#wendigo
You wither in the winter cold,
Where food is scarse and snow is old.
You watch your kin with hollow stare,
And hunger gnaws at their despair.
You open your mouth to eat,
To take the flesh of your own meat.
Brother, sister, father, aunt,
Each bite a prayer, each tear a chant.
Tasting flesh that burns your core,
The marrow screams, your spirit tore.
Skin stretches tight upon your arms,
And something stirs in your heart.
You grew starving, ever tall,
Stronger than ten, yet all alone.
The trees remember your name,
But none can calm your ceaseless flame.
Stomach of endless hunger waits,
Mouth that cannot sate its fates,
Throat that chokes on nothingness,
Forever cursed, forever less.
You roam the woods where shadows clutch,
And find no feast to ease your touch.
The snow drinks down your whispered moans,
The forest echoes all your bones.
Apr 13
Apr 13, 2026 at 12:35 PM UTC
One day, I met the Wendigo,
It told me things that I’d rather not have known.
My family asked me, “Where did it go?”
Who was I to tell?
It visited me later that night,
It gave me quite a fright,
It said, “Scream and I guarantee you won’t survive!”
So I closed my mouth and didn’t dare rebel.
It told me,
“People hunt what they don’t understand,
They can’t even decide who they want to be.
They act like they have this massive plan,
But in reality, they’re afraid of becoming a nobody like me!”
I asked meekly,
“What do you mean?”
It snarled its teeth,
And said to me,
“Some people believe that identity,
Is solely based on how they feel.
But it also has to do with society,
And the people they are around,
And how they are seen,
Not just what they believe.
They think that they can hide,
From the person they try to bury,
Under estranged beliefs,
So they consume whoever they see,
Who doesn’t believe their facade,
And they become like me.”
The Wendigo left,
Quiet as a mouse.
I set up on my bed,
And contemplated the truth I found.
I am me,
But when I talk down to myself,
Try to believe I’m worth less than everyone else,
That isn’t my identity,
That’s an askew belief.
Identity isn’t solely based on me…
Jun 11, 2025
Jun 11, 2025 at 4:05 PM UTC
Tap, tap, tap, upon the windows frame,
scratch, scratch, scratch, upon the door it came,
I hear the scraping on the cabin floor outside my door,
I hear the hooves as they loudly fall and,
the heavy breathing not that far at all,
but when the little girls voice does come from behind my door,
she does say please kind sir,
be a friend and let me in, so i can get my doll.
The smell of fowl milk and trash does waft across the midnight breeze, and then I hear the scream,
as I realize I forgot to lock the bedroom door,
and that was the last night I was evermore.
Sep 7, 2023
Sep 7, 2023 at 11:01 PM UTC
Deep inside a forest
Hushed whispers can be heard
A creature of humanity bereft
Has got the nightlife quite disturbed
Eyes as black as blood
Reflect in the moonlight
Bare feet buried in mud
A sharp smile widened in delight
Skin pitch black
Leather to the touch
Antlers on its head
A stag in its clutch
Sharp claws caressing its snout
An unusual couple
There never was a doubt
That the stag would either
Bustle, shuffle, struggle or buckle
Instead it muzzled, nuzzles, cuddles and snuggles
All the while the creature subtle chuckles
Blending into darkness
Ready to strike and attack
You can feel each others fondness
Of him and the black feathered stag
Feb 14, 2020
Feb 14, 2020 at 6:00 PM UTC
run revel, run **** and run riot
after the work week
thirsty work
hashed together venges
and business pleasures exceed
to mature into vigorous crime
with the rights
this fit night have given
the office population clamber up their fears
and violently
cram their senses
fist feast your mouther
raw-torn with surplus
a Wendigo playground
go beast upon this crown
this fawn
this chalking morgue
- a bellyful
Apr 22, 2019
Apr 22, 2019 at 12:18 AM UTC
Coagulated blood dried out from the sun, footprints pressed into the mud from a night on the run, chased and ravaged, pressed against a tree with emotions gutted.
Mutilated and dying, I'm laying under falling stars, saturated skies and underlying scars, every conversation with you feels like being run over by a highway full of cars.
Blood screaming from a cautourised wound travels farther than your ability to listen to reason, wide eyed, your pasteurized white eyes seem cold but searing like the flesh of a steaming heathen.
Necrosis sets in on the heaping pile of me drudged upon the roots of my personification, watch the black blood slipping through the dirt like molasses as it climbs over your teeth and grips the lips before it passes, blood loss is creating a hallucination.
Watch as I become hollow from your cannibalistic lifestyle. Your desperation, human flesh you defiled, mindless separation, our family's bodies stuffed in a corner and piled, you became a Wendigo, a wicked transmorgification.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 9:01 PM UTC