SOUL!”
Charging towards her from the gloom was a huge shaggy figure breathing loudly and staring at her with pulsating red eyes.
Suzy clutched her chest as red-hot needles shot across her arm and jaw blasting stars in this Stygian hole.
Her last breath was used cursing the fuckers that left her to this.
“Suzy? Suzy, are you ok? Suzy?”
The shaggy figure threw off his suit and hit the halogen lights around the room.
The others came running in.
“Did we get her? We got you Suzy. We got you goo…”
The group assembled around her body.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrggggggggghhhhhhhh!”
The lights blew simultaneously as a deep growling voice came from the rafters,
“I want your souls!”

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godmachine-creep-print

Original written work of 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

**Click on any Image to redirect to the images webpage/designer where it has been provided.
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The Strange account of Darquer Challis and his coffin sample case By Richard Bell

 Artist Unknown

Artist Unknown

The end of a life
A return to the womb
The warm embrace of Mother Earth
Silk lined then
Entombed

They say death and life
are intertwined
It is the strangest case
The oddest curio
Ever to be designed

Darquer Challis
Mortician by trade
Inside his leather sample case
Fractioned death on show
Oblivion displayed

The passing of the flesh
To a very different state
The oddities
The mortal coil
Ingratiate

Darquer carved his pieces
from the arms and long leg bones
Paupers leave no testament
No will to then oppose
Case closed

He’d fashion with his razors
A miniaturised repose
The proportions
Of a tiny corpse
Surveyed and then supposed

The candle flame
It dipped then flared
A brand new coffin made the case
A frosted silence
Then a whisper
“Each one of us has found a place”

See Darquer lost his family
To Cholera’s swift march
All succumbed
To desiccation that
Shrivelled up his heart

His leather case
With nine proud boxes
Showed the world his craftsmanship
But once the candle
Had been snuffed
Softly open up the lids

All would sit
Around the parlour
Ghastly lights retaining shape
To have them near
Swelled up his heart
It shrank but never did it break

We are more than just the things we make

When a loved one
Passes on
They are not lost or disappeared
Like Darquer
With his coffin case
A tiny part of them is always near.

 Dan Seagrave: Horror Hosts, Chamanic Art, Death Metal

Dan Seagrave:
Horror Hosts, Chamanic Art,
Death Metal

Original written work by Richard Bell aka Rick Nightmare

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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Sunkenhush Knoll By Richard Bell

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Long, long ago before man was a skinned rabbit behind suffocating screens, three old world schooners docked on the isolated Strangelstrath Island for the first time. The passengers and crew watched a cloud of black birds burst above the high tree tops and melt into the grey mists as though watered down on an artists pallet. On the shore lay a beached whale, its huge eye blanched and the tongue taken from the mouth and dragged away. Through a hole in the side of its face they could see that the mouth was filled with rocks.
A most unnerving welcome.
It was winter and the red cloud storms gathered in vast sheets blanketing the earth with bone chilling, white powdered silence. But the silence was reserved for the distant sun and blazing silver lights of the endless firmament.
It was this wilderness at the top of the world, that the settlers, lead by the one-eyed Brigadier, Kestor Vankenblud, had set out to find and create a new Eden away from the corruption and chaos after war. The omen at the beach had set tongues wagging and, as they ventured further into the island, an uneasy feeling was packed in ice when faced with the blackness of the deep forest.
Their first night, under thick canvas tents, saw four perish with horrified expressions etched on their faces and eyes blanched of colour like the snow.
Wanting to lay them to rest in the reverence of an elevated place, closer to the bosom of their benevolent god, they carried the bodies over the river, up the steep hill and into the hollow.
In this place, the soil looked black with a deep red shine and large black birds sat in menacing trees at either side, presiding over events like a demonic parliament. Kestor ordered the white-eyed dead to be buried in a pit and covered in the pages of the holy text. Their mouths were filled with stones and their hands and feet tied together in prayer. The soil that covered them sprinkled with blessed water and large stones marked the boundary where no one may set foot beyond.
The settlement grew around the river on the north bank as the south had been agreed to house the dead, swelling in numbers, night after night.
Brigadier Kestor Vankenblud knew how to allay the irrational fears as he did with his troops at Waterloo and his strong booming voice and single deep green eye commanded the respect to listen and heed the warnings to stay out of the forest after dark. Everything else was their civic duties and those who broke his laws were walked into the deep waters and taken by the undercurrents.
Soon more schooners arrived with settlers and a port grew up with roads and a little town. They fished, hunted, farmed and revelled in their bountiful haven. But death had claimed sixty-one of their number and the bodies, interred at the hollow, began to be seen at nightfall wandering the woods, white eyed and grizzling.
Were they strange hallucinations? Shapes in the night mists? Illusions formed from gases released from the earth?
All could have been an answer except that they followed the hum.
Deeper into the sprawling forest than anyone had dared venture, was the hum, a low raw throated sound that swelled above the hollow and drifted into the town, on the darkest of nights. It filled hearts and minds with dread and sparked tales of devils consorting with the dead to pervert the work of their god.
The mysterious deaths began to get less and less but the pitch black hum continued with homes shut up tight and windows and doors locked and covered.
It was as if a terrible presence walked the dark streets looking for souls to invade and their beautiful colours wrenched out of the eyes.
The legend had a name and that name was The Scrall.
It was the sixth winter and the hollow graveyard stretched beyond the curve of the river and came to the edge of the forest. Under that black and red soil lay one hundred unnatural deaths held in place by the word of their god and the blessed water from his divine communion.
But the dead were restless and followed a calling.
The grizzling gowl of the Scrall.
On a sharp toothed, pitch dark November evening, two teenaged boys defied the supernatural curfew and crossed the river to the south lands to finally see for themselves what all the hullabaloo was about. They secured the coracle on a felled tree that jutted into the fast flow and lit their battered oil lanterns. The forest rippled in a light breeze and reflected eyes studded its bristled hide like gems on velvet.
As they walked further into the myriad of spiny trunks and carpet of scented needles, they began to hear the low groan. It started as a whisper from a deathbed and grew into the gut wrenching growl that sent everyone scurrying indoors until sunrise.
In the heart of the forest flickering firelight in a clearing pushed plumes of acrid smoke high above the treetops and dusted the white clouds with evil soot.
Then the smell hit them.
This was a heady mixture of rotten fish, decaying pig meat and something else.
Something older and from the awful darkness that seeped up from hell to chase the sun away.
Walking into the clearing they stopped still, agog.
It was Brigadier Kestor Vankenblud, naked and smeared with bloody symbols. All round him the risen dead, plastered with holy text and smouldering a deep green miasma from their mouths. Their eyes glowed white in the firelight and their grotesque shapes shambled around in circles, protecting the Brigadier from the sighted intruders.
“Gaze upon the resurrected taken for ye be humble before the spirits of the roots.” The Brigadier removed his eyepatch to reveal a smouldering white eye that sent all the dead towards a hill at the back of the clearing. They climbed up and arranged themselves in circles descending to the base.
“Witness and be damned, sighted saplings of men. We have found his resting mound and tonight he will rise to crush the scourge of mankind.
Despair.
Ohran gethedriac mehrest vovas
Nepas zeldorot cuth sepesto
Leprendius nowineth corocun
Pazca pazca grongurth.”
The two boys sunk to their knees, gasping for breath as a blizzard of pine needles filled the air. They could make out the dead melting into each other in a hissing green smog as a huge black shaggy shape rose high above the firelight and opened two grotesque yellow eyes. It lumbered towards Brigadier Kestor and slowly opened a giant mouth filled with barbed teeth and the unholiest of growls.
“Was that sound from him?” snivelled one of the boys.
Kestor smiled an insidious broad smile and raised a long horn tied to a leather strap. He swung it round and round his head as the low growl they feared so much sounded like a hellish siren.
After a moment he dropped the horn and raised his arms high above his head.
“I am the first taste of the flesh for thee, great beast. Devour and taste your enemy. Be avenged for their desecrating blasphemy.”
The huge mouth of the beast slowly swallowed the Brigadier to his midriff then the teeth cleaved him leaving his legs and naval spurting blood into the fiery night.
It chewed, swallowed and fixed its gaze on the boys.
That was the last night that people lived on Strangelstrath Island.
Each night two yellow eyes opened and a low growl filled the trees sending plumes of black birds high in the sky to melt into the darkness and the absence of mankind.

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Original written work by Richard Bell aka Rick Nightmare

**Click on any Image to redirect to the images webpage/designer where it has been provided.
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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
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Bared Teeth By Richard Bell

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Watch this, you won’t believe it, another obscene thing to view
Leave your morals in your pockets
Where your hands are firmly glued
See the horror as it unfolds
Closed captioning the pain
Feign disgust and fake revulsion
There are thousands just the same
Life is cheap in twenty seconds
Life is one trite line of grief
Life has no depth only band width
Clench your fist and bare your teeth
Drive past carnage with a camera
Take a Selfie with a corpse
Hijack pleas with soulless venom
Use all caps to exert force
See the monsters in their face masks
Making legends out of fiends
Breeding bug-eyed and desensitized
Leeches sucking on their screens
Life is crass in ‘rate my shit’ land
Life is targeted beliefs
Life has barbs and jagged edges
Clench your fist and bare your teeth
God is not here today
He is in the palms of charlatans
Why not try the other way?
The Black goat and his red shill plans
Look at the mess we made
It is scattered by the barreling winds
What can be worse than, say,
A child of war collecting up its skin?
Or starved to bones and paper-thin
And worse still subject to vile spin
The open arms of death is their chagrin
Like – A fight that took a life
Like – A mask and bloody knife
Like – The bone destroying stunt
Like – A bomb that takes out c**ts
Like – The urban legend tales
Like – The endless f**king fails
Like – It all looks very real
but I can’t connect or feel the awful pain, the aftermath
The terabytes of terror, frights
This space I float around in
Is so vast.
See this, you won’t believe your eyes, gruesome and disgusting
All hail the hoaxes and the troll spats and the bitch face resting
The sewage flows at break neck speed and endless with a crust of memes
The traffic breathes the stench through vents and virals course inside the steam
Life is dragged behind wild horses
Life through lenses blackened wreaths
Life is scalds from boiling anger
Clench your fist and bare your teeth.
The cornered tiger snarls at hunters
Defiant before death’s release
The savage and the beautiful
Clench their fists and bare their teeth.

horror film 'Teeth & Blood,

horror film ‘Teeth & Blood

Original written work of Richard Bell aka Rick Nightmare

**Click on any Image to redirect to the images webpage/designer where it has been provided.
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Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015

Protected by The Freewill Writers Asylum Vaults since 2015