Poe'sthumous Horror Show

A play on words for Edgar Allan Poe, one of my muses, about the role that trauma has played in my life and how it's taken a toll on me

Edgar Allan Poe by Matthew Childers

Poe marked me with

His morbidity at 12

The master of macabre

Trauma even younger

Opened my mind

To the dark underworld of possibility

Warned me of the agony to come

I followed the beat

Of his tell-tale heart

Shrunk away from and then followed

The black cat that crouched

In my shadow

Feared and later befriended

The hair that rose

On the back of my neck

The raven quoth, “Nevermore!”

And I swore I would never

Let love wound me again

My hopes don't fly high anymore

With the dying embers

Flung on the floor

An open and shut case

Entombed alive

Like the Casket of Amontillado

Darkness there and nothing more

I narrowly escaped

The swinging scythe

Only to plummet

To unfathomable depths of despair

Ushered in the fall of Dunning house

And an era of isolation

I fled the hounds of hell

But they found my scent

And tracked me down

Caught me in their jaws

To a captive audience

Intent on my destruction

Horror movies captivate me

And I am intent on self-destruction

I witness the inception

And tragic demise

Of tortured souls like mine

There’s no escape when

TV off, book closed

I’m in living hell

Rivaling the characters

I eagerly watch meet their fates

I am condemned to a lifetime

Without my flesh and blood

With relentless persecution

Condemned to trying

To learn from history

And feeling cursed to repeat it

This is a real life horror story

And I feel like the one to blame

Like since I’m the main character

I should be the hero overcoming evil

But I’m crawling through the darkness

Uncertain of my fate

All that I see or seem

Is but a dream within a dream

My past…

A gaping black hole

Swallowing the pages

As quickly as I write

So I try to scrap the old plot

Add a new twist

One where there is no final girl

Because everyone survives

My future…

I wish I knew how this story ends

This is a “pick your own adventure”

And every road—

Well-traveled or secret passage—

Seems to lead to fire and brimstone

Hell, I was raised with my feet

Held to the flames

Open veins a drain

Afraid to hear my own name

Though I walk through

The valley of the shadow of death

I will fear no evil

Death and I are already

Well-acquainted

We have a love/hate relationship

Thick as thieves

Passing time like cigarettes

Lungs engulfed in smoke

Stifling the urge to choke

I consume death

Kiss him open-mouthed

Proudly embrace him as my lover

Crouch in his shadow

Shrink from the light

No, the truth is I’m already dead

I’ve been dead for years

Stumbling around

Like a mindless corpse

Mad from fear and grief

Tumbling in an endless washing

Cycle of my pain

I’ll keep my slashers

And chilling Lovecraft lore

My love for Poe and thirst for blood

But sometimes I’ll retract my fangs

Venture into the light for a change

My pain turned trauma porn

Is the viewer entertained now?

The reader satisfied by my suffering?

This is my poe'sthumous horror show

This story is to be continued…

I just hope I reach resolution for once

But hope is fleeting

My loneliness unbroken

And my soul thrives in the shadows

To be lifted up nevermore