Poems

(In the mirrors stark chill, In the Mirror’s Stark Chill Frost climbs the glass where your face used to be,Empty and spectral, no hand reaching me,I’ve memorized every crack in that wall,The reflection keeps staring but can’t hold me anymore. They say we’re bound by a curse and a name,Two souls so tangled they burn […]

In The Shadowsby Dawg The Bridge and the Voice There’s a kind of boredom that doesn’t just dull you–it gnaws, hollowing out your insideswith the slow, methodical patience of rot.That’s where we were, Jon and me,stuck somewhere between middle-age denialand the shadow of wasted youth. Neither of us believed in ghosts, not really,but you start

I Hear the Next Stepby Dawg My brain manufactures catastrophe from silence in the room,every quiet moment breeds scenarios of impending doom.The phone that doesn’t ring means someone’s died or left for good,and peace is just the prelude to the chaos that it should. I read disaster in the way she hesitates before she speaks,decode

(Last line, whispered, sinister) I’ll return You think you won when you walked out the doorYou think your silence ended this warEvery word you threw, every laugh you spentI’m counting them all, I’m counting on you I wore my wounds like medals on my chestEvery compromise left me less and lessYou thought you’d break me,

Hurricane Lamp The power went out on the coast and she found the hurricane lamp,the glass chimney smoked with the dampof a closet that has not been opened in a year,and she lit it with a kitchen match and I could hearthe wick catch like a small held breathand the room went gold and the

(Hush now, dont despair, Hush Now, Don’t Despair Hush now, don’t despairLet fear take its gripTen sixths, ten shillings, sixpence spentTrace back my unmarred face The night wraps cold arms aroundSoftly, don’t fight sleepLet darkness hold you downI’ll keep vigil while you weepUntil the dark recedes from sight I’ve counted every loss I’ve earnedEach sixth,

Houska Castle, Czech Republic — Gateway To Hellby Dawg Crowned by forests black as spilled ink, the ancient Houska stands,stone fortress raised to seal a wound, not made by mortal hands.Walls mortared not for shelter, but to cage what lies beneath–a rift in earth’s intentions, where nothing living dares to breathe. Above the haunted pit,

Hodgson Family, Enfield, England — Shadows Hideby Dawg Under the sullen English dusk, the house turns cold and mean,Hodgson’s modest living room, once tranquil, now obscene.Night seeps through every windowpane, devours each ounce of light,furnishings rise in silent protest, trembling at unseen might. A mother stands with children pressed tight to her chest,as drawers slam

Hoia Baciu Forest, Romania — Bermuda Triangle of Romaniaby Dawg Night pools in hollows of crooked beech, where twisted trunks abide,moss knots itself like rumor, sealing pathways from inside.Strange light flares–cold phosphorus floating just beyond the hand,a silent oracle pulsing in a circle of scorched sand. Owls refuse these branches, the air too charged, unstill,crackling

Hangman’s Noose 2025 The noose sways in the breath of the forgotten,its rope thick with stories, secrets, and silent screams.A relic of crude justice or cruel indulgence,it hangs as a sentinel of shadows,watching as the moon drips silver over the gallows. Each frayed strand whispers a name long erased,each knot a curse tied by trembling