You won’t see this on Hoarders
“I saw her three days ago, and I said, ‘Is your mother still with us?’ and she said, ‘Yes,'” Kish said to KPIX. “Delusional? She was still with her. She was. She was still with her.
I’ve plumbed the depths of darkest mire
Drug back hellish creatures with twisted tongues
And scrawled the words with blood and fire
That bellowed from their blackened lungs
Words that wiggle like a maggot or worm
Or creep and crawl on nimble spider legs
Into the mind they scurry and squirm
To spin their webs and deposit their eggs
Once they’ve infected they hatch and spread
And grow into creatures corrupt and vile
They taunt and haunt and spew their dread
Sleek and shadowy with bewitching guile
Too late to change the fate they’ve wrought
Too awed to stand against their might
Too shocked to fathom what they’ve brought
And much too scared to put up a fight
Their infernal words have come to blight
And by my conjuring I’m to blame
For I’m the wizard of the terrible night
Who knows each creature by its name
Lying listless on a lonely, loam lake shore
Framed by fog and the bitter, brine bog air
Curse the cruel fangs of fate that flung me here
My body beaten down by the black brood of despair
T’would take a thousand years to tell the tale
Of the madness, misery, and mischievous calamity
And I pray not ponder upon my past hell
Lest I beat my brain from my brow in insanity
Then lo, I spy through the gloom a green, glowing globe
Floating, flying, bouncing, and bobbing right at me
Too weak to worry with rising to run
I anxiously await its arrival and abhor the agony
What would it want with a wretch with no will?
Then it howled by my head and halted and hovered
And an enigmatic energy possessed my person
Slowly sinking; subsumed, consumed and now covered
Come join us, won’t you?
Take part
With festive heart
With dancing feet
To a restless beat
Sing
An ode to the Moon
A plump, pudgy, corpulent Moon
The kind that makes lovers swoon
Just right for a honeymoon
Makes ocean tides swell
Drives wolves to yell
The kind that silhouettes a witch
Or makes a lycanthrope twitch
Oh fullest Moon
So golden clad
So voluminous
So luminous
Yet daytime hath forbad
So magisterial
So ethereal
To it magic cannot add
How is it that you drive
A sane man mad?