Hear my tale of a hell hopeless as it is dirty. All who enter lose their wills, their souls and walk among the dead. This retail establishment exceeded all expectations or rather disappointed them. Caked in dust, the floors and ceiling fans are grey and decaying from the lack of cleaning going on. Despite cleaners come in twice a week, the store remains covered in layers of grey snow, you should never eat. Years and years of disgust linger in the air, possibly because of the used items hung on racks like paper ghosts on Halloween. Only these ghosts contain the remnants of their last owners, almost bound to them until a new master claims them, well demons.
These monsters have terrible wrath, ready to act upon any unfortunate soul in their vicinity. They bicker amongst each other, steal and shout, scrutinize with beady eyes, devoid of humanity. Other demons, the more lax, wander about, caught in the ghosts saunter, unaware of the passing souls gathering and maintaining their precious ghosts. They believe in entitlement and impede us from working, they only serve as obstacles, inanimate objects taking up space. You can try to call or warn them of your approach, but they hardly listen, their ears glued shut by dry wax, oozing out their ears. Although some are good, agreeable, respectful, most are dreaded devils ready to sink their claws into your back.
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Terror, an act of nature, yet brought on by our hands.
Terror from the sunken depths
a merciful journey, no test
bounded to rush and drown our mind
we resist and crawl, even climb
to rid ourselves of the fears we hold deep
like plunging bodies the sea keeps
hoping for a resolution Continue reading Terror Wavers: an Insight on Human Nature
Within the Inferno, I probed further to find a morsel of information unknown to the public and uncover the lost records. Files upon files of her personal affairs lay scattered throughout, not quite guarded, yet crucial all the same. Photos of her family and friends appeared in many of the hundreds of files, mislabeled and filed within another file. A nesting doll of facts I couldn’t wait to sort through. I watched her nephews and nieces grow up before my eyes, her sisters and brothers having fun, her friends on their escapades. To think this dreaded dragon had family was beyond me. They seemed happy and content, unlike my colleagues scorched from her flames―no topical ointment could ever soothe. Continue reading Tales from the Inferno: Lost Records
Little towers, peaks undercut from the sun
Stretching higher before they’re gone
Rushing waves and sweltering winds
Brush harshly, scratching rock thin
A catalyst of working art
A conversation to start
Passing eyes linger upon its shadow
Watch it grow and grow
mark upon the setting stone
stretched before its blown
brick by brick
they rise and stick
a monument to our progressive wit
as dusk proceeds to vanish
our laughs turn to anguish.
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At my job, I learned dragons are manipulators, coaxing the gentle lamb to approach before roasting it with scorching flames. My boss traveled the lines between a polite, happy boss to a scathing fork-tongued demon. She was friends with most, cackling and having a good time when they came by to discuss business. When they left, flames burst from her mouth, scorching all in sight, so it was best to hide and hope she had forgotten you existed. A two-face dragon, having the keen ability to hide her scowl at the snap of a finger. Many thought she was fair and nice but failed to see her make anyone cry on command.
The dragon hosted a barbecue at her house, a beautiful home in a nice neighborhood. I set my foot and felt the cool air, clear of smoke. She greeted me from the kitchen with a smile, no fangs or claws in sight. Dinner was almost ready, so we waited near the pool, cool and fresh. Everything went well until her roar bellowed from above, commanding her helper to set the food. She barked orders at her guests, us, telling us where to put the food, the drinks, which seats to take. The dragon we all came to expect finally showed itself. We sat to a great dinner―very nice. The gazpacho, lamb, and bread all palatable, just not her flames.
In a single swoop, she insulted two. One for sending a sub-par invitation to all her servants. According to a friend of hers, a vile serpent, called it a low-management retail job. Then the dragon cast its flames on another for having no supervising skills over the invitation. I gasped for air, choking on the smoke as I watched my colleagues scorched in flames.
Imagine to my surprise, when I discovered an article on the Dragon.
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Walls are Broken, Names Remain
Wall scrawled with names
Past people who came
Left a memory took another
So that I may uncover
Those with friends and lovers
Mothers, fathers, sisters, and brothers
Lakes so blue Continue reading Walls have Names Too
Tales from The Inferno Part 2: Hidden Treasure
The dragon guarded various treasures old and new. She had a particular fancy for photography and abstract paintings. A personal taste I enjoyed and disliked depending on the artist. She kept all her treasure under surveillance. Cameras and alarms throughout the gallery, an honest precaution, despite having no clue how to use any of them. Perhaps she was afraid someone would steal her treasures from right under her flared nose.
One day I came and found the door locked despite it was time to open. I knocked and texted a coworker and eventually led inside. My coworker hastily informed me that the dragon was having a little tiff with an artist. I never met him before, but I had done a little investigation of my own. He had originated from the far south and worked at the gallery years earlier, trying to get his citizenship and bring his family over. The dragon had helped him, his wife and two children. Plenty of personal photos depicted them in her steaming pool and fortress, relaxing and having fun. Perhaps she wasn’t so bad—hardly.
So the drama between them, none knew about, although they only told me he wanted his artwork back. The dragon ordered to have his work hidden in the basement, locked away so he could never find it. He called, badgering me on the phone, then banging on the front door, but we were not allowed to let him inside.
“For our safety,” she had stated as she exhaled a sordid billow.
It was his paintings why not give them back?
“We have procedure: we can’t just give them to him,” she said with a piercing grin. “And we don’t even have them.”
I saw the paintings downstairs. I know this isn’t right, but I can’t do anything.about them. I’m no knight or hero, so I sat my desk and got back to work.
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When Love Breezes on by.
need to sneeze
spring came around
stuffing noses, sensitive eyes
plucking petals makes me cry.
Within a sickly state
met a special someone on a date
we spent nights and days
in a wanton haze
blurry and hot
in loving thought.
We felt immortal, too great
to let the spark die, wait
so we carved our joy
happiness, tacit cloy
in our favourite bench
we spent days clenched
in spite of disgusting weather.
Personified Flower Fit for A Queen
(queen of the people)
Queen of the damned
first name Anne
young and stingy.
Stoic to her thoughts
elated for her desires
has trudged and fought
her share of liars.
Attended many weddings
gawked from the sides
cuddled in different bedding
never a bride.
Spry when she speaks
guides the lost
pities the freaks
never been crossed.
Comfortable on her throne
delves in the unknown
feasting on her red berries.
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(The Inferno has a natural grainy photo filter that blurs all pictures. It’s part of the curse.)
Welcome to the Inferno!
From the outside, working at an art gallery seemed chill, but this art gallery, The Inferno, was baleful. Walls oozed angst and ire, asphyxiating hope from ever reaching inside. Physically the gallery was an architects’ masterpiece, a piece of history melded with a contemporary vision. Decades ago it was a brewing factory at the brim with beer, but re-purposed to hold works of art. Now to the average guest that’s all it seems, but when one listens closely, a piercing scream will bring about an unrelenting trepidation that will linger until the grave.
Continue reading Tales from the Inferno
Afraid to Love?
King without a crown
recluse in your hovel
adorning a frown
reading your novels
telling your affairs
of fatuous adventures
failing to entice
the simplest of men
for you bear a heart of ice Continue reading Staid King
Summer without another.
A torrid summer
sweltering with fatigue
filled with wonder
Met a quaint guy
smooth and lean
had affable eyes
wore acid wash jeans.
Knew he wasn’t from here
never bothered to ask
shared his heady beer
from his novelty flask.
but spoke with vigour
Continue reading Wanton Summer: Sorry I Miss You