Demon Days (graphic art)
demons
Facing the Ghosts (a poem)
He destroys something beautiful
Like us, he commits a grave sin
Like us, he has a demon within
His ugliness is indisputable
Who is this grave sinner?
This phantom of the night?
We see him, then take flight
Wherever we go, he lingers
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Demon Days (a poem)
I want to be endless
But there’s no time left for us:
Doomsday Clocks near midnight
In moonlit nights of loathing
Dystopian futures show me ways
We all go astray, if we don’t
Stick to narrow paths and submit
To the will of God’s frenzied crying
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Red Eyes (a poem)
Cemeteries only frighten me in daytime
When gravediggers drop fresh corpses
Below the dirt, with the worms
The gravediggers are you and I
We’ve been doing this all day
In sticky summer heat
Sweat dripping into red eyes
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The Dark God of Kilead (flash fiction)
Here’s a piece of dark fantasy flash fiction about a town dealing with an unknown and terrible force. It’s about 525 words and has a 2 minute reading time. Let me know what you think!
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City of Dogs (a poem)
Stray dogs rule this town
on other sides of rusted tracks
where train-cars no longer run by,
and broken needles litter roads of
hear dogs howl at nasty nightfalls
under black canvases of iron skies,
smell my rotten soul,
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Glare of the Demon (graphic art)
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The Center of Things (a poem)
i’ve always admired monasteries
monks cloistered from total noise
alone with demons
swimming in silence & striving
for divine union that no one
can name, but only point
to, the center of things,
the seat of the soul
(Photo by Josh Couch on Unsplash)
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Broad Daylight Demons (a poem)
a Black man has been slaughtered, again
shot like a dog, in front of family
did you see? it was broadcast
to millions of eyeballs
he suffered from bipolar
a disorder i share with this
now-deceased man
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Wormwood (flash fiction)
The gods often come in disguise. I know this, I know it all too well. But I forget sometimes. The slick salesman didn’t look like a god – far from it. He was a wheeler-and-dealer, a card shark. He told me so.
Jet-black hair slicked back, greasy with gel. White dress shirt, dark red tie that screamed “power!” and “too much testosterone!” What a bore this guy was. He tried to sell me a used car, something that wouldn’t get me very far, one that would creak, moan, die by the side of the road.
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