Poems

The Hidden Power of Homicidal BunniesIn the core of midnight, where secrets fester and monsters breed,Soft-footed killers parade through shadow, cloaked in innocence no sane mind would heed.Their fur is spun from comfort’s myth, a feint that lulls the cautious mind,Yet beneath those plush disguises coils a savagery both ancient and designed.A twitch of nose, […]

The House that Hates You The realtor swore it was “full of charm,”then the floorboards screamed and bit my arm.The walls breathe mold, the mirror spits,and the toilet hisses threats when I sit. The woman in the hallway dressed in blackwhispers Latin while she cracks her back.The attic door swings wide on its own.I think

The Haunted Doll In the corner of the room, she waits with a smile.Eyes that follow you, every step, every mile.Her porcelain skin cracked, but she’s full of spite.A twisted little toy in the dead of night. The whispers start slow, a voice in your head,telling you things you wish you had never read.She moves

The Haunting DollOnce a child’s cherished friend, now a vessel for spirits to rend, it starts to move, as whispers fill the haunted groove.The doll’s eyes shine with eerie light, moving in the dead of night, Silent steps across the floor, then are no more.In the attic where shadows play, the haunted doll begins its

The Fluffy Apocalypse (Prose)Steel yourself for the unraveling of this final age, where the world’s undoing arrived not by warheads or plague, but on a tide of innocence soured into carnage. Here, the apocalypse was a masquerade of softness, the end of all things wrapped in plush deception. In the beginning, the sun itself seemed

The Fluffy Bunnies’ Deceptive CharmA twilight hush embalms the pasture—silver fog distills the breath of wheat and rye,Yet under blades of moonlit grass, the bunnies muster, soft ranks that slip unseen and sly.Their coats repeat the color of surrender, plush repentance stitched in pearl and cream,But every whisker thrills with sabotage, each tender twitch rehearses

The Fluffy Apocalypse (Prose)Steel yourself for the unraveling of this final age, where the world’s undoing arrived not by warheads or plague, but on a tide of innocence soured into carnage. Here, the apocalypse was a masquerade of softness, the end of all things wrapped in plush deception. In the beginning, the sun itself seemed

The Fiery LessonIn the deep hush of midnight gardens, where fear forgets to breathe,Demonic bunnies roam—coats brushed and perfect, innocence their sheath.A flicker glows behind those glassy eyes, a kind of evil bright and sure,The promise of disaster pulsing cold beneath the comfort they conjure.What threat could hide in a cottony guise, what violence in

The Fiery Mischief of the Infernal BunniesIn moonlit hush where cobblestones still gleam, the infernal horde begins to rise,Their cottontails aflame with hell’s harsh gleam, turning slumber’s peace to frantic cries.Eyes aglow like embers cast from hellfire’s core, a playful hop conceals their wrath,Each bound ignites a kernel of disaster’s lore, a march of ruin

The Dollhouse is Breathing Again The shutters clack when the wind’s not real.The dollhouse hums with things that feel.Tiny furniture, all in place,but something’s moving in the fireplace. The wallpaper peels like it’s learned to breathe,and something beneath the floorboards seethes.The dolls don’t sit–they stand and waitwith painted hands and twisted fate. The kitchen’s set