The November Editor's Pick Poet is David Arroyo

Please feel free to email David at: davidismycoach@gmail.com

THE BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN MAKES A SEX TAPE

The Deftones play in the background,
Diamond Eyes on a loop,
and I have diamond eyes
for him and her.
My hair tall and rich as a wedding cake,
his gills a pulsing prayer
as her knife scrapes my belly
in search of the holy.
Our nun with a bad habit
of stealing from my ciborium.

This place is death — if death is a monthly
covenant renewed. 

Tonight we bathe in hot wax
harvested from votives.
Our writhing moans raising hell
as “You’ve Seen The Butcher”
harmonizes our hungers.
Three days later. The sextape leaks.
TMZ plays our snarls on a loop,
but not the “I Love Yous”
or our declarations of
palms on cheeks.

We are memed into a new trinity. #GothicTriangle
The faithful are livid.  The pedophiles are relieved. 
Our nun’s transgression kindles a viral
rage with a need to purify.  

Promises are made.  When the thorny pitchforks
come, we are ready. Our sextape
clutched in my hand like a Bible
as the bonfire breaks like a blister.

HORROR NERDS BE LIKE…

After much deliberation I’d rather be a monster:
a cyborg with a killer arm, fuelled
on a mix of cocaine, satanic curses
and social resentment. I’d rather be a werewolf or
a swarm of killer bees but not a sparkling
vampire. I’m not Mormon. I’d
rather sit down, dine with Hannibal Lecter or drink
a mysterious potion thick as lotion.
I’d rather be blood on a knife that cut your face,
be a thing that leaves scars but shines.
It’s better than branding. Leave my mark without having
to stay for dessert and chit-chat and god I hate small talk.
It just makes everyone feel small. Sign me up
for that bull-in-the-china-shop course. Go in, do my thing,
let everyone else discuss the impoliteness of
my horns, my muscle, my magnificent
clumsiness.

THE DIAMOND DEAD

It is not uncommon for demons to write lyrics
for the objects of their obsession. It is very
effective emotional pornography. The words
rhyme and sparkle. The verse is a curse—a stealth contract. 
In fact, the victim doesn’t sign with blood, but a smile
and starry eyes. Yanked down Dante’s escalator. Drenched
in Faygo. Face chimera-ed: glam paint burning with ghost
peppers, chlorinated Aquanet, smudged mascara.  
Will spend eternity following The Diamond Dead—
Hell’s rockstars—playing that one pop song, the one you hate.
That earworm ate the bad brains of Heavy Metal fans
like You. And the demons’ cry rocks for their love objects,
they just wanted action, satisfaction, splash of life.

David Arroyo is a nerd and ex-Catholic and a former altar boy to boot. He loves horror films and verse novels.  Rumor has it he is currently teaching college composition in China. His Dungeons & Dragons alignment is Neutral Good.

He holds an MA in English from Florida State University and a MFA in Creative Writing from Stonecoast. He’s been published in Stirring, Silver Blade, The Stonecoast Review, Burning Word, and Abyss&Apex.