Tender Loving Murder

Title art by L.H. Grey

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Chris Isaak “Baby Did A Bad, Bad Thing”

I could literally murder the fuck out of you
Wait until you’re alone in your bed
Then bundle a polythene bag on your head
Suffocate you until stone cold and dead
Just to breathe you back to life again

I would plunge an eight-inch Bowie knife
Into both of those eyes
Twist the blade until such time
As the twitching subsides
Just to watch the light inside them die
Then instantly reignite again

I would hang, draw and quarter you
Subject you to torture no right mind would oversee
Cauterize your stab wounds then jab until they weep
Stitch you midsection of a vaguely human centipede
Drug you to the eyeballs and impregnate with the demon seed
Just to see you overcome each evil deed

Indeed, to further impede your breathing
I’d place my hands around your throat
And commence to forcefully squeeze
Wait until your color drains
All oxygen cuts off from your brain
Then release my grip
And kiss your pale lips
Fill your lungs with fresh clean air to breathe again

I could murder you clinically
Act out impulse wickedly
Slit your throat with a diamond cutter
Bleed you out then dump you in the gutter
And know precisely what’s gotten into me
Murderous love of the first degree

From one extreme to quite another
You and I happen to fit one another exquisitely
Death has long since been your lover
And life my mortal enemy
Should ancient verse be etched in granite to whisper our ageless legacy
Then what way more romantic to attain longevity

Always hoped to be smiling when they bury me
Now I die in ten thousand ways
On ten thousand different days
And every last time I am brutally slain
I meet my demise most poetically

Not a hatchet or hacksaw that could prise us apart
For all their bloody-minded endeavor
For never ever could they sever our one vital part
Reach in by all means
Take a stab at this crystalline heart
But its omnipotent beat shall bid not to retreat
As it comes from some place a whole murder of crows more discreet

Hence, ten thousand deaths sounds horridly appealing
Shit, I get to kick the bucket in a bar without a ceiling
Last night I came in at 2 with a 10
Then at 10 I woke up with one too
Thus, I trust my blood lust to thrust this rusted iron in my bust
Carve out a love heart especially for you
As I know you would do the very same for me too

You literally murder the fuck out of me
Lucky for me
You stab me and shoot me
Electrocute me
Drive a red-hot poker straight through me
Fashion a gushing geyser to help me bleed out acutely
Never any less than thorough when you execute me
Such is your death-dealing beauty

A kiss before dying
Would be my sole request
Before you sink your dagger in the heart upon my chest
Some may call it curse but I consider myself blessed
Proud owner of one feeling bleeding heart

Life without you equates to far greater than ten thousand deaths
For it is you who owns the very cat who ghost wrote Macbeth
And should my lips be pursed in penultimate breath
Well then, I shall ferry it to yours with my ever grateful last

Richard Charles Stevens

Keeper of The Crimson Quill

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2 Comments

  1. This still soothes my soul to this day.
    A wonderful honest and open truth session but still filled with Hope sensitivity and love.
    One thing My Liege always knew and still knows today , how to open his eyes and see Light when darkness looms.
    Together we can all dance in the rain until each storm passes.
    I so adore this piece along side many many others.
    I remember darkness but it shall never consume me.
    Bravo on this revisal
    Pround moments … Always look to the sky.😇❤💋❤💪

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