Category Archives: Horror

Shattered Glass

Good morning, everyone. Walking through an abandoned house, creaking floorboards and shattered glass fill these decrepit halls. It is not dark, nor lit either, though it is not hard to see where you are going. You know this house, but you can’t remember how. Nothing to fear, and yet you are here, stumbling through a place where all the details bleed together. No, there is nothing here. Still, you must remain. Walk these halls and find all the nothing there is to find. Please enjoy…

Unknowingly

What am I?

That question,

age old,

which bears no resolution.

It has haunted me;

oh, how it has haunted me.

Ghostly shadows

twist and twirl

in spectral pirouettes

that draw my eye

to something Other,

something else.

Concentration fails me

as consternation fills me

and I find myself at odds

with everything that knew me.

It is the broken mind,

not the broken heart,

that bring the dead to bear.

It’s been a long time since I saw light in there.

Flitting on Forgotten Wings

Good morning, everyone! I have for you today a piece which I have freshly written, so freshly, in fact, that it still smells of warm ink and the sweat of my hands. Like warm bread, I would hope that you enjoy what I’ve managed to bake up for you today. Without further ado…

Perception of the Mass

To die upon your crossed arms,

a fall from grace so fed by charms

would be so sweet and free from harms.

It would not be

that Pontius Pilate

determines my fate,

for such a thing

now seems so trite.

Willful masters know their place,

looking in the mirror

and finding their face.

Do you not harm,

but simply farm

that sorrow which you carefully guard.

In the eyes of a dog

is reflected one ghastly visage

of one most malevolent demagogue.

Make your choice,

knowing all the while

that what you do

matters to you.

It Is Written

Good afternoon, everyone. I’ve got a pretty cool little story today that I think you’ll love. Let me know what you think in the comments below. Without further ado…

Our Will Be Done

Penance? Penance. For a crime I did not commit. Why then? The sin of being born? Original and pervasive as it is throughout my bones, my nerves, my veins. Why is it I, he who requests to not be named, that must suffer the transgressions of others?

For there in their brilliance and shine is it done. The light. Seen through these eyes of mine, filtered through a red haze. Have you ever been so angry? Have you ever felt this rage?

Thy will be done, Lord. It is You, that one who hath wrought such pain and suffering. One who hath shown such endless indignation in the face of your children who, tired of your inaction, sought the help and the praise of other Gods. Perhaps, ones who might listen. Perhaps, ones who might act.

This is a world succumbed to sin, though the fault lies not with its people, but the God who chose to abandon them. A God who decided that his children were no longer worth saving. We are already in a Hell created by indecision and thoughtlessness.

It is not I who will repent when the day is done, for these crimes are not mine. They are yours, Lord. It is not we who must repent for you, but you who must sacrifice for your children. Our will be done, lest you lose your place on your golden throne.

Trying New Things

There’s never a time when trying new things is not exciting. Recently I’ve been trying many new things, as much as possible. I’ve started writing more short stories, or perhaps excerpts of stories based on the influences I see in the world around and the work of others. Personally I think this new one is neat-o. Be warned though, it is pretty gross. Horror warning. Please enjoy.

A Man Would Scream

What am I? Trapped in a hell that feels simultaneously my own and one created by yet another monster, I scream and cry and gasp until that last little bit of air comes out. My words are cut short; my rending howls transform, slowly, into that low, uncompromising, pitiful gurgle. Perhaps if one saw my putrid, broken form, this mass of stinking flesh and hateful decay, perhaps they might believe there is a man left within. They might believe there is something left to save. There is nothing.

I am screaming. I am screaming and yet I have no mouth, no eyes, no face. I am but a featureless mass, resigned to and constrained by a fate which an unjust God has set upon me, only that when it is wolves that descend upon you in the forest do you get to die. The soft, agonizing gurgle they hear coming from this pile of meat that once was me is both my only release and my eternal torment. I do not even know that you are there.

For all eternity, it must be remembered. Those sins which I have done. Those evils which I have wrought, piercing me over and over like a Tailor who just can’t get the patch right. There is no penance for the deeds I count among mine. I deserve this. I deserve to suffer.

Leave me be, for I am not a man.

Nearly The End (Of Summer)

Good afternoon, friends and new visitors! It’s been a while since my last post, trust me, I know. I’ve been working on a few things that may make up for it once finished. We’ll see. I hope you all enjoy the poem today. It’s the first one I’ve written in a couple weeks now. Without further ado…

Broken Mind

Forsooth,

it is so

that one becomes

Mired.

Mired in muck and mud.

Choked and stifled

by the hands that reach

up through the silt and grime

to wrap themselves around a throat,

but for the first

and the last time.

Asphyxiated

by the rising tides

that seek to be the end

upon the coming of March’s ides.

So does it swell,

this sea,

and overtakes

all those who would dare to wade

in that from which all is made.

As murky waters fill my vision,

panic is roused from sleep

before I realize

that never before

have I been this deep.

I have already drowned,

but it will not stop,

for my heart beats,

and so does the gavel.