Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Cold Like Glass

I dug up this poem recently. It's one I wrote a while ago: my first attempt at Lovecraftian poetry.

The last words I heard were
"Oh god! What have I done!"
And the phone went dead.
I thought the operator could help me.
Find the number and address of the call.
In the cold darkened room,
I found a man.
Completely featureless,
A yellow mask obscured his face.
Even his eyes were hidden
by deformed grooves,
carved in a bastardized style of eyes
not known to this earth.
Reaching to remove the mask
I saw there were no seams but
could not reach his face.
My fingers were pried open,
open as though pressed flat against a wall.
Yet the contour war far too smooth.
And cold
like glass.

Wednesday, November 16, 2005


As I walked briskly towards the warmth of my girlfriend's house, a soft haunting melody wafted through the cold. Though I knew it was simply a neighbor practicing the violin, the music chilled me to the soul. The weather left me cold outside, but these eerie sounds gave new life to old and dark memories and left me frozen deep inside.

A shriek of agony and the music stopped