(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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