Psycho Joe

Psycho Joe

by Lisa McCourt Hollar

When you hear the floorboards creak,

Late at night when you can’t sleep

And the howling wind pounds against the door

And something clatters across the floor,

Close your eyes, close them tight,

Lest what you see may cause you fright.

Psycho Joe’s come out to prowl,

Looking for a body to disembowel.

He’s especially happy if you’re still alive,

When he begins to explore what you have inside.

He’ll giggle with glee, as he hands you your spleen,

And dance with joy whilst you scream.

Don’t look into his soulless eyes,

Lest you see Satans’ disguise.

His balding head and faded features

Hide from view a tormented creature.

Your pleas for mercy go unheard

As he announces, dinner is served.

He’ll eat your heart, give your liver to the cat,

And pluck out your eyes to feed to the rats.

So when the wind is howling, the floorboards are creaking,

You may want to make sure it’s just the faucet leaking

And not Psycho Joe washing his hands,

Before eating a dinner, his appetite demands.

Necrophelia

Necrophilia

by Lisa McCourt Hollar

Photo courtesy of DaStafiZ

 

Against her lips, his kiss was cold,

His breath like ice, a hint of mold.

In her lust she noticed not,

The decaying taste of rot.

Into her lover's arms she fell,

Not caring that he rose from hell,

An undead creature, born to kill,

A monster spawned at Satan's will.

She knew they lied, when said he's dead,

So dug him from his graveyard bed.

Her tears of grief woke him from his sleep

She knew t'was magic took him from her keep.

She kissed him deep, to warm his lips,

As he reached for her with fingertips

That crumbled against her at his touch,

Still, she welcomed his enclosing clutch,

He took her there, beneath the moon,

Planting a seed within her womb.

Consummating evil foretold,

As her belly, with death grew cold.

She reaches for her lover's hand,

Her life forfeit, her soul is damned.

The corpse beside her, once more dead,

A feast upon which bugs are fed.

The baby grows as her life wanes,

Feeding off his mother's pains.

Then as the child tears through her womb,

She understands at last her doom.

Bestowing a kiss with her last breath,

Upon the moldy lips of death,

Necrophilia meets him there,

Among the flames of Hell's despair.

 

Word Count: 211