Double Feature
We were the c—c-cool kids,
P-poking fun at the L-l-losers!
What fun we had,
ruling the school, terrifying the teachers, punching the babies!
But our position soon changed,
from princes to paupers.
Popcorn in his curls, soda down his neck,
yelling insults, blasphemous verbal explosions:
cawing, crowing, belching,
just like the animal he was.
He was
the picture of ridicule;
something for those Losers to giggle at.
Although he was at the cinema —
creature feature, double feature time!
— what he really wanted was blood.
With his man-hands clenching my biker jacket,
what he really dreamed of was vengeance.
Disguised as loyalty,
fierce, dogmatic devotion,
he worshipped Bowers like a God;
He provided fresh sacrifices,
eleven-year old children,
scared out of their wits,
blood trickling from their noses.
Smell the fear in their sweat-drenched vests;
Reginald's spidery long legs would chase them to their deaths,
into the sewers, into Hell or Heaven.
The old terror's continual cry
echoed out through the corrugated iron surroundings.
That child, simple boy, trapped in the body of a grown man.
To the very end he was brave.
He died standing up to the beast.
The parting of head from shoulders
was sickening to say the least,
as his vacant chocolate eyes stared up at me,
Life's light flickering for a fraction of a second before extinguishing completely.
And I followed suit, a sheep until the final grain of sand fell to the bottom of the hourglass.
In life after death we were brother Frankensteins;
A grim retrospective from the double feature.
Only the damp and repulsive dark air kept us together forever.
Two boys ripped apart in the sewers.