ISSUE SIX: December, 2020

MANIAC

by SAM INNES

“City morgue girl, city morgue girl”
Say it enough and you’ll forget old titles
Zipped lipped and sheeplike
The suburbian disciple
State emblazoned overpasses
Copy and paste picket fences
Bitchy HOA sessions
And a whole lotta ‘splendid’ edges
Just the thought makes you wither
Loved by mother and father
Charly and Chris respectively
The sacred American nightmare
Born with coffee stain hair
You dyed it darker
A disapproving sigh at the sight
From mother dearest
“Shut up Charles”
With eyes rolled back into oblivion
It’s a blasphemous nickname
For such a pious killjoy
Thankful for new life in the city
You went there for uni
Something fleshy to sink your teeth into
“Your father and I are so proud of you”
Co-signed a lease with your girlfriend
That’s a chat you don’t want to have
You’ve learned to steer their monthly call
The six figures and benefits jargon
The six speed and free street parking
The sixth story sun filled apartment
You’ve learned to dig yourself a hole 

Motivation arises from the rainy morning
Two rusty worms to the bone house
The ‘office’ is the only thing that makes you smirk
Stainless steel lockers floor to ceiling
A closet full of faceless mannequins
For practice
You stroke the rib cutters
For that warm fuzzy feeling
A new specimen awaits
Motor-mouth intern #2 hates it when you call them that
You hate it when he shows up on time
The skin peels like easy fruit
#2 drones through the report’s details
A slow “uh-huh” slips from behind your clenched teeth
He is ruining your appetite
“And finally, the coroner's conclusion...”
You inhale sharply and glance with slit shaped eyes
“That will be enough for now Steven”
The stillness in the room crawls
up the walls and across the floor
leaving a bleak dampness
until #2 dares to reply
“Yes of course” in a low voice “and... it’s Michael”  

You clock out early
Relieved to see it’s still raining
Only one worm and a bus to get home
That daily weight pushes you into bed
Growing tired of “another day, another body”
A full moon kind of night
You seek comfort from a long-forgotten friend
You gain confidence from the spliff in your hand
Locked together in your cold room
Whisper-like wind with the match strike
You thought getting on your knees a bit fastidious
So you fold your hands and close your eyes
The skin tight canvas of your inner eyelid flashes
The prayer rolls out like a pre-prepared thesis
Years have faded your concept of religion
Checkerboard transitions from slide to slide
It’s not elegant or standardized
You suppose the holy professor will let it pass
Gashes across a faceless man's neck
Blood still fresh dripping down his chest
Dirt and flesh under each fingernail
Unique lacerations betray the MO
You carry on until the city’s last whisper
Through the crack in the apartment window
Ashes overflow from tray to floor
No more room for the decomposed anymore
“Don’t make them suffer. But challenge me.”
You conclude with a recap
“Dear god just give this city what I need”
“A fucking maniac”

SAM INNES GUARDIN writes poetry from a small room in a tower-like apartment just north of the best coffee shop in Melbourne. Sam is currently studying Horticulture and slowly working on a debut book of poetry to be released by the local publishing house, Books In This Economy.