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Hand Poised On Knob

You’ve had your bags packed
For a very long time
No chance to think it over
Just grabbed your essentials
Essentially you’re gone.

But still you remain
For what or why
You’re not sure yourself
And that’s the problem, isn’t it?

And that’s a problem
Isn’t it?

Remaining behind the door
Hand on knob
Certain of the monster behind you
Not sure of the monsters beyond
Duffle bag on your back
Mouth dry as cotton
So you remain another day.

But your bags are packed
And in your head you’re gone
Living your life this way
One day at a time
One monster clawing at your back
God knows what waiting beyond.

Living Dead Girl

The dead ain’t for living
Still you’re living dead, girl
This six foot hole home way too long
Only so many ways to dig dirt
Before it piles up
Crumbles back down
And ruins all your hard work.

So many ways for living
Still you’re living dead, girl
You’re so better off going about it alone
But even then it’s a mockery
Having dirt thrown upon you
After you worked so hard
Cleaning up your hole.

But the dead ain’t for living
Still you’re living dead, girl
And that six foot hole is a long way down
It’s okay to close your eyes
Just drop in; you’re not alone
See I’m down here, too
Digging all the while.

Fakes Need Not Apply

The thing about this mask
Is that I choose not to wear it
I’m comfortable

Without this mask
You see me for all I am
So shame on you
For not seeing me coming.

But you
And your kind
You wear the masks I choose not to
You wear the masks I see through.

A brilliant disguise?
Spare me.

I walk raw, naked and senses alive
Even while the rest of me dies
Just do me this favor
Only this one
When I’m gone
Display this mask alongside my casket
To serve as constant reminder
For the fakes who attend.


The call came
that you were gone
and all that remained
was the simple act of driving
to see you one last time.

But you left the party
long before last call
too soon
after the final hello.

Your own terms
something I will admire.

You left me
a husk
something you never were
something hard to erase from memory
something unforgivable.

And during that simple act of driving
when all that remained
were your terms
I remembered the final time I lay with you
A husk
the party long over
the curtain long drawn.

Of A Darker Art

Got hell in mouth
Devil on tongue
Voodoo mama on brain
Demon in heart.

Dig bones from dirt
Bury spleens in hearth
Keep gris-gris round neck
Darkness never part.

Never sell this spell
But steal your charm
Tongue flick tail rattle, baby
Yeah, snake round arm.

But hell in mouth
Need devil on tongue
Voodoo mama on brain
You the demon in my heart.

~ Joseph A. Pinto

posted on Pen of the Damned on August 21, 2012