Monster Mayhem
About this title: Monsters and more, monsters galore! What hides in the shadows or lurks in the night? What reaches out for your throat to provoke a scream that curdles your blood, to violently tear the life from your body? Could this be your answer? This full-length collection of dark prose, short stories and novellas will surely appease your palate for all things beastly and ghastly. Rating: HIGH controversy.
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Click here to visit this title's page on Smashwords.
A poem from this collection.
When The Madness Comes
A lonely house, the dead of night, several shots of rum.
A mind in anguish, dark despair and then the madness comes.
The seated figure, flickering shadows, the TV blazes on,
A transformation in the moonlit night and then the madness comes.
The snarl of rage, the hasty exit, shattered glass on the floor.
The need to hide, the limping stride, a grim reflection by a store.
Realization, fits of rage, the fury burns inside.
A need to strike, an urge to kill, the lusting for a life.
Echoes, footsteps, panting breaths, the increase of the stride.
The reaching claws, the shock, the fear, the struggle deadened by the night.
A fallen victim, a fading heart, death saturates the air.
The hunger filled, diminished thrill, a retreat to the lair.
The chilling breeze, the blood soaked trail, a sudden remorse felt.
Bitter tears and wrenching moans for the hand that fate has dealt.
The familiar seat, the forgiving screen, half a bottle of rum.
No choice save that to sit and wait until the madness comes.
When The Madness Comes
A lonely house, the dead of night, several shots of rum.
A mind in anguish, dark despair and then the madness comes.
The seated figure, flickering shadows, the TV blazes on,
A transformation in the moonlit night and then the madness comes.
The snarl of rage, the hasty exit, shattered glass on the floor.
The need to hide, the limping stride, a grim reflection by a store.
Realization, fits of rage, the fury burns inside.
A need to strike, an urge to kill, the lusting for a life.
Echoes, footsteps, panting breaths, the increase of the stride.
The reaching claws, the shock, the fear, the struggle deadened by the night.
A fallen victim, a fading heart, death saturates the air.
The hunger filled, diminished thrill, a retreat to the lair.
The chilling breeze, the blood soaked trail, a sudden remorse felt.
Bitter tears and wrenching moans for the hand that fate has dealt.
The familiar seat, the forgiving screen, half a bottle of rum.
No choice save that to sit and wait until the madness comes.
