Inside Job

Author’s Note: This one is a little more fun if you read it in Tony Soprano’s voice.

I always defended my inner child
Even when change, he’d slow or shunt
I spoke to him softly, sweet and kind
Never too harsh, rude, or blunt

But his juvenile ways sabotage me
Constantly force me to fall back and punt
It’s time for him to grow the hell up
My progress, the crybaby tries to stunt

If I’m ever gonna get ahead in this world
Any luck in life, the brutal hunt
I can’t afford to have this kid in my way
His juvenile tantrums, I gotta confront

All this baby does is worry, complain
He fights reality, finds truth an affront
His childish attitudes are holding me back
I say, fuck that bratty, squawkin’ cunt

I know a guy; he paints houses, wetwork
A reliable button man to bear the brunt
He knows how to handle these things
A backdoor man; alibi and solid front

I’m sick of his shit, bellyachin’, moanin’
I gotta do it; I’m putting out a hit on the runt
I’ll murder this punk and bury his body
In a shallow grave by the waterfront


©2022 Kevin Trent Boswell

Magus72 - the music, poetry, and madness of Kevin Trent Boswell
Magus72 on Patreon –
the music, poetry, and madness
of Kevin Trent Boswell

H. H.

If you ever were in any kind of doubt
About the evil in the hearts of men
Think about Chicago, circa 1890
And what happened there, back when…

A hotel was built on S. Wallace and 63rd
Owned by one of the devil’s own pawns
A slimy little man by the name of Holmes
He raised the money through elaborate cons

How he went about his money schemes
Is bad… but it pales, when compared to why
He built the place up with the sole intention of
Trapping people there, to die

This fiend kept all his contractors in the dark
So none knew the true nature of the place
Hallways, leading nowhere, many fake doors
Each worker had a puzzled look on his face

A great many builders, all with small jobs
There was no reason to suspect anything foul
Lots of secret passages, trap doors, thick walls
So no one would hear the victims howl

The store, up front, was innocent enough
The apartments on the third floor, too
But the second floor and the basement,
These were where… awful things, he would do

Chutes that lead to the basement below
A huge bank vault, for… something diabolical
A crematorium and acid vats to get rid of bodies
And a labyrinth… not at all metaphorical

A maze of hallways, sinister booby traps,
So much evil, it’s hard to imagine it all
Thing is, it wasn’t a movie, it was a pet-project
His own, private, murder mini-mall

To say he was mad, well… that just doesn’t cut it
It was deeper and much more perverse
Hollywood has made millions and they do try
But have yet to dream up anything worse

Dahmer… he was mad, liked eating the dead
Ted Bundy killed women for sexual kicks
Richard Ramirez, Ed Gein, a whole host of sickos
But none of them ever bought pallets of bricks

H. H. had a slew of craftsmen and laborers
To build a museum of death and by age 35
He was eventually hanged, after confessing to
27 murders, some of whom were still quite alive

The Zodiac escaped capture and Scotland Yard
Never did apprehend the ol’ Ripper, Jack
But neither of them ever went so far
As to construct even a shanty or a shack

I have to admit, I’m unable to fathom
The depravity of such a despicable plan
How so much planning went into the thing
And all of it… from one, single man

I promise you, I don’t find anything whatsoever
About any of this gruesome story funny
But I shudder to think, what some other lunatics
Might’ve done, if only… they’d had enough money

If had a bunch of cash, I’d probably build the
Finest recording studio that anyone’s ever seen
I can’t imagine my first thought would be to build
The set of something like Saw, Part 14

But one man had exactly such a thought
Unspeakable evil was just his idea of fun
He may have killed as many as two hundred,
Yet, they could only convict him for one

How many victims? No one knows, because
Acid and lime don’t let much remain
He admitted to 27 but some were still alive
The only certainty was that Holmes was insane

I’ve seen and read about many ghastly things
Some of it factual and some, fictional mystery
But you can go read all about H. H. Holmes
In any reliable source of modern history

I’m bothered to the core by the sickness of men
The terrifying things that killers will do
But H. H. perturbs me, far more than most
Because all of his story is entirely too true

There are madmen and there are murderers
But you can’t just say something’s “not right”
That a man dreamt up such a chamber of horrors
Well… it’s why I lock my doors at night


©2021 Kevin Trent Boswell


From the black book of awful, horrible, despicable things, Out On The Killing Floor

Out On The Killing Floor
Available on Amazon

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That One Time

Happy first day of Halloween. I put something dark and sweet into your pumpkin for you.

That One Time

Your belongings will not likely be stolen
In the times you watched them like a hawk
But rather, they up and run away
The one time that you forget about the lock

Your blessings will surely not come to an end
In those times in which you’re praying a lot
No, your blessing well will only run dry
Because of the one time you did not

You’re unlikely to be brutally murdered,
Your corpse buried beneath someone’s floor
On most days, that is…
Unless, of course, you forget to latch the door

©2021 Kevin Trent Boswell


Photo by Faruk Tokluoğlu


From the black book of unimaginably horrible things, Out On The Killing Floor

Out On The Killing Floor, by Kevin Trent Boswell
Available on Amazon

Support

Magus72 on Patreon
Magus72 on Patreon