A/N: Hey there! This is a weird, sick little thing I decided to do. I don't know if it's funny or just dumb, but it sounds like something Johnny would do.
Disclaimer: I don't own JtHM or The Raven.
One late two AM I pondered, sitting as my thoughts all wandered,
Wondering if there was truly nothing, simply nothing more.
As I muttered to the ceiling, vaguely thinking, never feeling,
Came the sound of splinters peeling, clawing at the rotting door.
"'Tis some homeless man," I grumbled, "scratching at my rotting door --
Maybe it's a drunken whore."
The night was cold and dark and still, as I supressed the urge to kill,
And fondly squished dear Samsa as he scuttled forth across the floor.
Though I did not know, I waited; for on this night I was fated
To be neither calmed nor sated by the molding, rotting gore.
To be uneasy at the thought of what I usually adore,
Which, it seemed, would be a chore.
Well, the doughboys both were sleeping, neither had advice worth keeping,
And the victims were unconscious, innards spread across the floor.
So that now, as to repress the urge that I longed to express,
I growled and howled, perhaps impressed whoever stood behind my door,
"Leave me alone, you fucker, and don't come here anymore!"
But none replied to my outpour.
A moment's silence then ensued, lightening my irate mood,
No one gave me cause to give my performance an encore.
But presently, again, the clawing, and my patience now was flawing,
Still, they did insist on clawing, scraping at my rotting door.
"Oh for fuck's sake, what do you want?" Now I flung aside the door.
Just a bird, and nothing more.
Long I stood there, watching, staring, seething, growling, hissing, glaring,
At that perky raven I had opened up my dwelling for.
But it simply cawed in pleasure, waiting not a beat nor measure,
As it pranced between my legs into the house I stood before.
I scowled, and turned and howled quite loudly, but my voice it did ignore.
(I must admit, my pride was sore.)
Back I stomped into the house, I would show that little louse,
But as I raised the blade to make that irksome beast no more,
It croaked and rubbed against my shoe, and I found I could not do
The thing which I had thought was what I was created for.
"How is it you make me question things?" I quietly implored.
"Caw!" It cried, and nothing more.
But hesitance is for the weak, and so I grabbed it by its feet,
And silenced all its cawing and the warmth that I yearned for.
As I wiped my long blade clean, I wondered how it would have been
If I had kept the raven who begged entrance at my door.
Shrugging, I sat on the couch. I seldom sleep there anymore.
I sat, and stared, and nothing more.