Defined By How They Are Cooked

Animal Rights


The chickens are

kidnapped, and kept confined,

then murdered

and finally

by how their

cadavers are cooked,  defined.

Some are called

broilers. Others fryers

by mass murdering

avicidal profiteering liars.


saiom shriver





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idea for a book, maybe




“Can I take your order, sir?”


I jump, startled at the voice and look up. Just the waiter.

“Just a black coffee please.”

“Any pastry or dessert to go with that?”

“No. Just the coffee. Please.”


As he walks away, I glance at my watch, for what must be the thousandth time. Two minutes past eleven. He said be here at eleven. It’s two minutes past and he still hasn’t arrived. Did I do something wrong? Is he not coming? And, since when does a doughnut in Wimpy count as a pastry?


And, Patsy….?


I feel a twisting in my gut; my vision swims as I feel the nausea rise again. Overwhelming. The stench of stale coffee and burger fat… I lose my breathing and start to gag.


“Your coffee’s arriving. That wouldn’t look seemly.”


I catch my breath again, open my eyes. As the dark whirlpool explodes into a million shards of light, I see the waiter approaching with my coffee. And a pair of dark sunglasses, opposite me, at the table. So black, can’t see my own reflection.

“Make that two coffees. And… how are your brown derbies today? Haven’t had one those since I was a kid.”

“The finest in London, sir.”

“We’ll have two of those, as well. My friend skipped breakfast again, this morning.”


Behind the sunglasses…

Short brown hair. White skin. No facial hair…. Can’t even tell if it’s man or a woman… just those sunglasses.


“We spoke. Earlier. On the phone.”

Is it him? He came? I gotta tell him everything….

I open my mouth and gibberish comes out. The blahs and slabberings of an idiot.

A straightening of his (her) jawline. A deep breath.

A deep exhale, relaxing the muscles.

“You are confused. Stressed. Feeling panic, maybe. Do like I do. A deep breath in. And slowly, let it out.”

I do as instructed and feel exhausted as the tension leaves my body.

“We spoke on the phone. Earlier. You said you needed help.”


“Yes, I need help. Definitely fucking… Yep… need help! I found him…. they said…..” and I fall back into silence.


“I find these situations are easier if you start at the beginning.”


“Start at the beginning? What the hell does that mean?…..” I start gagging again.


“Breathe….. in…… out….. breathe….

“Okay.. let’s start from a different angle…. how did you find me?”


A deep breath in, to pause and recollect my thoughts.

“I googled…. ‘need help, don’t know what to do.’

“After twenty five pages of links to dying from cancer and buy your Russian bride here websites… I came across  ‘Odd-Job Man. You don’t know what to do and you need help? I do the oddest of jobs. Discretion Guaranteed!”


“You just went all tense and scary, what did I say wrong?”


A deep breath from Sunglasses… exhale…. slowly….


“Nothing…. seriously…. google search? That’s really how you found me?”


“Just, straight google?… not dark web… private VPN… summin like that?”

“No, no…. just google. Don’t even know what the other two are.”

“OK. Google.” A deep breath in. “I’m really gonna have to work on my advertising and promotion…. OK…. Why did you call me?”


“They got Patsy. They killed him. They say say they going to kill her.”

Having said them, my words chill me. I feel my skin prickle with the iciness of fear. My stomach just melts into warm mush. My vision melts into kaleidoscopic images as the tears well up in my eyes…. I feel a crushing pressure in my shoulder and look up to see an outreached arm and the hand gripping my shoulder.


“Remember to breathe. Slow…”

I follow that advice. The madness dissipates…


I look up into those sunglasses.

“Who’s Patsy?”

“Patsy?… Patsy?… who’s Pa…”

It’s like a firework went off…

I sit up straight and look around. A burger bar… a coffee in front of me… and Sunglasses sitting opposite me.


“Patsy’s my sis……”


The world explodes into a cacophony of madness. One giant ‘BOOM!’ unleashes the 1812 overture…. loud, deafening bangs… tables splintering and falling… the wall puckering out… spitting debris all over me.. people falling.. and screaming…


A pressure forces me to me knees… I recover myself and look up… to see Sunglasses beside me, pushing me down….

“Get low! Stay down! Do as I say!”


He has a gun in his other hand… what the…..


The world explodes into the brightest light I’ve ever seen… the loudest thunder I ever heard… blind… deaf… I try to stand… feel a solid… and know nothing but blackness…..












I feel a rhythym, a rumbling….

I hear…. everything… nothing… it’s all indistinct.…

I open my eyes.


And close them as burning pain racks every fibre of my being…


“Ah. You’re awake. Breathe in… and out… sorry, but your head’s gonna hurt for a little while. Things went bad, back there and I had to… improvise…”


Little by little, I open my eyes again. Everything still hurts, but not as much…

The blackness of a million fireworks exploding, slowly fades into the back seat of a dimly lit car.

“You were saying… Patsy’s your sister…?”


Patsy? Sister?…

I start to sit up as I remember.


“NO! NO! Stay down for now!”

…. and the back window explodes in to a million splinters…. prickling me a thousand times over as I’m showered in the debris.


My stomach heaves as the car lurches to the left.


The indistinct sounds dissolve into squealing tyres and… bangs… pops… repetitive, explosive drumbeats… and crashing glass and whispers buzzing past my ear…


“Who’s they?”


“What? What the f…. where am I?”


“You said, ‘They’ve got Patsy. Who’s ‘They’?


“What the… Patsy… who’s got Patsy?” My head feels so sluggish…warm… I close my eyes.. just a second… so warm…


“The ‘THEY’ who are shooting at us!”


…. shooting… WTF?….

I sit bolt upright….


“Yeah, damn, right, shooting at us!”

My left cheek explodes into warmth as the window shatters beside me.

And I huddle, right down to foetus, birth position, on the back seat of a strange car. Nearly thumb in mouth, baby-style, as glass splinters rain over me.


I scream…. “Please, WTF is going on?”






Author's Notes/Comments: 

thought i'd have the heroic hitman/hitwoman as the sidekick and make the victim the hero, hehe

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A killer lurks in the shadows - A reverse poem


Kill the woman


I won’t let him


stop me.


Nothing in this world can


help her


The time is near. And I am going to go


through with it.


The shadows hide my presence. I am


her. Vulnerable.


I draw my weapon. I see


My moment is now


I am a killer


Author's Notes/Comments: 

I wrote this in February 2015, but never did anything with it. So, having stumbled across it once more, I thought I should release it to the world. Like a dove.

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Murder of the Sleepless Souls by the Society: Madness and the Theoretical Suicide in William Shakespeare’s Selected Tragedies


The concepts of madness and suicide have captivated and mystified generations of scholars. Shakespeare seems to be obsessed with the portrayal of insane characters and their ultimate self-killing in his tragedies. In fact, the Shakespearean tragic characters such as Othello (Othello), Lady Macbeth (Macbeth), Brutus (Julius Caesar), Ophelia (Hamlet), Timon (Timon of Athens), Cleopatra (Antony and Cleopatra), Goneril (King Lear), Mark Antony (Antony and Cleopatra), Cassius (Julius Caesar), Romeo (Romeo and Juliet), Juliet (Romeo and Juliet) and Portia (Julius Caesar) may have certain flaws in their characters but they would not have taken their own lives away unless there were strong and negative influences from the external forces in the society. In other words, they are made utterly frustrated and depressed by the people, their actions and behaviours. 


Therefore, they lose control over their minds, act irrationally (as the decision of committing suicide is not logical and it is the proof of madness) and lead themselves towards self-destruction. In this sense, they have not committed suicide; indeed, they are murdered by the instigators or social agents! It would be clearer to understand by an easy example- the so-called ‘suicide’ is similar to the way a murderer stabs and kills someone or someone who pushes another person down from the top of a building. The one we call ‘murder’ is committed by using weapons like knife, pistol etc. which we can see and touch but the murder in the guise of the ‘supposed suicide’ is committed by using weapons that we do not actually see or touch such as, spreading rumour, constantly pressurising someone psychologically, hurting someone’s self-esteem badly and the like. For instance, Iago drives Othello towards the point of insanity by spreading rumour about Desdemona. He suffers psychologically as his honour is at a stake and his self-respect is ruined. As a result, Othello murders his wife. However, after finding that Desdemona is not adulterous, Othello loses his rational mind and acts as a mad man; he stabs himself with a dagger and dies beside Desdemona’s corpse. 


Othello in Othello 


Othello, the Moor of Venice, has married Desdemona, a young lady from Venice. They have a strong bond between them since Desdemona has respected Othello’s love by eloping with him. She has deceived her father so that she can stay with Othello forever. Undoubtedly, Othello is a leader of great stature. The Venetians honour him because of his valour as a leader. However, great leader and stress are similar to the body and the shadow. He has much tension on him. But, only stress does not drive Othello towards ‘madness’. Indded, the combination of the stress, envy, and loss of honour act as catalysts in making Othello insane. Therefore, he does not hesitate to murder his wife. We see a mad Othello when he cries:


thou hast set me on the rack.

I swear ‘t is better to be much abus’d

Than but to know a little.



Author's Notes/Comments: 

More will be added later on...

View kingofwords's Full Portfolio


I cannot figure out my problem,

I sit alone in my room.

and for once I’d like to think my parents were right-

I’m fine, just 13.


I understand why I’m afraid of heights

I am afraid of being  towered over,

looking past me to someone else,


I am forgotten.


Years later, I am only known when being seen in the wrong light,

I am only seen on the TV,

or the jury look at me,

I see the blood on my hands,

the prosecutor cannot let me see more land,

I am scared for my fate,

I act like I am without a care,


I don’t think the death penalty is fair.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

uh idk. i'd like feedback

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As a young boy I always wanted to be a soldier
Counted the seconds as I got older
Then came the day and I joined the ranks
Not for me working in shops or banks
Then they sent us of to War
My Mother cried as I closed the front door
I shot a Taliban who killed a soldier
Now I rot in prison accused of murder.

© Tony McNally

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At A Time

At a time that

is of past passing-

A yellow house brown

of blackened sunflowers

In a grey town

And a moon

as red as the, soon,

lives of death

Leads us through hours

beyond this taken breath

The house is dark, a hint of red,

and has a quiet feel, as before nature's warnings-

Then, it was at night,

they could feel a movement, restless,

Surely it was not right

The parents sneaked around

and death hit them in an instant

as the taker ran, never to be found

The childrens' hearts had a hole,

definitely, the three were not full

as they were saddened

at the night that was surely testless

and at that time, it was sure

they were not yet reddened

We open to a placement, a blue day,

where the many have had breath taken-

The children were in the foster

a system, that was very sad

as the brother was not on their roster

The brother, from his foster, he ran

Rightly so, he was definitely not a fan

They had found him by the home

near his siblings, that was a tad

too far for him to roam

Now a windy day, at a sunrise,

a green fire rises, higher and higher-

The boy's parents' sunset, to him, was impart

as he felt, his life was raken

so he set, in the prison, his heart

and went out into the darkness

on a path set out in fire,

where the sun sets on its blackness

and the rain keeps the heat

slow and still, until the time

his vengence must readily beat

He moves as a sunset

brings him closer to darkness-

The path ends at a house,

beyond the row of quinces

where he was sure it was his "workhouse"

He went in, to catch the killer,

temptation sprang, but he was backed

So, he had to enact

and, for help, became a caller

The tornado finally passes,

after the taker, he catches

but finds the alleges

never discovers him any coolness

from the darkness, and the dankness

What he thought was sunset,

was actually sunrise,

that brought, with all his ties,

him to light, without any debt

Later, in the spring,

the children are grown, the bells ring,

with candles lit,

comes their lives, moonlit

and sunflowers no longer blackened,

and their lives no longer darkened,

but brightened with

Roses, lilies, and pansis

never to forget, their taken breath,

At A Time

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Loose Killers

Strike a bullet
In the chest of a human
And it's murder
Strike a bullet
In the chest of an animal
And it's hunting
One holds aggression
And questions sanity
The other holds normality
And questions nothing
Let me have you imagine
A human approach you
In the safety of your home
With a ready gun in hand
And have you not
Put up a front in defense
Why is an animals defense
For their lives
This world has become ignorant
We think ourselves the only
Ones worthy of living
And fighting for our lives
We live in fear of other nations
And the war they may bring us
May it never cross your mind
Animals have been in fear of us
And the war we brought them
Too many years back to count
We too are animals
Should it slip your mind
We are animals
With different habits
One of them -
Thinking murder is natural
Should you grasp this concept
You will somewhat understand
Hunters may be held to the same
Respect as serial killers
Both hold no remorse
For taking lives
Why should one deserve
A different merit than the other
-- F.D.D.

Gorgeous revenge

The severity of the situation is reaching an all time hi

should I violently react or just let it fly?

your engorged words have pierced the innocent ghost

a 40 ton wieght of revenge is what would get me off the most

if I choose the darkened path my future will cease to exist

however the beautifully dressed possibilty of revenge is at the top of list

like a beast in the night, a monsters dreams, like a lions roar

maybe someday I'll have no choice but to deliver death to your door.