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	Dictator's Log. To be frank, this journal is a small let out for me. I shall only write or post when I feel like. Or when someone forces me too. Simple as that. ta loves.

	Hector. (POEM)
	Hector. (POEM)


Haha. I had ALOT of fun with this poem. I don't know why, but this is honestly one of my more favorite poems I’ve written. It was based off of Tim Burtons "Vincent" it was one of his earlier stop-motion films he had done and Edgar Allen Poe's "The Raven". Thank god for Tim Burton and Edgar Allen Poe or I would be lost. Critique and Commets are love, so help a poet? Much love, RW. ----------------------------------- Hector. (C) iSkeleton RW. Death shall come and the night shall wail! As I tell the horrible tale of a young Hector Malloy. A very young man with the story you see? Do not look upon this story with such glee. Young Hector Malloy, a boy of twenty three grew up alone in the chambers of room Seven ‘o Three. Mad was Hector, who was driven by greed, Although he really had no need. The people had suffered one by one. Which knifes in their throats and bullets deep in their chests, Never ever to be alone and at rest. Hector was no different than a Mr. Hannibal Lecter, Who had skinned his victims with a thin silver scepter. From his dripping white room he sat on in gloom. He moaned and groaned through out the day, Scolding those people who did “go out to play”. The aroma of blood hung to his fingers, And the lust to kill still lingered. Hector slid into a practical coma so deep, And his mind began to wander as he shall solemnly sleep. “Ah! Yes!” He cried as he leapt to his feet, Running down the stairs which were so steep. Down to the basement he went. To his lab he fled, As he began to make a potions of a horrible dread. The days grew short and the nights grew long Hector soon sang his woeful song, Death and dieing, Torture and fear, Is all Mr. Malloy holds dear. Hatred ran deep in Hector, Insanity had poisoned his veins, As his mind became twisted and deranged. His soul was of black and his eyes of glass, As Hector reached out his hand to slowly grasp, The handle of the silver scepter burning with desire to rip raw flesh, A crimson liquid bubbled from the room… Filling Hector with his ultimate doom, And he loomed with gloom through out the lands, Shaking his fists up at the sky with cold skeleton hands, As blood dripped from his finger tips to weary, He soon began to fall into a deepening quarry. Spinning and spiraling to the depths of a white hell, Bounds with chains he was forced to dwell. Living slowly in these lowly halls, Madness dripping from the walls. Hector was placed into a room titled Seven ‘o Three. Never again to feel the warmth of blood… So it will be. thecitieslights · Wed Nov 12, 2008 @ 12:58am · 1 Comments


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.My tumblr.

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Breaking Lauren
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Thu Nov 13, 2008 @ 02:50am

Creepy. I love it Rem! ♥

Quote:

Hector was no different than a Mr. Hannibal Lecter,

Who had skinned his victims with a thin silver scepter.

My favourite part.

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