DHW: The Book of the Jackal

DHW: The Book of the Jackal

A Poem by ClockWork GRIMM

Another release from the Days of Hells Winter series about a monster created from our own collective masochism.


Ok now... I have never posted this up so I hope you guys enjoy it...From my Days of Hells Winter Series


The Book of The Jackal

1st Key
Chapter 1

From the ice grows the misdeeds of the world. Let it be known as the fault of the world for the creation of such a being in such suffering but yet causes such misery. May we know the fault of such evils that we unknowingly bring forth. We grip the razor blades that cut us so deep close to our hearts. Those slices are our love and our comfort. Bring forth the animal within ourselves, caged and shackled by its' own want, to strike the terror into us that we so desire. O, Jackal, how you have been twisted by our wants so. May we bind him, contort him, and abandon him in the shadows only for him to still fear the fiery blackness which grows out forth from him. O, so beckoning to have its' lusts released upon us that we have instilled within his own reflection. His tears fall upon sacred ground. Before the saints in which he serves, He takes upon his back all fault of man and the crushing transgressions of our masochistic pure-black wants... With his head caged, arms twisted as the wants of the hypocritical sinners, and his shaven teeth... May you know him. For you have made this beautiful breed of lunacy and forthright you shall be judged by Him. His tears of insatiable crucifixion of the ones the lost one knows he should not hurt but lust-filled seas of pure savagery will freeze the world within its' own Athiestic melancholy...

Chapter II

That pure lust for savagery overcomes us in our arrogant times of disarray and pulls these words down to but a fragment of what it means to be truly explained. When the contorted and disfigured arm of The Jackal reigns upon us and slams, only to seal our fate, We shall be but a shred of what even the lowest pits of the well perceive to be truly fading to black. Cross not your heart and swear to die for This utterly gorgeous blasphemy may be exactly what is to be upon the masses you so claim you love. The shreds of the Jackals' victims shall make the Coat of a new king of a frozen kingdom. Of which our darkest nature will be visible. These malicious masquerades bring forth the masks we want to be seen as. When He removes our filters and our covers from us, to truly reveal what is ourselves, we shriek such that is would crack the stars. The Jackal is what we choose to ignore about the lustfully self-punishing cross-bearer of ourselves. The kiss of the hate and melancholy crosses the barriers we can imagine and fuels His rage and torment. Mistake not our fault for the world of carelessness and low cost of life we live within that was created and is sustained by us, the ones who try to stop ourselves from what others do not find pleasurable and thus tighten our own straight-jackets.

2nd Key
Chapter I
He was of no importance to no one. Is it not horrible of how he knew of his own lunacy? The Man knew of the animal within and refused those fateful acts than define us all with our own queries. To shield the world of the wicked claws he bore, he shackled himself within the restraints of that which is the institution made by corrupt men in order to purify others. The Critical irony which all this produces. He knew of the seeping darkness that leaked through his own mind and would not allow the darkness of his lusts which he repressed to be ravaged upon those whom created it such. A saint with the sickness of the dark well full of darkness whom had come about through the wretched and rancid womb of a w***e sacrificed all for just being. Who is nobler than such?

Chapter II
The tempetuous lines we cross bring forth such nightmares that we unknowingly bring into this world. Tattering to pieces the thought of which innocence might be maintained through the libituous findings available within the knowing the difference between the Infinite and the finite things we find throughout this realm. Watch the blood-stained Snowflakes fall to the ground. O, How the Crimson snow is the sign of How Black Hell's winter May truly be.

Chapter III
Disciples! Come and Fall with me! And see the birth of the new Human race! Bow to your God of Cyanide! The New Millenium Cyanide Christ! Let it all freeze over along with my claws! The w****s you love are what I am of! Can you feel the icy scratches yet? While I sit upon my throne of Ice covered within the skin of your transgressions, don't you ever wonder why? Why you made such a thing? The product of your pendolum swaying, throwing your blood from opposite to crimson cloud! Let me cross the Devils bridge to my home once again, to return to my snow covered fortress in which my War table of Ice is governed from the savagery you hold deep within. My court table of Ice reigns Infinitely!

3rd Key
Chapter I
My doomed fallout says nothing other than how my greatness of oblivion rules within. Bride my dear beloved cold and Iced death for which the grave brings but memories of the home I had to leave. Floweth forth that great Red that belongs forth as is said. Incise. Replace. Deplete it all. Just awaiting the unraveling to unleash the ravishing. Black imperfections shed the light we need onto the moments we heed no attention to cherish.

Chapter II
Crack. Snap. Replace. How long will this symbiotic ambigram remain misunderstood... The Most interesting word made of all Human skin. Pull back the red, virgin skin across the back of your ears and tell me is it all still the same. Plot forth to regain all we thought we'd never have. Cold stone brings it all back once again to the way it once was. My banshee screams chill you to your very essence so easily? Spinning in circles with my eyes blinded, screaming,"WHY AM I ALIVE?!"

The Final Transformation
Bones turn to bars as the Vitriolic acid brings back the High. Wrap that cold steel around my blinded face and finally let that beast out from within. On all fours, Can't you understand my archaic growls? Or is the black seeping from my eyes only but a distraction? Tranquility brings out the torture and Block away all the inconsistincies and look it in the eyes! Smooth forth the creation of features and pin my ribs closer to my insides. The dues of inhalation are what brings that gutteral scream for mercy that you hear. Flip my picture around and read the written flesh. Lady death holds my string in two from now on. As I crawl on all fours with the black pouring from my bolt infused mouth and eyes, the ice flows forth from my hands... The only Jackal within.



© 2011 ClockWork GRIMM

Author's Note

ClockWork GRIMM
This is another that goes along with The book of the Bound Woman

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Added on July 13, 2011
Last Updated on July 13, 2011


ClockWork GRIMM
ClockWork GRIMM

alto pass, IL

I'm a writer by the name of GRIMM and have been a screenwriter, Author, as well as Painter and etc... I use a pseudonym because I have had troubles with people whom were offended by my stories and wor.. more..