Monday 20 August 2012


by Nick Gisburne

Bleeding maggots boiled in wine
Mucus mixed with turpentine
Burning entrails thick with soot
Tiny skulls crushed underfoot

Tear ducts squeezed into a jar
Lungs split open for their tar
Teeth pulled from a screaming cat
Red, infected human fat

Crusted brown and yellow stains
Tissues torn by prison chains
Rancid eggs too sick to hatch
Lesions old men cannot scratch

Rats found stillborn in their beds
Cold, convulsing cockroach heads
Birds dismembered as they nest
Discharge from a dirty breast

Blowflies, steamed with curdled bile
Lips too bruised to form a smile
Tattooed fingers sliced away
Ulcers foetid with decay

Scabs ripped from a septic sore
Blister serum, quick to pour
Worm flesh crawling with disease
Swarming, virus-fattened fleas

Snake eyes pierced with poisoned pins
Skin conjoining mutant twins
Liars' tongues pulled from the head
Twitching muscles not quite dead

Dust of disinterred remains
Tangled, ragged, ruptured veins
Scrapings from a corpse's feet
Semen smeared on putrid meat

Foetal organs ground to paste
Sweat of pain and death to taste
Mashed with blood and bone and spit
Served with fries - I'm loving it

Sunday 5 August 2012

The Scream of Hearts

The Scream of Hearts
by Nick Gisburne

The queen makes tarts from babies’ hearts
Still succulent from slaughter
She blends their blood with bile and mud
And feeds them to her daughter

The princess eats these tainted meats
And strangles squirming kittens
Each throttled cat is bludgeoned flat
And skinned for winter mittens

The knave, of course, supplies a sauce
Most deadly to the dinner
And playing dice with blinded mice
Impales the lucky winner

The regal king, while pummeling
Two servants maimed at random,
Extracts their eyes, ignores their cries,
And beats them both in tandem

This brutal clash ends with the smash
Of organs, bones and sinews
More victims plead, but as they bleed
The killing spree continues

Still grieving, wives, impaled with knives,
Are whipped and stoned till tender
Their household pets are snared with nets
And puréed in a blender

Each orphan child is chopped and filed
According to their flavour
Such gourmet flesh is cooked while fresh
And served for all to savour

The scream of hearts, of all the arts,
Brings glory to the table
This cruel tea begins at three
Survive it if you’re able

Thursday 2 August 2012

Who I Am

Who I Am
by Nick Gisburne

It is time for me to show myself, for us to meet at last
I bring words to end your journey, for your life has almost passed
Do you see who stands before you, calling Death to bring his kiss?
Listen closely, hear my answer to your question: ‘Who is this?’

I am pieces of a puzzle which you could not make to fit
I am how you felt when you had hope, and when you wasted it
I am questions you refused to ask, too fearful of replies
I am truths you took and tore apart and tainted with your lies

I am beauty, locked within your soul, imprisoned there by hate
I am precious moments, ruined, you can never recreate
I am innocence, forgotten and long hidden from your sight
I am grief, I live in memories, returned to fill the night

I am rage at what you did not change because you never tried
I am courage; all you had to do was call me to your side
I am passions you will never know, emotions filled with dust
I am what you see through blinkered eyes and label with disgust

I am plans you did not build upon, ambitions left to rot
I am all the things you longed to be, and everything you’re not
I am hopes and dreams you put aside, abandoned on the way
I am longing, yearning, aching for a new and better day

I am what you failed to see because you could not bear to look *
I am photographs, the pictures from your life you never took
I am jealousy, unjustified, the doubts which drove you mad
I am love you always turned away, the chance it never had

I am knowledge you once hungered for but did not eat your fill
I am captain of the ship of life, its engines cold and still
I am time you never gave to those who needed it the most
I am life within this empty room, with you, the silent host

I am what you say you really are, but none of it is true
I am faded friends, long left behind; they do not think of you
I am countless interlocking parts which cannot keep you whole
I am surging tides of emptiness which flood your hollow soul

I am what was pure and perfect once, but lies now in the mud
I am venom spilling from your lips and poisoning your blood
I am stolen fragments of your heart which love did not return
I am flames of guilt and deep regret, the shadows as they burn

I am walls built high with bitter bricks, the prisons of your mind *
I am that which you were looking for, but never meant to find
I am fields of gold you did not reap, the seeds you would not sow
I am where you sit before me now, with nowhere else to go

I am dusty, empty pages from the journal of your past *
I am chance, the risks not taken when you thought the die was cast
I am broken-down relationships you did not try to mend
I am faces you will never see, not even at the end

I am wishes, each impossible because you won’t believe
I am payment, all that you deserve, and all you will receive
I am all the things you could have done, the things you did not do
And in death you see just who I am, and know that I am you