Wednesday, 16 June 2010

Woe La Poxette

Doxy’s got the pox.
Poxy Doxy’s in the dock,
Face all lumpen
Dropping scabs
Of blackened blood
Onto the courtroom floor
Of hated Judge Malcreed.

Doxy’s gonna drop.
Cocky Doxy’s got to hop,
Her legs deformed
And broken.
The noose awaits
Courtesy of last year’s
Lover, filthy Judge Malcreed.

Doxy’s got the knock.
Stroppy Doxy’s got to stop
The hangman’s hand.
She shudders,
Kicks, dies screaming
Spitting out the curse at
Killer, vile Judge Malcreed.

Doxy’s dumped on top.
Rotting doxies turn to slop.
In the courtroom
Blind man cries,
Cock collapsing
Balls of green erupt all
Over desperate Judge Malcreed.

Poxy’s got a stump.
Poxy falls before he jumps
Off Tower Bridge
He drools for help
But no-one comes.
He begs for death, but death
Won’t entertain old Judge Malcreed.

Poxy’s gone to pot.
Poxy lives a doxy’s lot
His body’s bare
Ravaged and scarred,
A limbless whore.
He sells his soul, condemned
To hell.

Poxy Judge Malcreed.

Lily Childs is a writer of horror, esoteric, mystery and chilling fiction.

If you see her dancing outside in a thunder storm - don't try to bring her in. She's safe.