For the virtual blind
there is nothing to touch
but the matter of mind
in its muchness of much.

For the virtuous dead
immortality calls
puts a price on your head
strings you up by the balls.

What remains is a yearn
for the ending of words
with a chemical burn
or political curds.

Should the hand of fate twist
when relieving this ache
your distress will be kissed
by a strange furtive quake.
 

 Psychopath

That is what he called me

Some help

I hold on to the memory
Of what reaching out achieves

Labels

So

I embraced the label
Seeing your lines

Crossing them

Revelling in my perversity

“No ounce of normal human feeling”

But of course
I’m not a normal human am I

I am a Dervish at a waltz
The bolt of lightening
On a clear day

The loud introvert

I am chaos
In your ordered world

Old school punk
In a Pro Tools studio

So yes

Psychopath

Consider yourself told

© 2012, Mosquitobyte

 Monday morning
I shot the mirror
In my eyes

Had to kill my self
Lest I ever deny
That I'm not optimistic
I'm not looking to an end

God is just
Noughts and crosses
In my head

I sleep when I’m
On the streets
Shooting rockets
At the crowds

While the rabbits down the road
Add fuel to my heat
I'm surrounded by so many sheep

Then I hit me
Like a thunderbolt
That I'm not living
But there’s no fear
That I ever will

And you can’t
Open new doors
When life isn't so simple
Evermore

How I wish you were bleeding
Like I am here

Still I’m talking to myself
Because no one wants to hear
That truth is just a lie
They’re all grazing
In their malls

No I'm not optimistic
I'm the fuel that feeds the flies
This blood decays
But I won’t die
Because I’ll not alive at all

© 2012, Mosquitobyte

 There they are

Scattered on the ice

Chipped
Bloodied

Testament to battle

“None shall pass”
Was the cry before combat
As armour was donned
Helms polished
Gauntlets pulled tight

Blades
Sharpened for the fight
Glistened in the unnatural glow
Of this preordained battleground

The combatants
Rushed across the field
Strategies unfolding
Changing with circumstance
Exploiting weakness
Adapting to unforseen strengths
Decimating their defenders over and again

Suddenly
There was a break through attack
The enemy forced their way through
Reaching our last line of defence

This was unexpected
This was not planned for
We had no strategy

Instinctively
I rushed at the assailants
Throwing my body into the line of their missile
Taking the full force of it
With my teeth

I look at them their on the ice
They did the job
A small price to pay

Goal saved
Victory gained

© 2012, Mosquitobyte

 This is a song

Without meaning

A place to meander
Through dark forests
Desolate plains
Derelict cities

This is my song

Without meaning

An occult revelation
Apocalyptic truth
Surrounded by
The All

This is not a love song

There is no meaning

Lovers cum
Before I blow
Affection
Still receding

This is my song

This is my mind

Bleeding

© 2012, Mosquitobyte

 The mind twitches
Gears
Long stilled
Groan into action
As a smile
Genuine
Fearful
Creaks into existence

For he
This I
Senses movement
Movement unseen
By Them

Music plays
Loud enough
To resonate

He sings with this smile
Letting it gradually fade
Immersing himself
Drowning his reticence
In the lyrics

This I
He
Allows his mind to relax
To open up

Aaah

Memories

Sweet sweet suffering

And so
He sings
With a fading smile

The movement unseen by Them
Abounds

Running down his cheeks

As we

Cry

© 2012, Mosquitobyte

 And so

It came to pass
That that I
Passed

With a certain vagueness
Unnoticed by all
One left
Another remained

You see naught
Except that which
You wish

Blind to the subservience
Of my former self

Occluded
To the presence
Of Hypocricide
In your midst

Oh
He is still here
Peering through the veil

When I let him

I hear him
Taking up my refrain

Chittering

Music to my ears

His laughter
Maniacal
Resounds in what are now
My thoughts

He knows why I am returned
He knows what must be done

Blood shall be
Is being
Shed
Let there be
No ambiguity here
I shall murder hypocrites

© 2012, Mosquitobyte

Limbo-land, halfway house
where past and future disconnect;
a place of wheeled-in beds and bed-ridden age
full of bleeps and tubes and monitors.

And waiting for nurses, waiting for visitors
waiting for lost dignity to return;
a place of moans and mops and closing curtains
and strangers with gloved hands;

and frail bodies murmuring to nobody.
A timeless place were day and night
drip by in a daze of formless thought,
were the hardy brave a zimmer-frame

and the weak are levered into wheelchairs
like wrinkled children devoid of joy.
Our visit punctuates the stale hours
with proffered grapes and chocolate.

Where the mother? Where the daughter?
What fall and failing led to this:
an agony of sighs and sad goodbyes
and disbelief at a world amiss.
 

Limbo-land, halfway house
where past and future disconnect;
a place of wheeled-in beds and bed-ridden age
full of bleeps and tubes and monitors.

And waiting for nurses, waiting for visitors
waiting for lost dignity to return;
a place of moans and mops and closing curtains
and strangers with gloved hands;

and frail bodies murmuring to nobody.
A timeless place were day and night
drip by in a daze of formless thought,
were the hardy brave a zimmer-frame

and the weak are levered into wheelchairs
like wrinkled children devoid of joy.
Our visit punctuates the stale hours
with proffered grapes and chocolate.

Where the mother? Where the daughter?
What fall and failing led to this:
an agony of sighs and sad goodbyes
and disbelief at a world amiss.
 

So
We sat
My companion and I
Alone in the lounge
Johnny Walker Blue label
Warming us
In the chill air of my lair

We conversed
Espousing theories
Proffering platitudes
And of course
Lampooned the ludicrous

Such sagacity
That our hair greyed by the second

Conclusions were reached
Decisions made
Remits to action conjoined

We would do it

And so
We set about scheming
Choosing our weapons with care

Time

Place

Appointed

Witnesses arranged

We would to murder go
The inane and delusional our targets
Time for them to be pained
Time for the mind itching torture of We

We

This I

And I

This is MosquitoByte

Buzzin’ Off

© 2012, Mosquitobyte
 

I woke up screaming today

Again

With the taste of iron
Trickling down my throat
I immediately felt
The birth of scar tissue

I detest dreaming
Because I so rarely am aware of it

I had sensed her
Looming over me
Knife in one hand
That
Thing
In the other

I knew it was a dream
Yet could do nothing

Forced to watch
The whole
Horrible incident
Play its way out

Until finally
I lay there
Bloodied
Psyche ensconced
In shadow

Then
To the next day
Where I am alone
Business end of a rifle
In my mouth

It is then that I tried
Desperately
To scream

No
Not to stop

I was screaming
Pull the trigger

Then I woke

© 2012, Mosquitobyte
 

I feel his hand on mine
Cold
Distant
Comforting

The sky darkens
I note his shadow
Entangled in me
Slowly taking on definition

The tremors in my mind
Fade to a murmured Chitter
My pulse slows
As fears are forcibly displaced

I refuse to tarry on the implication
Merely take position
Extracting pen and pad
Embalming this moment with ink

These are not thoughts of pleasure
Nor of enduring happiness
Rather
These are the thought of normalcy
My normalcy
The ennui of despondent dignity
Are left to fend for themselves

The scratching sound
As I faithfully play the scribe
Harmonise
Bringing for the maladies
Of my inertia

My right hand
Insulted by the attention the left is getting
Twitches
Fingers drawing into a clawed posture

Oh
I see it
I know what is to come
But still
My left hand scribbles away
As his shadow firms in appearance

Aaah
There you are

Depression my old friend

© 2012, Mosquitobyte
 

I am not attached
To your world
Mere need for oxygen
Mammalian ancestry
And bile
All trifling things
Are points of commonality

You see
You are blinded
By your wisdom
Your great knowledge

By your soul

To the truth of your existence

I
On the other hand
Recognize the truth

No great fate waits
No higher purpose
Nor power
No reason
Exists to give meaning
To our existence

Our only reason
For being
A paltry one at that
Is to facilitate facsimile

With each birth
Each divergent error in DNA
We show that we
All of us
Cannot even get that right.

© 2012, Mosquitobyte
 

You carry on
Your love is a gun
Tell me that it hurts
It won’t ever work
It’s just a dream

Paranoid
Life null and void
You don’t know what it means
I’ll tell you what it means
Nothing at all

In the sun
Your whole life undone
Tell me not to leave
You don’t want to breathe
Because it hurts

Harden up
You whining little fuck
Do some work
Before I make it hurt
Until you cannot scream

Sing along
This is not your song
Where you don’t know what it means
Don’t know what I’m saying
It just hurts

© 2012, Mosquitobyte
 

Susannah ices chocolate cake
white frosting
crumbs (almost) blended
a smooth, pristine surface
small divits, bumps
giving notice that the foundation
is not quite secure

a wide dull blade
smears layers of whiteness
over the smudges
layers of richness
with floured edges
crumbling under the pressure
of the icing
the knife

lopsided pink roses
beautifully sprinkled
strategic placement
each hiding a flaw

Savannah slices the cake
slides perfectly portioned sections
onto clean white plates
tucking the crumbled piece
under more icing

so proficient
at hiding flaws
with bits of spun sugar lies

I try to keep in line
But my mind still goes astray
With the echoes of the day
When my heart went away

All I want to do
Is forget the me that’s you
Some time to fade away
Ashes here to stay

I am fear come true
Just leave me here
Where I’m alone
With nothing else to do
But write breathe and screw

What else am I supposed to do
When I don’t care any more
Than when I wasn’t you
Nothing here will pull me through

I cannot keep in line
When every word’s a discordant mime
Blood is all I leave
Though it’s taken the part of me
That was becoming

I don’t live here
Veins disappear
Lungs drown out my ears
My mouth it starts foaming
And I strap myself in

The needle interjects
It won’t give up
All this noise inside my head
Chittering until my end

The me you think you know
Is all I never was
As I cease to begin
Will this suicide never end

© 2012, Mosquitobyte
 

The sun slips in through the window
My lover slips out to the hall
Birds in the trees get to singing
As I get up scratching my balls

My love calls out from the kitchen
She tells me we’ve no milk at all
Guess I’ll have my coffee black again
‘Cause we aren’t leaving this house today

She tells me just what she is feeling
Of how I just won’t understand
Say’s that I’ll soon be leaving
Though I’m still her lover man

Oh lover you not I’m not leaving
At least not ‘til my dying day
I know there’s no hope of healing
We’ve lied too much on the way

Oh my lover’s now standing before me
Clutching a gun in her hand
Her pale blue eyes were a weeping
As flame leaped out from the end

Now I lie here eyes on the ceiling
My foreheads been blown away
The gun in her hand is still smoking
Seems like I’m leaving today

© 2012, Mosquitobyte
 

Today
I shall love

Well
Like intensely at the least

A boon companion
To anyone who wishes
Offering intercourse
Of all kinds

Maybe even a bit of sex
I will be passionate
Seductive
Loving
Gentle
Whatever is required

I will be the great protector
Aiding those in need
Defending the weak
The decadent
The brave

The heights of intellect
Reason
And understanding
Will be scaled
As I use knowledge
Facts
Data
To solve your problems
Using my own thoughts
To decide that which I do

Battles I will fight
For the sake of righteousness
For good
Lest evil reign

My hands shall murder
For no other reason
Than right
Whatever I say is right
Shall define this
Regardless of truth
Irrational beliefs
Fears
Dogma
Will be my tools
As I promote minority causes
Against the majority needs
Prejudice
Hate
Greed
And apathy
Will reign through me

I will be all of these
Because I am none of these
I am neither the black of that which you call
Evil
Nor the pure white that you call
Good

No

I am not of these

You
With your religion
Would call me Legion

I am the millions
All the shades of grey

I am a sociopath
And I learn
I learn how to be
What to be

How to appear
To assimilate
To camouflage myself

By being

By being

You

© 2012, Mosquitobyte
 

Her breath still held the burn of chilli, with a hint of sesame oil. I could taste a remnant of pork, caught between molars.

It seemed fitting, in an odd sort of way.

There, in that room of muted light, with no warmth but hers. What better place?

Outside, the moon danced drunkenly upon the lake, as if in cahoots with the night’s festivities. A light breeze stirred cicadas, their incessant calls almost drowned out by the drone of traffic on the lakeside road.

Music wafted through the walls, discordant due to the multitude of sources. It seems it was party night in the apartment block. Each group of partiers competing for musical supremacy, everything from cock rock, hip-hop, punk and through to that nauseating drivel that the “Idol” shows disgorge upon the world.

No such music played in that room however.

But I digress.

Back to she of the chilli and pork.

Such a disappointment, in the end.

Her glazed eyes barely recalled the horror they screamed but a moment earlier. The burst blood vessels in her throat revealed the faintest whisper of it.

I remember it all.

Intimately.

It had begun well enough. She had heard rumour of my talents. My predilection for the more obscure histories of man and a penchant for poetry made me a fine catch.

She wasn’t bright by any stretch. Sure, she had a uni degree, physics or some such, even well versed in Byron, Yates, Kerouac and the like. Substance. That was what she lacked though. As shallow as Hilton, Bingle or any other socialite the paparazzi are drooling over these days.

Looks, they were her saving grace. I have known many a woman who would switch teams to sample the pleasures promised there.

Her skin akin to translucent porcelain, matched with eyes of diamond blue, full lips and fine, long black hair. Legs that went all the way up and promised to strangle you, along with breasts that could feed a dozen infants, all this certainly tempted one.

Suffice to say, temptation got the better of me. Or her, as the case may be.

She contacted me via a website I post on. Effusing over my writing, she poured her loves and hates out to me. With the barest effort, I coerced an invitation out of her. She, delirious with the attention and despite this having been our only form of intercourse, spoke of her feelings and desires towards me.

Arranging dinner was easy from there.

So, we met.

Thai for her and beef tataki for me. White wine for her, a rich red in my glass.

I could hardly get a word in, not that I needed to. A word here, a gesture or smile there, so easy to play that woman.

I knew, hours before she did, that she would invite me to her home after dinner. No amount of perfume could hide the muskiness of her arousal. Every cell in her body was screaming out “fuck me”. Me though? I just sat, enjoyed my raw beef and listened.

The restaurant was mere foreplay to me. A means to an end. Frankly, after 2 hours of this, I was beginning to wonder if I had made the right choice. Still, I persevered. A hunter waits patiently.

Eventually, around 10pm, we arrived at her apartment by the lake. As soon as we entered, I could see my assessment was correct. Plenty of high brow items of artwork, copies of various art-house DVD’s, science books on the shelf, even a few of my books. Alas, all offset by the Britney Spears, One Direction and Whitney Houston CD’s sitting atop her hi-fi.

Still, I didn’t come here for her taste, so to speak.

As with many women, she set about delaying the inevitable. Despite her very obvious intentions, she offered me coffee, which I of course declined, asking instead if she had any rich red wine.

After acceding to my request, we sat on the couch, where I was regaled with more praise for my work. Apparently, I touched a part of her oft ignored. “Your heart is all I desire”, I told her.

The conversation continued thus for about 40 minutes. By that time, I had finished my wine and helped finish hers.

She leant forward to place the glass on the table. Sitting back, she contrived to press herself against me. I presented her with a soft smile. Taking this as a queue, she leant closer, kissing me gently.

Gentleness, not one of my strong suits.

Taking her head with one hand, I kissed back with a fury. Her response, as I expected, was to try and match me.

Finally released from self denial, her hands clawed at my shirt, ripping off buttons, as my free hand reciprocated. Long nails tore at my chest and back, wanting, needing release.

So, I released her.

I pushed her back on the couch, with little care for politeness. Wrenching her blouse from her, I thrust my fist into her abdomen, letting my now chitinous claws gouge her flesh.

At this point, she didn’t seem to realise what was happening. She simply mewed with drunken pleasure. When she felt my breath on her neck, she leant her head back, offering herself to me.

As I said, disappointing, no fight at all. So I finished it then and there. My hand had by now reached up under her rib-cage and found her heart. Just before I bit down on her neck, I squeezed gently. Not with my full strength, just enough to raise her blood pressure, making it easier to get a taste of her.

Then, for the barest of moments, she arrived at the realisation. Her eyes widened in shock, her throat widened and she screamed.

Too late though. She was dead in less than 10 seconds. Barely satisfied, I wrenched her heart out. I willed my jaw to open up like a snakes, taking the heart in one mouthful, biting down hard, releasing the last vestiges of blood trickle down my throat.

Calmly, I walked to the bathroom, washed up took my leave. With all the music, no-one had heard her scream.

And you, my beauty, why am I telling you all this? No, this is not another of my stories, there’s a lesson in here for you. You could say I’m giving you a chance to prolong your life. Don’t bore me; let me recall your name in centuries to come. Be more than just a memory of chilli and food remnants between teeth.

Let the hunter play with his food.

© 2012, Mosquitobyte
 

I am the outcast
Among the outcast
They
With their dogmatic Christian love
Call me evil

For being left handed
Or in my right mind
As I put it

Demon
They yell at me
For daring to think for myself
Taunting me for my darkness
Telling me I should bask in God’s Glory

God is the bringer of light
They tell me
He made The All

I point to the night sky

Pretty dark up there morons

© 2012, Mosquitobyte