#thesucc

Not a man on this earth has walked or skipped, 

without hearing a whisper of The Succ, that sipped

the souls of rabbits and children with ties, 

its dubious malice pulling blood from our eyes. 

The Succ stands between the sane and the severed,

no legs to stand on, no scar uncovered; 

it takes the door that keeps out the far-bothered, 

and yanks it from its hinges, no sin untethered, no darkness untied, 

don’t fight them, raise your hands, and bathe in bloodflies. 

It stands on two arms, too long for a man, 

its torso, it swings, trailing trinkets and things,

from dribbling intestines that stain the garage floor, 

when The Succ pays a visit, as you shut your car door. 

You see it in the mirror, stark white and vile, 

you see its eyes - wide, empty, galvanized; 

so much like a man, like a woman or a child, 

but whiter, and blacker, and full of caves and sceptiles.

And you see its bald head, rotund and smooth,

its fat chubby cheeks framing a mouth, flat and crude. 

And though you can’t look away, locked in you are, 

your feet scramble, your car does not go far.

For The Succ is not behind, but before you, you see

It lives in the rear mirror, it lives in the raging seas

that send waves of fear and trauma in your heart, 

The Succ sees you panic, it sees death as its art. 

Watch the world die before you, watch everyone be eaten,

The Succ stands and watches, swinging gently on its palms. 

It will not spare you, O ungrateful cretin,

for The Succ knows all, and will swallow you when you blink; 

its dubious malice shrieking; in molten art, you will sink. 

And now you are no more, wiped from life and beyond;

the garage is empty, your car battery is on. 

The Succ was never there, and now, neither are you;