Sometimes I appear but soon I dissapear.
I have the voice of wind howling deep in the night.
My mind unfolds a wicked face of meat and teeth.
Screaming louder and louder I could make you die of fright.

With practice I can control your nightmares.
I have the choice of what monsters you'll fight.
You will find in the morning bleeding bitemarks from me.
Screaming louder and louder you'll ask yourself why.

I can build a labyrinthe around you and you'll never escape from me.
Lost in secret disturbing places only I can understand.
I am the engineer I am the horror architect filled with sick imagination.
Screaming louder and louder you'll never escape my land.

When you wake up put on the stitches and wait for me.
Now you are learning to take my forbidden command.
There is no fear for those who accept their grotesque expiration.
Screaming louder and louder you'll want to take my hand


this isn't finished but... eh I posted it anyway what the hell.

he entered the room to torment her, to eat her dreams.
he was so hungry today...
but he found her in tatters, torn open seams
awakened her flesh before the soul could decay
and with a practiced hand, restitched the skin
her wrists looked like some surgeon's nightmare
he gathered the pieces and put them all back in
stroking her unkempt cirrus-coloured hair
she lay on the floor like a discarded doll
so he dressed her and propped her up against the wall
because you have to be standing before you can fall

she awoke in a room with no doors, not knowing the honour he had done her in its construction. she felt the blood sliding through her veins, unwelcome, and began to keen. he had stolen her death away.

she tore her hair until her skull was framed only by a diseased-looking cloud, picked at his stitches until her fingernails bled. they would not come loose - her flesh was not her own, for he was inside of it now.

he heard her screams from the throbbing heart of the labyrinth, but the stitches in his lips did not allow for smiles.

she abused herself into semiconsciousness, and dreamed.

"why do i live?" she asked.

"so that i may drive you mad," he replied, "destroy you and kill you."

his answer strangely satisfied her.

he pulled out the stitches and showed her his face in both of their skins. she began to scream.

he silenced her with his mouth of bone and wet. soon she was pushing against him, and their song rode the tendrils of the labyrinth like contagion.

she awoke in stained bedclothes, bloodied and bruised. she had never loved like this before.

perhaps i am mad.

the notion was not unpleasant.

she pulled on the stitches in her wrists with her teeth, summoning him. a curtain of blood descended to slicken her thighs as she rested her arms in her lap. he did not come. she went to her knees on the floor, forehead brushing the carpet, and wept.

eyes parched, she stood and smashed her head against the wall. sleep, which would not come when invited, now could not refuse its call.

"you're mad," he said, regarding her strangely.

"or was i?" she asked. it was rhetorical. she shrugged.

"you seek me." his stitches, which he had not sewed with his usual precision, ached and strained. he was like a schoolboy with a crush, and his insides ached to come out and show themselves to her.

"i am not afraid," she replied. her nightgown was woven of discarded stitchcloth, and it tightened about her like his fingers.

"then come." he held out his hand.

it was what she'd been waiting for all along.

Hey fantastic! A full fledged story now is it? Well let's go...


The eater of dreams was an eater of screams.
His was the world of twitching delight. A paradise of fright.
A world of grotesque inside out porn. This was the house that horror was born.

The girl slept upside down wired and hanging. Her eyes peeled back like blood shot flowers. Intricate mutilations layered across her cold nude flesh. Tribal patterns from some mad clan of drifting terrors that populated the shadows. The air itself breathed heavy and inventive. Wicked animals were born in thin air with destinations in strange places. Their chattering and moaning could be heard bouncing off lonely walls that cannot move but think and dream nonetheless. Their only solace was to reflect the voices of others.

Thru vast halls flashing lightbulbs blinked a strobe light pattern. Sounds of monsters rising behind the walls scraping and whispering. The architect of fanciful contaminated dreams levitated thoughtlessly down the dreary paggages. Loud mechanical ravings followed him as robotic spideric creatures followed. They moved on clanking appendages some with wheels. They carried giant golden plated on their backs with bizarre objects. The slaves carried the devices needed for the girl. She was to be the bride, the work of art bride. Her bones would be replaced by perfumed smoke. Her kidneys, liver, and stomach replaced by emeralds, diamonds and ancient scarab insects.

The architect passed an array of windows revealing skinned faces screaming backwards. He placed eggs in each of their mouthes and told them not to bite. Black snakes with human faces slithered on the floors below. They crawled into holes in the floor whispering secrets to each other. Doors spread apart in unusual patterns. Long cords pulled and stretched weights on pulleys that forced heavy rusted metal slabs up to reveal the room of the girl.

There was music playing on an old record player. The record was scratched and sounded dirty. The music sounded reminescent of the 1930's. A woman sang about the loss of a loved one. The architect floated several feet above the floor toward the wired contraption the girl was hanging in. The wires came loose and sucked into the veins of the architect. Dark desires were growing. The parade had arrived with all the magical impossible tools. The girl was awake with eyes closed. Her eyes now released of the wires. The surgery began. Thousands of creatures gathered in the shadows to watch. Their murmurs and whispers grew louder as the architect laid the strange devices in mid air. They each rotated slowly possesed with the magic of fear.

The girl came as the wicked surgical devices entered her eviscerated body. Strange buzzing and humming claw like contraptions with human eyes. A long hook with small red wings at the end pulled out the organs. After the bones were removed her body sank into a liquid blob. Then a long golden horn was placed towards her mouth. The architect blew the ashes of long dead dreamers. They ignited in her soul and began smoking a sick sweet smoke. Her body grew solidified. Not knowing it yet she now had the power to fly.

peeled inside out, banana-like, with nothing to hide, he of tendon and steel gives away the bride.
her cobweb veil crawls with arachnid decay, ghosts of the children she will bear him someday.
her gown muscle-tissue-white makes her seem almost chaste, corset stapled in from collarbone to waist,
though the skirts between her thighs gleam malignant scarlet,
proclaiming her a true babylonian harlot.


the funereal bridal procession clanks and throbs back the way it had come, toward the cancer-heart of the labyrinth. they pass through the room of windows (which open to a brick-wall landscape mottled together with the semen of false priests, she notes with a maidenly flush of pleasure) and the plight of the flayed faces gives her pause. she bends elegantly at the waist until she is eye level with them, and gently crushes their jaws.

"do not be afraid," she tells them as their torn muscles lash out at their gelled eyeballs like medusan snakes. "take life like a bit in the mouth and run with it, by gosh!"

fetal egg placenta runs down their crimson chins. they have never tasted anything so wonderful, and terrible. the wrath of the architect will be severe, they know, for their disobedience, however unwitting. with tongues to make a succubus blush they lick each other clean, like kittens gone awry.

satisfied with her good deed, the girl-bride drops kisses on their exposed brains and rejoins the procession. as they walk she shreds her liver between her fingers and tosses the scraps to the snakes entwining about her ankles like eager hairless puppies. she feels lighter than ever.

everyone should be disemboweled at least once in their life, she muses. it's so liberating.

her ladies-in-waiting comb her gore-matted hair with fingers gnawed down to the second joint. rusted hooks embedded in their palms are linked to those in the tops of their bloodless feet by stitch-thread, so that they dance jerkily alongside the bride like overripe marionettes. the parade is trailed by creatures best left unacknowledged, photo-negative skulking dream-tendrils leftover from the vague lusts young children who are too young to know of sex and too bitterly old to be allowed the milk-teat have. their very presence here is a blessing upon the soon-to-be-newlyweds.

they tread upon a metal grille and fingers, broken and raw from eons of being trod upon, sprout through the holes like pale violets. the spirit-selves of those who died in their dreams (hit the ground after hours of falling, finally got caught by the faceless horror after months of fleeing) wail upwards at the joyous procession, mourning and envying the husks of themselves who wander the earthly plane, empty without them, in high-rises and behind expensive oak desks.

and what is their furniture, the bride ponders, but prettily posed carnage? they are more morbid than they know.


____________

ack, brought down by the headache from hell. i'll continue later, if you don't get to it first. ='-'=

Walls fill with black liquid substance solidifying into the flesh of sharks. Intricate patterns of teeth with wings are scattered about the black flesh walls like insects on a corpse. The Architect runs a long curved knife down the surface. He pulls the cut open revealing racing meat and blood inside. He pulls out a chunk of red pulsating guts. It squeels like an infant as he swallows it whole. As the Architect leaves the open wound it grows mysterious stitches to heal itself.

Outside the sky floods with clouds that dream. The visions of the clouds can be seen translucently. One cloud dreams of a dessert filled with black pyramids that moan. Another cloud dreams of outerspace. Strange planets can be seen vaguely thru it. The storms of the future are pulled back in time to play out secret memories of ghosts. The sound of the drones grows louder as the wind picks up. Rain comes down as sharp as knives. From inside it sounds like trains dropping. A terrible howling is drowned out by the machine gun sound of the rain.

The backwards mummification of the bride is completed. Decapitated midgets carry glass jars of organs into vast temples miles into the maze-like passages. The organs will grow into the fragmented shape of a God and be worshipped accordingly. Things that move like blobs take on the crude form of a human to follow the line of midgets. The sickly sweet smell of the Bride's remains provokes curiosity in creatures without eyes.

beautiful.

Even the bachelorette party was inverted.

She was a little girl again, Mary Janes a size too small because her feet were larger than the other girls’, and her mother was too mortified of the imperfection to allow it to be evident. She felt the agony of every step as she paraded around the lawn, a little princess. Any minute now her feet would split into cloven hooves, and with a donkey scream she would break free of the shiny leather torture devices.

An uncle beckoned, a father, a brother. With a smile as fake as her dreams she excused herself from the partygoers and followed him into the house, through the darkened hallway. With a filleting knife and a Polaroid camera he showed her what little girls are made of. And he partook of the delicacy.

Rather than live inside of him, she became something that was no longer a little girl, and rejoined the party.

Outside, sleek creatures of entirely new genders were writhing on stage, stripping as only the horrific can; at their feet, strips of flesh like taffeta and wrinkled silk. They were pure lust embodied, and beautiful. The shudders of the audience were so deep they became orgasms. Or had always been.

She fell in step with their waltz effortlessly, slipping only a little on the gore. The sun took its secrets behind the clouds, which knowingly embraced it. Black light stars killed the mother night sky and stole their births, their gloating iridescence illuminating her scored skin. The dancers linked arms in a circle about her, bones crackling and splintering. The barbed-wire promenade of thrashing erotica whirled faster and faster, and she saw, in the tumult of lung and intestine, the eyes of betrayed lovers, shining like beetleskin. The stage imploded and they all fell.

It was a ballroom and the unwritten compositions of geniuses who died too soon filtered through the musky, smoky air. Someone put a fluted glass of liquid in her hand. The rim was jagged and her lips bled, but it made her smile prettier, and her neck was broken but it made her hair cascade over her face, coyly hiding her demeanor. She was the star of the party this evening.

Men with squids for heads applauded her well-turned ankles as she took the spotlight. The coffin-nails of infants she wore as earrings were the talk of all the women. The walls were mirrors and she saw her every flaw, and had never so loved being a mammal as she did now. Something tugged at her moth-eaten lace overskirt, and a little hand slipped into hers. With a wave of her hand at the remaining revelers, razor-wire entwining between her long, graceful fingers, she let herself be led away. Her new companions were comatose patients locked away and forgotten in the deepest shadows of psychiatric wards, trapped in eternal nightmare. They’d had their lifetimes to dream up terrors. It was they who would teach her how to love him.