I don't do poetry, I never have, and probably won't again. However, this is something maybe somewhat twisted that came out. I imagined it as lyrics, brought about by listening to too much Tom Waits probably, so maybe try and imagine it with some smoky lounge music behind it? Judge lightly, as I said, I don't do poetry.
He ordered a glass of whiskey
In this dive of a bar
But then wrapped his cold, bony hands
Round the neck of the jar
He saw a gaunt man approach him
With a sour look on his face
He just smiled a woeful smile
But disappeared without a trace.
Then the spectral vision persisted,
Greeting him with a callous jibe
It handed him another drink with a twist
That twisted his insides
He saw another man approaching
And felt the cold hard hands of dread
This man had a face as sour as sour
And a cloud hung over his head
And there it started with Percy
Whom he shot through the heart
It was a murder of mercy
For as the man commenced to speak, he’d damn near fallen apart
"Leave me to my drinking, I don’t care about your pathetic life
I don’t care about your cheating wife
I don’t care for sad look in your eyes, born from pain and strife."
"Now you’ve fallen down, why not fall six feet more?
Instead of getting drunk and staggering away you’re in a pool of blood on the floor."
As he regained his senses
Breathing hard to clear his head
He turned to the crowd that was standing around him
And these are the words he said:
"My mother told me not to talk to strangers
And if you follow my mother’s wise advice
You might just last the night"
"On the other hand it might be grand
To blow you all to hell!
To leave you here, with blood soaked tears
With just a glance at where you fell"
A sudden gasp of abhorrence
Followed by a bloodcurdling cry
Then screams and shouts, and stifled moans
As people began to die.
The apparition started cackling
Urging the young man on
He smiled with disbelief through rotting teeth
Until the cold blooded slaughter was done.
Then he richly applauded,
Whilst smiling a wicked smile
"I’ve seen slaughters for thousands of years
But this has been the best for a while."
"Your mother told you not to talk to strangers
Well I urge the same!"
And he offered his hand, covered in red hot sand
And said: "Lucifer is my name."
The man drained the last of his whiskey
And from whence he came he left the same way
The Devil shouted after him "Leave if you like
You’re damned to hell anyway!"
His mother told him not to talk to strangers
But he had ignored her and now many were dead
He reloaded his pistol and suckled it with disgust
And shot himself in the head.