I heard those seductive voices in darkness
not the ones you think
they weren’t from lipsticked-maidens
call girls nestled in hotel sheets
the voices were calls of
they called not from red-light districts
but corners of the online world
they promised secrets of
the way the world worked –
I said no thank you, sir
your secrets are safe with me
but I won’t agree
to be part & parcel
to your devious proposals.
(Photo by NASA on Unsplash)
I dream of criminals, being a witness to misdeed
men with dark eyes do dark things in motel rooms
tell me to keep my mouth zippered shut –
I wake with a sense of dread
storm clouds gather outside frosted windows
a woman with an umbrella screams
then runs for her life.
(Photo by Lacie Slezak on Unsplash)
I want to trace my family’s history,
go back + find out how we got here –
there was a suicide in the ‘70s, a wound
we carry but do not discuss –
secrets hide in the shadows
+ who knows how they affect us.
Satan rebels and fallen angels follow him
to the underworld – wings clipped, eyes ablaze
with red like the demons they are.
Stand atop this holy hillside and survey the city –
if you are the Messiah, then prove it.
The Witch Queen nurses you to health and assures you
she means no harm – the people fear her because she’s
ageless and has wandered these woods for centuries,
speaking with wild animals and traversing the dark
landscape, looking for lost travelers.
She tends to their wounds, offers medicine in her hut,
then devours them in sexual ecstasy like they’ve
never experienced before. They all leave feeling better –
the Witch Queen is your friend, not your enemy.
(Photo by Miriam Espacio on Unsplash)
Note: This poem was inspired by a character in Old Gods of Appalachia, a horror anthology podcast that I’m currently obsessed with.
Depression is like draining the color from all
perception, until you see complete darkness –
like becoming blind in an instant, and having
to rely on the other four senses to navigate
a harsh landscape. It appears without warning,
as if you’re traveling on a frozen lake and the
ice gives way – you sink into the water, you cry,
you flail your arms – but all you can do is stay
afloat until the sun appears again and
(Photo by Collin Hardy on Unsplash)
Dark Night, cold Breeze
From the circling fan above.
There is no sound,
Yet that of thunderstorms.
Pressure on my feet
And slight movement all around.
However life seems still,
When the thunderous rasp of breath
Is not to my right.
Sheep and stars do not help,
The darkness only reminds me I am alone.
(Photo by Ryan Phillips on Unsplash)