Sex and Murder Magazine

By Craig Podmore

i

I felt my scalp.
A crack, a void in my skull,
Culling an unwanted cunt
Of sexless murders in my mind.

I felt my insides.
Maggot-rape of organs
Defying my physical death self
Of bleeding contras.

Massacre of innocents
Just for promotional material
Of my self-defecating halo
That’s denounced as only a bracket.

An afterbirth
Erodes before me,
Unable to live,
Castrated by gods
In gas masks.

An incision is applied to my
Post-corpus
Where I fellate death
With a fucking orgy of jest.

That crack in my skull
Is the Sisyphus smile.


ii

Rotting stillborn child
In a television set on fire,
Distorted torture sounds
Of our national anthem,

Is this just the state
Or have I just overdosed on the preferable dose of normality?


iii

Put them against the wall.
Rifles ready?

Bullets of baby teeth
Penetrating philosophers
Against the wall.

Their shamanic death dance
Laughing at the totalitarian
Toilets of feeble minds.

Women and children are sent to the church.
Fire churned with a sulphur smell.
Mothers mourning of child decay,
Raped amidst ashes of the church

As the soldiers wait for their wages at the end of the month.


iv

It’s time to fade.
Skinning myself.
Applying season to the flesh.

Knife and fork ready,
I’ll make sure my eyes are last.


v

I crucified mannequins of politicians on a war memorial.
AK47 to the temple of a fabricated world
Where the illusions of WMD
Are buried in the faeces of
Gulags.

In order for fame I must shoot everyone I know.


vi

Fucking it all over,
Pure sadism,
Strapped to a bed
Of newspaper headlines,
Making it choke,
Fellatio brutality,
The openings are bleeding,
Crying semen,
Gorging the pain sexually,
The animal in me,
Fucking it all over,
My fist in all cavities,
Strangling the neck,
Biting the flesh,
Vomiting the seeds
Until

When I finally looked at what I was fucking
Was the earth.


vii

This prostitute made more sense than my parents.
A murderer made more sense than the president.
The rapist made more sense than my lover.

Forsaken criminals just see the holes
Of our system and want to sexually abuse them.

I’m fed up of making sense
So I screamed…


viii

I stabbed myself,
The same place where
Christ was pierced
By the spear.
No blood,
Only dust
So I tried it on
A passerby
Only she bled
And bled
And bled
And these angels
Tried to fornicate with me
And said that I was in Hitler youth.

I became a eunuch
Received death from
The Immaculate Conception.

The dust still spills,
I vomit post-aborted
Foetus in despair
And these people just don’t care
So I go to church
And get missions off God.


ix

The bipolar housewife,
Her cadaver of a husband
Lies in her favourite flowerbed.

The teenage girl
Keeping Polaroid’s
Of abuse in her pillow.

Her dolls are cigarette burned.

No screams, only mute.
It is here where I scream
For those who are deaf
In the fear of conformity.

We’ll only wait until the knife in our hands
Will drip the stains of flesh amidst
Our ever-so-fucking-perfect morality.