Poems

The Haunting of Sleepy Hollow On a foggy night in Sleepy Hollow,a figure with a head to borrow,stumbling through the mist, it calls my name.I know this town is never the same. The trees are whispering with a mournful sigh.They warned me, but I didn’t listen, why?Now I’m trapped in this nightmare zone,a ghost with […]

The House Feeds The house waits hollow, wood swollen underneath the rain.Walls packed tight with whispers, old blood in the grain.You step inside, think it’s dust on your skin,but the shiver you feel is the fear locking in. Each room remembers every scream, every plea.Painted over, papered up, but it never sets you free.Windows look

The Last Laugh We watch the world burn, but we’re still here.Drowning in ashes, but we don’t fear.The skies may fall, but we’ll stand tall.In the face of chaos, we still crawl. The city lights flicker, but they’re dead.The last screams echo, but they’re all misled.We’ve lost our way, but we’re not lost.We’ll sell our

The Bloody Trail A summer’s day at Camp Redwood,where laughter rings and joy abounds,but beneath the sunlit surface liesa secret buried in the grounds. A killer stalks the unsuspecting,with a blade as sharp as winter’s chill,and in the night, the campers vanish,lost to the shadows of the hill. Blood-red footprints mark the trail,a path of

The Descent Each step slick with rain, each shadow stretched tight.The air hangs heavy, thick with breath not my own.The railing is cold, traced by trembling hands,a spiral into depths where no light stands. Devoured by darkness, swallowed in gloom.The walls sweat secrets, the air hums low.Water drips in a patient refrain,a rhythm of time,

The Blackened Heart In the dark, I feel the burn,a twisted soul, with no return.The shadows crawl inside my chest,a blackened heart that never rests. The blood runs cold, the pain is clear.The whispers in my mind, they’re near.I try to scream, but I’m too far gone.The blackened heart is my only song. The soul

The Bloat Three days in and the abdomen begins to swell,the bacteria that once served the living now compelthe gut to feast upon itself, the gases building pressureagainst the dermis, tight as a balloon of leisure gone grotesque, the methane and the hydrogen sulfidepushing at the seams of what was once a man with pride,and

Thanatosis Rigor mortis sets in from the jaw,the first joint to stiffen in the lawof the postmortem, the muscles locking downin the calcium flood, the body turned to stone. The eyelids will not close. The hands are fists.The knees are locked and the forensic listsnote the time by the stiffening, the clockwritten in the rigor

The Backyard Burial Every child buries thingsin the backyard dirt.Dead birds, time capsules,the small ceremonies of growing up. But what I buried at sevenwas not a bird and not a capsule.It was something I found in the basementthat I knew instinctively should not be seen. Small and wet and still.Wrapped in a dishcloth.Carried to the

Synthetic Pathogen Design The laboratory floor reflects a cold and clinical white.I weave the strands of slaughter in the middle of the night.No natural mutation could achieve this perfect sting.I am the secret architect of every dying thing. I strip the ancient sequences and splice the jagged code,preparing every human lung to finally explode.The glass