Black Fever

Cthulhu Mythos

Painful and fatal disease

Not of this world...

Drawn down by Surama

Former priest of Atlantis.


Surama was a mummy;

But back restored to life

By a necromantic ritual

Performed in North Africa.


Wisdom and power

If the disease was spread.

Disgusted with this idea,

Surama left the humane.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Mythos poem.

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   I was never good with words,

By fear to enraged my paternal,

The seed that put me in to this world,

Would turned me black and blue,

Ten years seating on the kitchen table

With a pen and a paper,

The child kept drawing skies

Fills with Technicolor stars.


Silence was my prayer,

Salvation to protect my mother.

Ten years spend alone,

Little prince you were,

And you knew then,

There was no place for you,

So for the first ten years of your life,

You kept silence and listen instead…


Shaking in your bed to the same lullaby,

The motherly shout hidden under the sheets,

Sweet sixteen, your crime was to love him,

And I never forget, the blood,

Your frail body between me and him,

You told me his punch felt like kisses,

Instead of witnessing them pelting on me like rain,

Upon your blood and flesh,

I know you have died for me,

And so often, you nearly did,

The child has not forget,

The horror movies live,

Ten years of martyrdom and traumas,


And one winter night, we knew,

In some ironic way,

I had kept silence as usual,

But insanity had left him,

The one I forgive him long ago.


I was asked to stand up,

Expecting a weapon pointed upon my skull,

He came with a bottle of water,

And pulled it on top of my head, laughing...

The movie was ending,

And we could see the end was soon coming…



we waited for him to work his night shift,

And as soon as he was gone,

Mummy call her parents to pick me up,

She was put into a hostel for beaten woman,

The judge put me to the care of my grand-parents,

Looking back probably the best years of my life,

Well, the best year of my life,

We got given a flat,

And I move back to the bellied who had carried me!


No money, one bed to share, and I confess,

All the things he did to me, when she was working,

Someday I regret, the child making it worse ,

But the physical side of the trauma were there,

Wetting my bed till I was 11, stammering when anxiety truck,

Happiness did not last long, he found us…

While he was not my mother between me and him,

He was a flat door who kept us safe, nights and days,

You could never know, suddenly the door would shook by his banging’s.


With the same tremor as a little kid,

To the point, I was so disturbed,

I would begged my mother not to pass near it,

The youngster was seeing a man with a gun, ready to shoot,

Through the wooden door,

I would wail like a torture animal,

He had gone even worth, disintegration,

No-one was anymore there to live the abuse.


He was sinking fast to oblivion and disease,

Still, he manage to trick my mum,

Christmas time, begged her to let him in,

She is a good soul my mum and so she did,

Only minutes passed, he was on top of her,

Banging her head on the marble floor.


The demon in his hands, pulled almost all her hairs,

He scalped her and my screams did not stop him,

So I took the kitchen knife at 12 years old,

Mother was dying what choice did I have?

I don’t want to remember,

I don’t want to know what happens,

The knife drop on the blooded floor,


I run inside the building, like a banshee

Trying to open any doors and one did eventually,

Between tears and hysteria,

The man understood and run down,

To late, dad was gone and had took my dog.


The only present he ever gave me, when I was five,

Mother was lying, blood pouring from her head,

I wonder how many kid saw their mum scalped,

I think this was when I lost my sanity,

Someone mention a dog had been run over,

All, I know, I was felt on the floor of despair,

Tunnel vision, my life suck into it,

My body checking and banging all over,

It took many arms to stop the epileptic madness,

Who had took control of my corpse?



Mum was took in emergency to pharmacy and doctors,

I shall never forget the scarf on top of her hair,

Exactly one year she had to weared it

She was not even thirty.


I could carry on, fifteen years old went to work,

Seventeen years old got rape,

My first love committed suicide at twenty two,

Starving, three pumping stomach by the age of seventy,

My first time in a coma,

Running to England,

Prostitution under age,

And so many more to tell….


This has took everything inside me,

I am empty, falling into the void of what was some call life,

This is not even poetry and how pathetic,

I was hoping to write something beautiful,

Like butterfly wings in spring,

And all I seems to remember,

Is going to school with broken shoes,

And having to were plastic bag under my socks,

Maybe one day I am be able to finish this essay,

Till then, I am going to gulped as many pills as I can,

And drink as much alcohol as I can, to knock my self good,

I really thought I had pass the pain,

How wrong could I have been!!!




Author's Notes/Comments: 

i try everything, drugs, prostitution, beatings, suicide but there is even who can never leave u head, thank god I FORGIVE IT ALL, I DID NOT SAY I FORGOT BUT I FORGIVE...

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