Creepy poems

Here's something you don't see all the time here: creepy poems. Why?... Why the hell not.


The water goes cold

The wine bottle slips

The attempt fails

Chipped shards of glass

Jagged as shark’s teeth, sharp as tears

cry as they beckon my plump feet

to pop the skin and free

sweet sanguine sweat of iron

as they puncture and crush

and crush and crush and crack

as the checkerboard tile floor

aches for the pulsing blood

as it dries with warm gasps

as the tingles are tossed from

under foot to over head

as pings ripple through the

embedded glass hooks

one jump, to the balls of my feet

the glass attached as a tick, rides

the clumped toes

the dusty glittering glass

macerates and lacerates

awash in crimson

scarlet stains, the red dries to black

as the doors swing open to let

in the light and burn the cuts

that never reach the wrist.



Burned brightly


The tiger can no longer burn bright

the proud predator yearns to slumber

as the breath is labored and reluctant

catabolic cancer consumes all



the cat that once dreamt of fire

now waits while the embers are fated to be

as the frost

on the glass

of the smudged


that beckons the smoke to stain

the view-bright, so bright to be dull-

The asymmetry of the palsied face

invokes memories

as the tiger pounces

on to a silk pillow’s sheen and

Purrs, and Primps, and Watches

the prey mocking birds

parade on the dying

lawn of autumn.

The tiger is fed

claws retract.

The breath is labored

The slumber is not.


Pathetic fallacy

Yellow ebbs and breaches the rounded edge

as potent whispers of magnesium white light

gasp and burn the mist of the greedy morning

New sprouts and shoots search

Among the vast verdant vistas

to view, a stronger sun shining

silently eating the splendor of another

revolution as the heat’s and hell’s

fury is called forth, invoked

to illuminate the path

the plow must follow the fold

of the soil as it releases its

eager moisture.

The sun at its longest hour

seethes and spasms

With reluctant annoyance

as reserved animosity rises

for the parched plants and animals

hiding in the shade.




Atmospheric lesions, ghosts of experience

sliced and sawed off by spectral knives

dull blades, spoons scoop the senses

in as series of sedated speculations

the gray matter is dust

the mind still sits vibrating

at idle, the one second

becomes infinitely lost

in between the firing neuron

and the chemical bridge


Scars across starry eyes

Leech out and spread

as the mind seeks contrast

in the light and dark horizon


The betrayal of the cell is revealed

and lightens the view as the

smooth agreeable sheen of

childish soft cornered scenarios

are offended by adult content

Buried as a stillbirth, in the dust

The ghosts are lost

and seek their place

on the other side of the bridge.

(poems by Joshua)