Mind’s Vulture

by Ian Cooke-Tapia
From Death’s robe
they flew
all over the globe
to spread their wonder.

To find what is forgotten
and remove the undesired.
Feed upon what is left behind
and cleanse the world from rot

They are the carrion eaters,
birds of many guises.
Black is their colour,
like the necrosis that seasons their meals

We wish we could be up there;
with them share the heavens,
and no borders know;
for freedom we crave.

Beaks, talons.
Beautiful songs,
and wonderous feathers.
Sharp eyes and mighty scents

They know liberty
unlike what we can understand.
Wind, sun and sky
Kings of a domain grand.

Man’s imagination they own,
in some places of renown.
Myths and stories they crowd,
becoming names so loud

From Phoenix
to Quetzalcoatl
Of birds there are stories
and the best of tales.

Such are the birds
from Death’s Robe.
But one is above all
One who you know not about

Vulture, is his name
He feeds on dead.
He feeds on decay.
But not of flesh’s claim.

Arteries and tendons,
he does not enjoy.
Blood and organs,
he fancies not

He is a bird.
He is a king.
But unlike the ones
you know.

Mind Vulture he calls himself
Cleanser of minds!
Cleaner of souls!
Mighty Vulture enthraller of men.

He feeds upon dreams long death,
that clog your thoughts and pull you down.
Desires that have not been fed,
and by reality been drown.

Beware, for he is not kind.
You might love him for act, but
Mind Vulture hunts in your mind,
and he takes whatever he can.

By the light of dawn
You stand in the midst of the world,
staring at the sky,
watching the birds, listening to calls.

You blink, its there.
Then a shadow makes manifest
its form in sky and mind.
You stare, its here.

What’s up in the air?
Birds flying here and there
Winged wonders taking flight,
with feathers oh so bright.

And one is so bright
And one is so dark
And one dives to the ground.
Uncharacteristic behaviour

Mind Vulture has come!
And you know not about him. Shame.
to feel the fear and dread
and run for your sanity. His game.

What a poor soul you are,
ensnared by its eyes.
Of spirals and red,
that leave your blood like ice.

Cannot move,
for no ideas you find.
They are gone,
by Vulture entwined.

Frozen in place, you are, unable to move.
It lands on a rock,
or a tree,
or a skeleton.

It lands near you, and stares into your mind
its eyes pull you in,
spirals of deep red,
too deep to stare away.

Your implements fall to the ground,
your knees kiss the soil.
What happens to you is a secret.
Told only by Mind Vulture

And its thrall you become
your mind open.
Your thoughts his.
Your willpower gone.

Mind Vulture has come!
And found prey.
And he shall not let you go
Until it has fed.

And your mind cleansed,
of dreams forgotten,
of years bygone.
Useless as nothing.

Feel it you will,
In the deepest recesses.
When you think back
you still feel its peck

It flies in your mind,
holding your mind with its talons,
so you cannot escape,
and are helpless to behold.

Its work is thorough,
and never a corner he leaves untouched.
You feel all this, as reactions.
Your body screams and moans.

How can the Mind Vulture survive,
if its prey were to harm come?
It holds you thrall.
It holds you mindless.

Lest you decide to escape
Lest you decide to harm yourself.
Freedom? Willpower?
Why should prey posses?

Its eyes pull you in
a maelstrom you cannot escape.
And you become a rider,
willing and obedient

It shows you the childhood
of a person you are not anymore.
It shows you daydreams,
and fantasies.

If you were thinking-
if you could think,
you would be ecstatic
and happy.

Oh, the memories!
The joy!
You can remember all those dreams
with fondness.

But the emotion soon dies away
as the spiral gazes back at you.
Your thoughts slip away
and obedient you are once more.

Silently you see
in your mind’s eye,
as the vulture’s might
feeds on your dreams.

You cannot think!
Alas that is a gift,
for the terror of a dream murdered,
is too much to bear.

The Vulture swoons down,
its claws digging on fantasy
as if it were flesh.
Blood comes not.

The dream won’t move,
won’t struggle
as it is long dead
No blood gurgle.

And then Vulture feeds,
tearing through flesh,
pecking out its details,
as a child in you screams.

Slowly, so slowly
it is a torture you can bear
for you have no mind
with which to care.

And your body enjoys,
enjoys it so much.
It feels good
like a boulder off of you.

Mind Vulture feeds
until there is nothing.
And in that moment
your senses heighten and break.

Mindless to perceive
as your body betrays
and pleasure surges
in an instant carnal.

Arousal is its name
that maddens you,
for now you want more
of that which will tame.

An explosion which breaks your mind
and memories come surging.
And the Vulture can smell them all
and hunt once more!

Its wings flap.
Its beak opens.
Its talons hold tight.
And your dream stops being.

Another childhood memory.
An enjoyable story,
you made up in your spare time,
fades away like Roman glory.

The Vulture feeds, and you enjoy it
for, kneeling as you are, you moan
and trash,
and scream.

Like a crazed slut
for whom sex is too good
to keep quiet.
And so you go mad.

And what is of your mind?
What becomes of your dazed thoughts?
Nothing comes from them.
As the Vulture feeds, it kills.

Can you think of dreams?
Doubtfully,
as you’ve been food
to the grand Vulture.

Your mouth hangs open.
Your hands cannot move.
Your eyes follow the spiral,
and gone is self.

The Mind Vulture has fed,
stuffed himself with mind.
Your mind.
And without a mind, what are you?

Its eyes have swallowed you.
You have been broken and destroyed,
in a way few can understand,
or will ever experience.

Your dreams, your thoughts,
your fantasies and laughter,
have been consumed
long after they died.

But even if they were necrotic
black with rot,
and forgotten,
they were part of you.

Your mind wakes,
as much as it can,
in that field where birds you watched.
You are alone.

Your body is convulsing,
tricked it was,
into finding pleasure,
in the Vulture’s capture

Empty you are inside,
of thoughts to hold you back
like lead in the water.
And free to think you’ve become.

But the pleasure was mighty
of a Vulture hunter so high!
From Death’s Robe it came!
And it has gone.

And with it taken your mind.
And with it taken your will.
Dreams you’ll have,
new and wonderful!

But you’ve tasted the pleasure
of being carrion to the Vulture
It was grand and intense
So ask yourself a question.

When will you kill those dreams,
to feel the might of the Vulture
and in the spiral eye fall,
to feel your mind torn asunder?

 

FIN

Mind’s Vulture was written in January 2013 as a part of the MCForum.net contest “Worth a Thousand Words” by user CJ. The challenge was to write an erotic story involving hypnosis/mind control based on an inherently non-erotic image. Further, I challenged myself by writing a long-form poem that explores how mind control as a source of erotic pleasure is inherently a horror genre. The image above is the one which originally inspired this piece.

By | 2018-09-03T18:43:20+00:00 September 3rd, 2018|poetry, writings|
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