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Angel Alley By John Patrick Robbins

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Hidden from sight and soon to be born into infamy, Is where the body of Martha Tabram lay.  Stabbed thirty-nine times,  The fatal blow had pierced the heart. As from hell was born the dark legend that will haunt the streets of White Chapel forever. Yet Martha holds little to no remembrance as the first murder victim to be photographed. Cast within time in grotesque remembrance; forever a cliff note in an unknown madman's story. The soiled doves forgotten, to the infernal night's bitter realization. Violence is an art the fearful ignore, yet forever hold a morbid fascination for. In a claustrophobic, dingy alley, you awaited death.  Crimson pool, the pains escaped a cold lens embrace to be your parting note. There is no shame in surviving.  There is only sadness,  In an ever-sickening society's cold acceptance of the deemed lesser kind. We are all monsters to exist unfazed. We are all monsters in secret. It is only a matter as to what degree. Farewell, Martha.
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Skill Sawed Saviors By John Patrick Robbins

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Venomous in their delivery. Entwined within a false promised hope. Entwined snakes serve as a true image. As the weak opt to die rather than be enslaved to poverty. Paying in blood while the rich prosper as they always will. The lie is superficial, as is the man smiling with the prescription pad's lingering promise. The joke is in the lie that we all stand upon an equal playing field. Paying into a broken system to feed corporations that could honestly give a fuck less to begin with. To pretend a serpent views you as anything more than prey is as futile as in hoping begging to invisible forces is useful when the shit hits the fan. I won't take the survey given the chance, but I will most definitely take the shot. The pigs desire only profits, as the gods need only endless skies and nothing more. Never get it twisted, you were always on your own from the start.
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I Am The UnHoly Roller By John Patrick Robbins

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A Gothic nightmare that exists outside the norm, hanging upon the fringes of insanity and the macabre. My words are black magic cast vengeance torments of the demonic fires within. I exist driven only in self destruction and chaos. Does the blood from a fresh scar trouble you. I ask only why you do not question the story behind this wound. The mind thinks the heart bleeds, and the soul aches for companionship. Loneliness kills like any cancer of this human condition. The crow holds semblance, the night holds pain without another to cling to hopeless as love is but a flame. Flickering  within the winds of reality's ultimate despair. I kiss your hand in the knowledge every moment may be our last. I am empty as this room as so shall I remain until my demise. Care not for the flesh as words bleed my truths. Hold my pages of worn covers, know my pain, and embrace your own equally. We share this and not a single goddamed truth as people. I was unknown from the start. JPR, is a southern g...
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