#spoopy
By day he wore a face of stone,
a man at work, a man at home.
Mid-tier, mid-forties, fading fast,
a shadow built to never last.
Unseen, unseen, the hours crawled,
his name half-heard, his voice forestalled.
Reliable. Invisible.
Forgettable. Admissible.
But night —
night gave him another skin,
a grinning mask, a skeleton grin.
Blurry selfies, pumpkin puns,
cheap delights for midnight ones.
And they laughed.
They saw.
He mattered more
than the man he’d left behind the door.
She answered louder than the rest,
late-twenties, lonely, dispossessed.
Her laughter quick, replies too fast,
his irony returned as gospel, cast.
“I know this isn’t you,” she said.
“I want the man who hides instead.”
He recoiled.
Deleted.
Ghosted.
Fled.
But silence is a mask that turns,
and absence is a fire that burns.
3:33, the phone alight,
a skeleton meme each waiting night.
3:33, a plastic hand,
a note enclosed: You’ll understand.
3:33, the offering grows —
a pumpkin smashed, its seeds exposed.
Her love became a ritual rhyme,
his jokes became a curse in time.
“You don’t get to leave,” she swore,
“You owe me you, forevermore.”
And he —
the man who sought the crowd,
who wanted laughter, not too loud,
who craved the gaze but feared the weight,
found every mask could seal his fate.
No one is innocent here, no one.
Not the trickster, not the one undone.
He wore deception like a shield,
she made obsession her battlefield.
Now only one mask still remains —
cheap plastic grin through windowpanes.
Spoopy, childish, still, absurd,
yet sharper than his final word.
The curtains gap, the silence bends,
a tilted grin that never ends.
And he knows, beneath the grin so slight:
her mask will never leave the night.
Sep 22, 2025
Sep 22, 2025 at 4:41 AM UTC
The fire burns through darkest night of all
A slippery wisp to bring the dull to death
The wise will tread through cold to reach a breath
Men speak of souls entrapped in nights of fall
Repeat the silent pleads of sons of Gaul
Repelling beasts of night and fiends eldreth
Who poison minds with sights of heinous death
Returning husks of man with bodies mauled
The beast will weep a tear of solemn grief
Its hunger stilled but eyes on guiltless foe
A heartless master villain; killing thief
The man no more but still his life aglow
It lays his lifeless head on fallen leaf
And waits for heaven's seed to start to grow
Oct 29, 2019
Oct 29, 2019 at 10:46 PM UTC
Out upon my window pane
Willow leaf gusty day,
Early dawn yet arrived,
Silhouette shadows swoosh-swoop.
A storm is coming just you wait,
A mournful reason to remember today.
Tention snap, crackle, and sizzle,
Boiling over results harsh fizzle.
----
Quick run flee fly
Hit past mile and mile-faster full dial!
No game swoosh swash we lost them a while.
Flutter flourish leaves form the figure,
Death has come this holiday season.
Oct 27, 2019
Oct 27, 2019 at 5:32 AM UTC
A poet is a bird with clipped wings,
Plummeting from the sky.
One who's dying words are not calculated,
Not woven,
Not cultivated
Rhymed
Rhythemed
Repeated
Recorded.
The words are pure.
Simple
Sound
Sung
Then silent.
They are only meant for the wind to hear.
That way the wind can
Whisper
Watch
Whistle
Warble
What if the winds rattling
Window pain
Is actually your loved ones
Last lullaby?
What if the weeping of the wind
Fosters fear former forgotten?
Oct 4, 2019
Oct 4, 2019 at 2:24 AM UTC
Don't move
Don't breathe
Don't move
Don't breathe
It will see me
It will hear me
It will end me
It will feast on me
In these untamed wilds
Alone and afraid
No saving grace
I should accept my fate
And run
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 12:59 AM UTC
"Tell me"
he said, as he sat on the bed
"What does it
feel like to be dead?"
My words were
swallowed by the fear
**what if
he wants to be here?**
How could
I possibly explain?
The empty,
drowning, screaming pain
I looked through
my feet to the floor
What way
to tell him where I could be sure?
I put
my arm through his chest
and held his
heart and gently pressed
He sat not
breathing, completely still
As I removed
my arm, he looked so ill
"I see"
he said, as he sat on the bed
in the
quietest whisper "I don't want you to be dead"
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 9:13 AM UTC
The wolves are at my door
I let them in
They are my friends
The wolves are at my table
I offer them food
They are hungry
The wolves are at my throat
I smile at them
They are just joking
The wolves are at my window
I am in pieces
They are satisfied
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 6:51 AM UTC
"Get up"
"No"
She opened the curtains
I tried to fight off the light
"Get up"
"No"
She dragged away the duvet
I curled up against the cold
"Get up"
"No"
She pulled the black cloth from the mirror
I screamed at her to stop
But it was too late
There it was
The face
My face
But not my face
A happy face
Smooth under the eyes
Perfect nails
Clean wrists
I couldn't breathe
It was choking me
My eyes hurt
Was I crying?
There were no tears
There was no water
Left
In my body
Its body was smooth
Its body was perfect
Its body was healthy
And so was its mind
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 6:49 AM UTC
Big black man standing at my door,
he's going to steal my floor
It's time to go to war!
Boom goes my gun!
I better run!
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 12:52 AM UTC