Haunt Poems

In Water Dark

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In water dark, I learn to drown
A silence colder than the sea
The ghosts I fled still pull me up
In water dark

He haunts the edge where I should be
A memory I never chose
Still carves his name inside of me

He finds me gasping, cold, stripped bare
Each time I hide, he leaves a mark
I bleed unseen

You Haunt Me

You’re the tame auspiciously lurking in the still of my nightmares, frivolously evicting the static that haunts my memories, illuminating this frantic mind if even for a second.

Crippling the narrow minded ways in which I’ve become entrapped, a one way road futile in substance and willingness to succeed

The savior of superficiality aligning the monstrosity of

Time Writes in Rhythms of Light

there were times when I did not understand him
times when I fought with my heart, to remember
time would not forget the days that were so grim

it wouldn’t be that long, just before December
he would tell us that love had come to his life
years after this, I’d see that stirring ember

sparks of hope divine to heal

I made a promise to write sins

Sometimes I wonder,
if I’m wasting my seconds
trying to prove love
lasts longer 
when you drown it with gin.

Her ghost circles back—
again, again—
the Poppy wears 
a saccharine, serrated grin—
(oh, how I’ve missed it)
nestled among 
my worn-out keycaps.

I didn’t mean to write her—
I keep pressing delete—

But she never blinks.
That's when I know–
I must
write and write and write and

Your Eyes Haunt Me

You made me cry,
Your actions hurt my heart,
I should’ve known,
We were broken from the start.
I thought I knew you,
But you aren’t who I thought you were,
You’re heartless,
And a monster.
I loved you,
You didn’t want me,
Now, whenever I look at you,
Your eyes haunt me.

The Versions That Haunt Me

I have too many regrets
they bloom like tumors
in the soft tissue of memory,
each one pulsing with
what I should have said
before silence set in
like rigor mortis.

I swallowed whole versions of myself
the reckless, the brave,
the boy who ran
before the door slammed shut.

Now I speak in echoes
of things I almost did.
I wear lives
that were never mine
borrowed skin
stitched with

The Riverboat Revenant

She sails where the bayou kisses the tide,
a phantom queen with a mournful glide.
The paddle churns, though no hands steer,
and jazz floats faint on a breeze unclear.

Her lanterns burn with a ghostly hue,
casting gold on waters black and blue.
No passengers board, no voices ring--
just whispers soft as a violin string.

The captain’s hat is dust and

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

Baton

Vague memories haunt me still, 
they come whether sadness or thrill, 
too often at the very worst time, 
it rings in my head, a Pavlov chime, 
some reactions are unrehearsed,
but at the same time I feel versed, 
like a dark coffee my actions appear bold, 
when in turn, inside I break and fold, 
you, most

I Wish For The Death of Me, My Ghost To Resurrect, and Haunt You Infinitely

"Silenced tears, muffled screams, A storm penetrating in your chest that seizes your soul, 
Is god watching the world burn? The bricks that create a barricade were the ones confiscated within me, and with mentioning it, those guards have crashed and now are under sea water level so nobody could pick it up again- and

Boo!

In the chill of night, when shadows dance and sway, 
A tale of Halloween, I'm bound to convey. 
A story woven from the threads of scare, 
Beware the whispers in the haunted air.

In a quaint old town, where cobwebs hung, 
Where eldritch secrets from the rafters clung, 
The people gathered, dressed in fright, 
To celebrate

It Ain't Much

The door doesn't shut
The windows don't open,
But, give it some time
Some wishin' and hopin'

Creaking floorboards 
And the coldest drafts,
Occupy these rooms
With echoes of laughs

Only a house rundown
Is what the eye sees,
Yet, the deadest place
Is alive with memories 

The lady in the cellar
The man in the attic,
Shrieking and calling 
And stomping erratic 

Below a leaky roof
My

The Halloween Tree

In twilight's grasp, the whispers creep, 
Through shadows where the old trees weep. 
The Halloween tree, gnarled and bare, 
With branches twisted, a spectral snare.

Under its limbs, the spirit stays, 
In flickering lights, lost in a haze. 
Jack o'lanterns grin with wicked glee, 
Yet those who linger, never free.

A tale of a girl named Elise,

Old Zombie

In the shadows where the whispers creep,  
Where secrets lie and silence weeps,  
An ancient curse walks through the night,  
The old zombie stirs, a ghastly sight.  

With tattered clothes and eyes of gray,  
It roams the earth in disarray,  
A shuffling gait on broken ground,  
The echo

Whispers on the Haunted Trail

In twilight’s grip, where shadows creep,  
A haunted trail begins to weep.  
The wind it howls, a mournful tune,  
As ghosts emerge beneath the moon.  

The gnarled trees twist in despair,  
With every step, I sense their stare.  
Each rustling leaf, a whispered plea,  
For those who tread

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