Category Archives: Horror

Alone In The Dark (Maybe)

Are you alone in the dark? You can’t see, but you can hear, you can smell, you can feel. There’s something in there with you, waiting. Is it watching? Is it there for you? It might be… Maybe one day you’ll find out. Enjoy the poem, everybody! And don’t forget to check out the bottom of my home page where I have places you can donate to help support my work. Thanks everybody for reading!

Stuck in the Abyss

There abounds a sweet suffering,

tasting of milk and honey,

of maple and lilac.

Swimming through the syrup,

sticking to the sides,

knowing not what awaits

come march’s ides.

Sinking down into the sap,

right there down through the gap.

There abounds the dark abyss,

cold and black and viscous.

That feeling so stark.

How it feels

to be in the dark.

Can you hear the song of the lark?

Can you hear the song in the dark?

Symphony In Town

Do you ever hear that music? That wonderful music that glides and dashes over your ears when you least expect it? There’s a symphony in town. Be ready to hear it. Enjoy the poem, friends.

The Towers

Twin towers

protrude from the mold.

Their rust

and incontinence

lead men astray.

Hope to change

a world they can’t control.

Like a spectre,

their deeds are lost.

The sire sits upon that twin throne

begging to be pushed.

Their will be done,

into the pit you go.

Read that book about the lost,

find your things that you have lost.

Find yourself now to be lost.

They sit upon the liar’s throne

knowing but abandon,

no one to reprimand them.

An Old, Old House

Good morning, friends. I have for you today the story of a man, a man who lives alone on a hill. A man whose ever encroaching madness and loss he may never recover from. His mansion on a hill was once his dream, but now the grounds lie in disrepair and the house in ruin. No one knows what’s happened to this once bright, compassionate, socialite of a man. Care to find out?

How It Creeps

I yearn greatly for something deeper.

Around the wall

grows a twirling creeper.

Through the gates

and down the chimney.

It always gets inside.

“Without proper maintenance…” they might say…

But it’ll always have its way.

As the creeper waxes,

so too does my heart wane,

shrinking evermore, forevermore.

The gates overtaken,

the courtyard is theirs,

the kitchen and the parlor

both fallen to the vine.

My only respite is the bedroom,

our bedroom,

only it has been long since we called it that.

The vines,

how they whisper in the dark,

clawing at the door.

I can hear them growing in strength,

tendrils slip between the cracks.

I dare not move,

I dare not creep,

surely still they’ll be there in my sleep.

They can hear the way the floorboards creak.

Alone, I gaze into that mirror,

that one we shared those years ago

and look upon a haggard man,

one you would not recognize.

He is one that I don’t recognize.

As the vines begin to wrap around me,

I can almost hear your voice again.

I can almost hear the children.

I will join you in your madness.

Perhaps The Gods Know Better

Perhaps I’ll ask them. It is their realm. Immortality. It would seem that man’s one ultimate pursuit is eternal life, the avoidance of death, whichever way you put it. Why then is it so that there are those among us who one day hope to die? To live a good life and to die, moving on to the next frontier? I have yet much life to live, but some day I think it would be nice to know that I can leave and I’ve been the best man I could. The next adventure always awaits. Enjoy the poem, friends.

The Immortal

This poison heart,

with its venom and its vitriol,

there’s something deep inside it,

rotting out the core.

I sip my glass of nightshade tea,

and eat with it my anthrax scones

and cyanide peach preserves

in the hopes I’ll numb the pain.

But no, i cannot die,

I cannot rest until the promise I’ve kept is kept and i might have peace again.

No, I cannot die.

I’d break a promise that needs fulfilled,

a promise to not die,

a promise to be at your side for always

and forever.

I lie in wait,

my poison heart,

hoping for a cure,

but here I fear,

it won’t be near

for many, many a year.

I feel its tendrils slowly encroaching,

slipping and sliding,

growing in my chest.

How black and withered does a muscle grow

under such neglect?

Storied Stormy Nights

Hello again, all! Back from my vacation, I have a little poem for you all that I enjoyed writing very much. Imagine yourself on the deck of a ship, you and your shipmates, hardened sailors one and all. The sails start to flap and wood starts to creak as dark clouds draw overhead. Rain pours over you, washing away the the salt and sweat so forcefully from your brow as lightning can be spotted in the distance. The captain screams his orders over the roar of the wind and the seas, attempting to regain control of the rigging. Amidst the cacophony you start to hear a beautiful song. Drawn to it, you and your brethren sail towards the rocks. A song that beautiful… Surely there aren’t any rocks?

Ballad of Sirens

O’ that cape of forlorn hope,

I sail around the bend.

I hope to find on other shores

a beach on which to mend

that poison heart and all its open sores.

Sailors find their sirens

there upon the rocks,

a place where ships will come to break and crash.

Beautiful their voices,

and so too are their faces,

so beautiful in fact

that sailors won’t notice

how their heartbeat quickly hastens.

Is it fear, perhaps?

Rightful to so fear the siren, yes,

but perhaps that song they sing,

that pretty one that lingers in your ears,

perhaps there is some truth to it

and closer to the siren’s heart the sailor nears.

There I lie,

crushed and broken on the rocks,

comforted by those deep blue eyes,

color of the sea I’ve grown to love,

belonging to the face

of one graceful little dove.

I know I’ll not survive the night,

I’ve not had enough adventures,

or been enough places,

but to die with you will mean eternity,

to find again Elysium one final time.

To hold you in that orchard,

my forever love.