K.

From the files of Crow.

May 20—

Unique why do you shake, breathe deeply and not speak?
‘K’
Did what to you? Where? What did they seek?
‘K’

A little black ball of feathers turns red like the mist surrounding danger!

How dare he! How dare they!
‘K’

Now you’re crying, and they’re lying, he’s lying to be precise. I will cut him; I will pierce him, I will chop him up and make meaty ice!

‘K’
Fuck K!
Fuck K!
There’s no ‘K’ in Crow.
Fuck his title!
Fuck his life; K will breathe no more.

It makes me angry!
I will get revenge.
For you, Unique, vengeance will lead to a glorious end.

‘K’

For three whole days, Crow flew, and he flew. He located the ‘K’ and extracted a bloody dew. Drop by drop he drank and her cursed. ‘Bad behaviour around Unique, blesses the cunt with a curse. Apologies K, I’m King Crow. I’ll start with your left eye and then tear your baby toes.’

He did as he spoke.
He drank, and he cackled.
He pecked, and he poked into holes he created.

He hopped onto the big toe and inscribed Crow deep within the ankle.

K pleaded and pleaded as his life slipped away. Unbalance Unique and Crow will ensure you pay.

Serious Mood

The last time I received a papercut, I remember seeing blood.

The pain was real enough.

I felt like I needed a quiet, dark place a few weeks ago. I explained why.

Thursday gone I felt happy due to some of the changes I’m creating. The first thing you say is, ‘you’re usually in a serious mood.’

I understand you don’t honestly believe I deserve to be happy. You like when I’m weak and in need. I realised that – you like drama.

Blended

The art to mix two is an art only a Master can muster before man.

I won’t lie to the watchers.

I’ll lie to fakers.

They want to know how I created this tiny heartbeat.

I told them, ‘from my baby toe, I tapped into a plug and shocked a new beat.’

I mixed madness into sanity and called it life.

I’ll always love you.

You’ll always be my baby…

Crow Knows Virus

From the files of Crow

I sneezed on a train earlier today, and people looked on in horror and disgust.

I had sneezed into my tissue, my Kleenex tissue, my menthol double-layered Kleenex tissue.

I saw the Dark Lord appear.

He hopped from a fat person’s fat head to an anorexic’s knee and said, ‘Tell me, oh! Tell me, how does one identify the Coronavirus?’

I sneezed again and folded my tissue around my nose, for snot had peeked out and well, I suppose, nose-wiping is permitted.

The crowd ignored the Dark Lord. The flabby man raised his scarf over his mouth.

‘I’m told by God that the flu kills more people each year than Corona. But you filthy fuckers scorn Unique! Was a black man not lynched the other week? Is there not a war being fought overseas? Didn’t good old Mrs Smith from Chiswick die from heart failure?’ He tilts his little head to the side and sees a woman with red hair, squeeze hand gel onto her hands, rubbing them vigorously together and then rubbing it over her face.

Our Dark Lord Crow stops the train; a few wrists are broken in the process. The red-haired woman falls onto her back, Crow glides down and perches on her disinfected face. ‘So tell me,’ he whispers, ‘how does a mortal know the difference between the flu and its cousin the Coronavirus.’

The red-haired lady stutters, from her view, all she can see is the ass of a blackbird. ‘The news, news said, said that, that you can catch it from infected people.’

‘So you’re telling me Unique is bad bacteria?’

‘No, but, but she sneezed.’

‘So you’re telling me Unique has the coronavirus?’

But before she could answer our Dark Lord Crow, turned to face her and hurled out the most disgusting sneezed ever witness on board a train. It was a blend of the usual snot and mucus. But it also contained rotten bits of bagel, congealed blood and a small piece of a rats tail. Once he finished sneezing, Unique knelt and wiped his face with a baby wipe. Kissed his little head and said, ‘time to go home now.’

He glared at all the other passengers before infiltrating the announcement system, ‘CROW KNOWS VIRUS, CROW KNOWS VIRUS.’

They both returned home and enjoyed a discounted bottle of Corona beer.

Unique Has No One

Unique has no one.

All she has is a diary, a pen and an idea.

Unique has no one.

All she has is that foul ball of feathers.

That rotten shadow of evil.

Unique is pathetic.

I mean, who do you know hangs around with birds?

Unique is useless; all she does is post a poem a day on WordPress.

But who reads her shit?

Unique is a stupid bitch.

Beyond the rants of hidden figures, a lone crow waits in silence, all you hear is his tiny heartbeat. His sapphire blue eyes twinkle outside the bedroom window of one. With his beak, he cuts through the double window pane. The occupant throws a copy of Birthday Letters by Ted Hughes at Crow, they shake and explain, ‘it’s all for social media! I do it for likes! I love Unique, I do.’

Crow glides across to the occupant’s desk and states, ‘only the unbelieving would be so ridiculous to make such comments.’ The occupant apologises profusely, but Crow proceeds to prove his point.

‘Unique has me!’ Crow declares as he slowly carves around the iris of the lone occupant.

‘Unique has me!’ Crow whispers as he jabs deeply into the inner thighs of the occupant.

‘Unique has me!’ Crow sings while scratching the knees of the occupant.