monster

WD 214 “Change My Skin”

A poem inspired by The Muse of Cold Earth. Change My Skin I came to a realization At the peak of one lunar mountain The things that changed me were also changed. Coins in my pocket, jingling with oils and skin cells Passed between traders and betrayers alike Silver in the shaft like Judas hunting werewolvesContinue reading “WD 214 “Change My Skin””

WD 150 “Excerpt: The Chronicle of Quelk the Slime”

Greetings! I have another ebook releasing tomorrow. This one is a spinoff set in the same world as “The Kingdom’s Disdain” but its also tangental and works as a standalone story to any who have no prior knowledge of the series. Here is an excerpt from the first chapter, enjoy! And if you like it,Continue reading “WD 150 “Excerpt: The Chronicle of Quelk the Slime””

WD 118 “I Am Viral”

A poem inspired by the Prince of Night Winds. I Am Viral There’s something in your house, screaming into The drains of your empty pipes Carrying a name through the metal vacancy “Walker, hanger, handler” A vista of decaying grass, civil discomfort Steady onslaught of zombie pernacity Till we associate with that sickness more thanContinue reading “WD 118 “I Am Viral””

WD 116 “Kingdom”

A poem inspired by The Muse of Cold Earth. Kingdom Beg me to say the words you want to hear All my avenues of security are crowded halls, filled with Monsters Do they really have to become real or die when the light touches them? North star, you are my guide through these wild waves,Continue reading “WD 116 “Kingdom””

WD 104 “Faust Remembers”

A poem inspired by The Muse of Cold Earth. Faust Remembers Electrocute, the fibers that manipulate the neurons Limbs, stapled together like the flesh of Victor’s patchwork demon I wish blasphemies like this could be infinite like The heads of the hydra, always splitting off into new wrongs And worse choices, between somber eucharist ofContinue reading “WD 104 “Faust Remembers””

WD 47 “Francis”

A poem inspired by the Muse of Cold Earth. Francis Sometimes they want to stick their fingers down your Throat, those cyclopean halls. Cry till they let you kiss The feet of the czars on step ladders, and We aren’t even stars – The fire in us is metaphorical but when My chest heaves andContinue reading “WD 47 “Francis””