(Happy Halloween. Here’s a poem from a forthcoming Filmic Cuts. It’s vaguely inspired by the madness and Old Gods of Lovecraft, with a Poe-like stanza to it. Either way, I hope you enjoy – OJ)

It all began

As these things do

On a cold November dawn

Nineteen-hundred and twelve


I commenced work

Into the night

At Miskatonic Hospice

A place of dank and rot


A tribe of ills

The sick and dying

Why, they were all eclipsed

By this curious case


My fellow doctor

Harrison Laye

Gave me the situation

Of a very disturbed sort


He’d been brought in

Flesh torn, bloody

But the patients current mood

Was one of great rapture


So Dr Laye

A wise, old man

Did call upon me to see

What caused this man to flay


I soon entered

Saw the man sat

Pock-marked with bloody bandage

A grin from ear to ear


He was very sick

There was no doubt

But his problems were deeper

Than the gore that he showed


Mental problems

That was quite true

The patients mind was warped

People spoke of his words


“He claims strange things”

Dr Laye said

“That his flesh is all rotten

His true skin is below”


Intriguing, yes

A case most odd

I let Dr Laye go forth

So I could find out more


The man, name Crispin

Smiled as I came

The sight, I confess, was grim

The smell, well, even worse


All fetid blood

Dry crimson stains

Despite the waves of bandage

The blood still leaked within


I removed one

Took a small look

And almost vomited fast

At the sight of his body


The blood flowed loose

Dripping all over

It oozed from several bored holes

Cut into Crispin’s flesh


It looked all drilled

Burrowed clean through

When I looked back to Crispin

The smile told me the truth


He whispered close

Voice cold and clear

He had cored through his body

Through hand and gut and limb


I was aghast

Yet very intrigued

For Crispin’s reasons to core

Were beyond all belief


He spoke to me

Of his belief

That our skin housed not just flesh

Yet something more amazing


His tale began

With an old book

Full of runic ramblings

Old curses and nonsense


Yet it bought joy

Crispin found God

Not the Gods you and I know

Something darker and vague


He said one night

They told him thus

Under his bodily flesh

Was a matter beyond


So with great strength

He went to work

Finding an apple corer

And drilling his own hand


“Doctor,” he said

“You won’t believe

The wonder I saw inside

The great matter of life”


“It was all black

Flecked only with stars

Like the sky we see above

Blessing us in our nights”


He spoke much more

He became mad

Addicted to the drilling

Carving out more and more


Each open wound

Exposed the black

And, he said, fed him knowledge

Beyond Earth’s time and space

(To read more, keep an eye out for Coring of the Flesh in a future Filmic Cuts. In the meantime, for a horrific read, try The Station 17 Chronicles, Filmic Cuts 3, or even a Bad Sandwich. Once again, Happy Halloween… – OJ)


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