Thoughts for the Insane

Little Girl

A little girl, snug in bed
Nasty thoughts in an old man's head
Angels turn their heads in shame
God ignores his morbid game

His hands, like ice find their place
A smile from hell forms on his face
His eyes go shut, his fingers play
The little girl's mind fades away

Dying flowers fall from stems
Rotten branches twist and bend
Bloody clouds float through skys
Painful tears fall from eyes

The man's desires satisfied,
He tells the child to dry her eyes.
She did real good, her job is done
Go to sleep, little one

Copyright 2001 Trish Koons

The Devil

Have you ever seen the devil?
Have you ever been to hell?
Did you ever feel the Serpant's touch
as he asks you not to tell?

Have you looked into his eyes
and seen his evil smile?
Did you ever play his evil games
with him laughing all the while?

Did you ever dream of horrors
and the shame they make you feel?
Only to be awakened
and find that they are real?

Have you ever felt like dying
but the devil makes you live?
So he can take from you
everything you have to give?

And when the games are over
and the devil's had his fill.
He sends you on your way
to find another soul to kill.

Copyright 2001 Trish Koons

The Men

If there is a God, you will be judged. You will pay as I have paid.
My pain will be transfered to you.
You will smell the smells I smell and hear the sounds I hear and taste the fear I taste.
Your soul will die, as mine has.
Your mind will feel my pain and it will eat at you like acid on raw flesh.
Your hell will begin as your life ends and my hell will end when yours begins.
Spiders will crawl through your brain and rats will chew between your legs
and your screams will go unanswered, just as mine did.
There will be no fathers to comfort you or mothers to wipe tears.
There will be no fairy tails and no lullabys.
If there is a God, you will be judged.

Copyright 2001 Trish Koons


Lying among the roses, red as her wrists she smells death mixed with sweet, fragrant blooms, floating in blood. Her mind wanders to days long ago, of paper dolls and ice cream and screaming and puppy dogs and lolli pops and monsters lingering in closets and unwanted touches and teddy bears and rivers of tears mixed with blood and shame. The breeze blows through her hair and into her open hands, grabbing at her heart with peaceful darkness, pulling her down to horrifying realms of pleasure and she dies.

Copyright 1999 Trish Koons

The End

There is such a thing as pain, there is such a thing as death. There are children who cry, women who bleed. Minds that wander off to strange places. Killing minds that twist and mangle. Hearts that shatter into pieces unfixable. There is such a thing as peace in darkness. There is an end.
Copyright 1999 Trish Koons


I see darkness, I smell night
I see black, I hear screams
I see red, I feel pain
I see death, I feel peace
Copyright 1999 Trish Koons

What Would You Think?

What would you think if you had my head? Would you rather be dead? Would you endure the pain? Could you handle the demons? Would you think you were insane? Would you live or would you die? Or would you judge me and push it aside? Or would it eat your insides out in slow painful twisted bites? Would you exist? What would you do?
Copyright 1999 Trish Koons


Demons are everywhere circling overhead and beneath, gnawing on bones and flesh and minds and hearts. Sparing no one, not even the young of this horrible race. Robbing of being and and happiness until they turn into pleasure and peace and pleasant insanity. Chewing and spitting and drooling and laughing at poor souls who dare to feel and dare to care. And in the end there is no end. Just pain and darkness and foreverness.
Copyright 1999 Trish Koons


A dark incubus, gobbling up bits and pieces of life, longing to make everything good into evil. Ripping at hearts, stabbing and crushing. Blood squirting into open and waiting cracks. Feeding off sins of the weak. Straining to destroy sanity. The center of thought, the opening to hell. The vision of disaster, the control panel of pain. Twisted worms robbing its owner of life and love and happiness and pleasure. Winning in the end.
Copyright 1999 Trish Koons

This Hell

There is an end to the beginning of this hell
The path to this end is hell.
The hell on this path is pain.
At the end of this path is hell.
In this hell there is peace.
This peace is the end of this hell.
Copyright 1999 Trish Koons


Red rivers of tears splashing down a broken soul.
Black mountains of flesh abounding heartily,
mixed with blue feelings and shattered innocence.
Devils scratching and clawing their way into a dying mind.
Slithering like snakes into crevices and cracks.
Chewing like rats at rotten flesh.
And everything goes away.
Copyright 1999 Trish Koons


Fear grips her heart and death rules her mind
Blood is her color and their eyes are blind
Life has no meaning, death rules her world
Anger and heartache soon will unfurl

The past is the past but won't go away
Her friends are not friends, they have nothing to say
Her heart is heavy and her blood runs cold
Her pain is real and her mind is old

Searching for something to keep her alive
Searching for a reason not to die

Copyright 1999 Trish Koons
More Thoughts for the Insane

Warped Thoughts

Sweet Dreams

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