Category Archives: Horror

Brilliance of the Erstwhile Mind

Good afternoon, everybody! It’s been a while since my last post – my apologies. If it’s any consolation, I’ve certainly been in the kitchen. Just cooked up a hell of a poem for y’all today and I sincerely hope that you enjoy it. Let me know what you think in the comments below and don’t forget that you can follow, donate or contact me with links at the bottom of the “About Me” page. Without further ado, please enjoy…

Brilliance of the Erstwhile Mind

Awash as he is in prismatic violence,

assaulted by waves of color and silence,

the man opens his mouth to let out a scream

and nothing comes out but bubbles and steam.

~

Lacking lungs to breathe

and breath to seethe,

this cold and empty violence

rips and tears the skin away

in shrieks of angry violets.

~

Unabated, the silence grows louder;

his ears fill with crushing deference;

humility.

Screeching as the banshees do.

~

Fleshless, violescent, iridescent hell;

it scrapes the skin from his skull,

exposing his tissues to the void.

Forced to reticence and destroyed.

~

What beauty comes from this?

The ending then of bliss?

The dream of but a single kiss?

~

Then, there, in his final moments

he’ll dream of the beginning,

the middle,

the end.

Die Wilde Jagd

Good morning, everyone! I have been in something of a rut as of late. This has reduced my writing output… but not killed it. Today, I have for you a piece inspired by a fairly popular part of germanic/european culture: The Wild Hunt. Let me know if you dig it in the comments below. Also let me know if you’d have any interest in other mediums for my writing. Youtube channel? Anyway, without further ado…

The Wild Hunt (Die Wilde Jagd)

And so the riders tread their way across the sky,

sheathed in dreaded blackness.

At their head does bray one ghastly steed

that now you’ve seen

is forced to feed.

It strikes a chord

and does pursue

in one cascading cavalcade.

There is no flight

from the absence of light.

Hounds bark and thrash

against their horrid masters

but sounds do not they make,

lest you’ll join them faster.

Ghouls and ghosts do fill their ranks

silenced by swords and bombs and tanks.

Hoofbeats pound

and horns do sound

as sailors crash and drown.

This time it is you they’ve come to see,

so lost are you in that ancient sea.

You’ll join them now

if just to be.

Die Wilde Jagd ist wieder gekommen,

und sie musst fressen.

Back, Behind The Mask

Oftentimes, I feel as if I live behind a mask, one made from all those things which obscure the things that lie behind. I feel as though my heart would break at the very sight of my own face, not to mention those of others. My mind is addled, rife with holes, ripped apart and sewn back together time and time again with each passing day that feels like a year. It is not even two o’clock yet. I am told that time goes faster as you age but my own experience has been one of aching deceleration; my sense of time continues to slow down. Each passing second threatens to become a lifetime, lest I find some way to lose myself. A devastating cycle, truly. Without further ado…

Back, Behind The Mask

There,

in darkness abounds

on that far side of the moon

a face from brass

and eyes from glass,

and in this face

one might see

something seldom seen

in reflections past.

Lights that pass

betwixt the stars

time and time again,

illuminating

and

elucidating

those things

so seldom seen

in times that have passed.

Entombed by iron in steely visage,

behind this mask lies an unspeakable image.

Every garbled word

and metal clang

belies a gentle soul

caged and shackled

in alloys unkind.

The Mare

A short poem today, though perhaps not the shortest. I would sincerely hope its words do not resonate too much with you, for it is in my deepest sorrow that they come to me. Regardless, my friends, I do hope you enjoy. Find some solace in it? Without further ado…

The Mare

Adrift again

upon that familiar sea.

The waters below,

through them I can see,

all along the seafloor,

memories of the dead.

This sea of dread

upon which I have found

fell waves and foul beasts

that weather and wear

my flimsy raft.

Of sticks and fibers

and stones for ballast

I’ve crafted from the isle

my life-saving companion.

Always does the Lord provide.

Dread timbers sail

and flags forgotten fly,

almost as if

the ghosts mean to help me along.

Corinthians 11:14

Good afternoon, everyone. You’ll do some reading. Not too much though! Wouldn’t ever want to do too much… Please enjoy the poem today, my friends. I did work ever so diligently to bring it to you. Without further ado:

Corinthians 11:14

Demons, demons

one and all.

Take your place,

take your face.

Look again

and meet the leper.

Again in the den

of one false shepherd.

Do you hear?

Those whispers that draw near?

Loud, loud, loud, loud…

Are those eyes inside that cloud?

They haunt and stalk;

destroy your mirror

and your screens.

That’s how they sit

inside your jeans.

Don’t let them in,

don’t let them out.

They’ll scream and shout.

Don’t let them out.

A sweet boy

now just a ploy.

They’ll take your place

and take your face.