Dark Horror Poems - Poems about Dark Horror

WHITE CARS

White Cars Haunt 
My dreams awake in wasteful
Flights fantastic blight
Each headlight flares 
Restless into the outer fields of memory 
The oppressive, hot, humid twilight
Passing out of my sight
They haunt my wakening eyes
Along the way, hollow roads of soul
Down endless maps of history 
The endless engines thumm
An echo old still lasts, sitting 
White cars are empty

Red Dog

Loyal, docile, obedient dog
Why did you leave me all alone?
Now I'm a sheep with red wool,
And maybe it's your fault.
Fumbling sheep calls your name in the dark,
Not the one beside you.
Only the sheep with red wool
Wants to be there with you.

Sanctified in Sin

Calm entity
entered in disguise,
silence before the scream,
walked in flesh and clotted blood.

No empathy,
no sympathy—
only rage and a ticking bomb.

Each slay, barbaric despair.
Each pulse, a metronome of fate.
Each breath, a ticking alibi.
Invasion. Foul play.

Mind occupied,
inquiring around—
an art of silent prayers
no one understands.
Lucifer commands, all in delusion.
Garnished trophies to remember the names.
No fumbling, no rambling—
only mind-twisted monsters,
carved

Hells Tree

Hells tree where I hang
A round sack colour black
Inside little black Knots woven along ropes of black
Of all my sins that need paying to clear my rent
All would be paid to clear but prayer is also needed.
I am of age to face my debt.
With a glimmer of hope.

Dark Side of the Moon

Every child knows the moon has a face 
that looks down kindly on the human race.
But can anyone ever calm the screams 
of the frightened child who constantly dreams
of the demon face that's never shewn 
on the dark side of that self-same moon?

Terms and Conditions May Apply

We cured death on a Tuesday,
launched the trial on a Thursday,
by Friday, 14% of the test group
was gnawing on the janitorial staff.

Still, the press was kind.
“Remarkable resilience,” they wrote,
as Unit 42A chewed through its restraints,
and tried to bite a cameraman.

We called them SoulSavers™,
engineered for eternal youth,
a proprietary blend of nanites, CRISPR,
and just a dash of

Nighters

they bite
and tear the biters do
these unseen nighters
circling
for should you sleep
give unto thee
then wake
to find their wound
   on you
then wake
to find their wound

The Whispering Staircase

it began with a creak,
low and hollow,
as if the staircase exhaled a secret
meant only for me.

at first, i told myself it was nothing—
just the old bones of the house shifting,
just the wind brushing the eaves.
but then came the whisper:
soft, deliberate,
threading through the night like cold fingers.

“come closer,” it said.
i stayed still.

the air thickened.
my heart tapped

I Saw a Storm of Ice and Stone

I saw a storm of Ice and Stone,
Curling North the footed hill;
From which grows the cold and bone,
Beholden to whom the beggars kill.

The ashen clouds above the alabaster-
A sieve to the dense and wet-
Hurls itself upon a pastor
Who preaches that which isn't yet. 

I saw a wyrm, or an armless slither,
Bubble from the preacher's mouth.
It

Haunted House

My mother and I sat on the porch,
Talking and laughing,
I heard a sound,
This made my heart pound.

I sat frozen and still,
Like I had been loaded to a fill,
My mother asked to know what had happened,
I told her I heard a terrifying sound.

We went inside the house,
Startled by what we saw,
A face appeared in the mirror,
It

Ketchup Packet

My worst nightmare sat down beside me 
With the most angelic face 
And whispered things too hard to swallow
His smile sweetening the taste 
“All that’s wicked has the upper hand 
“All that’s pure has gone to waste.”

Zombie

And then it came in the final bang.
The future devastation when the last bird sang.
Eerie silence and dust filled air, toxic contamination too much
to bare.
What was before no longer known, a new species evolving 
soon to roam?
Bereaved you’re spirit embraced the cold no longer a soul 
but the devils gold.
Unsightly changes soon set in, popping

wail hunt

I blundered …

through the dark forest -
I knew where I was headed
though I’d lost the trail many hours hence
but darkness had now fallen
and my face and arms
were etched red from my many stumbles
(tripping in the inky black briars) …
the scream came again
though scream was not the word for it -
no, not nearly the word
for the

Serial Killer

The great and never ending
Always pretending
To be that big f@@k of a presence
His essence too shallow
His steps too big
There's no rhythm
Just sweat
And odor

The mindless excursion
From thoughts of twisted perversion
The path is always crooked
The night is always deep
Dark and slippery
His stomach empty
He lurks…

Waiting

Broken jagged teeth
 Ripped flesh and bone
Traces of life
Gone
Gone
Gone

Subtly Oddquain

Blood,
a stew filled with body parts;
Head on a platter;
Subtly 
mixed.

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