Dark Poetry
Poetry by Ezra Stead, Alexis Child and
Karlo Silverio Sevilla
By Ezra Stead

I feast on images more succulent
than the flesh of the lamb at the last supper,
squeezing teeth from stones
and bleeding bones of marrow
to bite the remnants of lost memories
from the fruit of the sun.

My repast is your past riding gallantly astride the skyline,
dancing like minstrels, knights and pages
at the end of The Seventh Seal.

I bleed wine on lambskin napkins
in the form of notes aligned on fish scales
and feed dissident masses of children
on the meat of my ever-replenishing liver,
but my dreams speak through clouds
that seem to be built of spun sugar,
relentlessly swirling in concentric circles
that seek the spiral of your name.

We drink each other's blood like water –
not for flavor, but for need –
and tangled weeds grow in our gardens,
so we feed on only meat.

We tear through skin and pull out eyes
to seek the soul that lies beneath.

Our teeth are meager,
so we pull them out as well
and swallow whole the screams that grow deep in our bodies
until we let them go again.

I rend the flesh that masks your skull
and pull red roses through your bones –
the bloody bouquet drips down my fist –
I hold them out to you till they're white.

Your heart's blood speaks to me in rhythms
pulled from sunspots behind Stonehenge,
ancient and solemn but still vibrant with the passion of necessity
like a rabbit caught in a steel trap,
gnawing off its own paws for freedom,
killing itself to live.

Give me your tongue
and I'll use it to carve out taste for future generations,
etching crimson commandments in the cobalt horizon
like skywriting,
signifying nothing ...
and everything.
To read other short stories,
click one of the titles below.
About Ezra Stead

Ezra Stead is a writer, rapper,
and occasional painter who has
previously published short
fiction and poetry in SLAB
Literary Journal, and poetry in
Borderline, an online journal
focusing on persona poems. A
Minneapolis native, Ezra
currently lives in New York City,
where he is working on his
second novel.
About Alexis Child

Alexis Child hails from Toronto,
Canada where horror in its
purest form is a calculated crime
against both the aspirations of
the soul and affections of the
heart. She once lived with a
Calico-cat child sleuthing all that
went bump in the night, and is
haunted by the memory of her
cat. Her fiction and poetry have
been featured in numerous
online and print publications.
Her first collection of poetry, a
dark and sinister slice of the
macabre gothic, horror, surreal,
and supernatural—DEVIL IN
THE CLOCK—is available on
The Butcher
By Karlo Silverio Sevilla

His ain't no Yin-Yang mind.

Not two sperm cells of opposite extremes of tones
kissing each other's ass or tail and

He was a gangly nine-year-old that afternoon, a day
after a raging storm, at his school's ravaged garden

when he picked up an unsuspecting ant aligned
with its busy tribe and dropped it in the midst

and at the mercy of another colony feverishly
climbing up and down a fallen tree trunk.

The devourment was as immediate as it was
a pair of mandibles pulling at its head, and each

That moment, as capricious prepubertal force of life
and death, he felt the first stirrings of his own

And life went on with the child fathering the man,
with lessons in severing an insect's head and legs.
The Stigmatic
By Karlo Silverio Sevilla

            still burns     in pursuit
of their illicit affair,     but she has
grown weary                         and finds repulsive
             the touch     of his hands
                bearing     open wounds
          incessantly     oozing blood
   of otherworldly     fragrance.
Not One of Us
By Alexis Child

The raging wind is a
brutal force where
The spirit goes
There is a roaring noise to
the whispers I hear within
Locked doors, rats and angels
I have been caught dead with
My spirit within my hand

I am a pale ghost
Lost, wandering
Chasing whims and shadows
Hiding in dark places
Now free of tooth and flesh
Everything I once imagined

I reach with no arms
And stand with no legs
I am the breeze you feel
On windless nights
That will take away your breath

I watch with no eyes
And listen with no ears
I am just the shadow
Cast still within that of yours

To most, I am faceless, nameless
And bear no threat
In the distance just a silhouette
That no one notices
A ghost you know exists but don't believe
A ghost that haunts itself in this dark dream
Say you'll remember me
Coffee and Cigarette at the Balcony/Laundry Room
                                                      By Karlo Silverio Sevilla


lands on little spill
on the top edge of upside down tub,  
then rubs its forelegs together, villainously.
It creeps



                                     the fading mu-latte drip,

                                                  then stops halfway

 flies away!;

                                               its madly palpitating heart
                                                           threatens to explode
                                                                      and burst apart
                                                                             its mesothorax.


I shift my hold and pinch
what remains of my burning
stick between my thumb and pointer,
then lightly tap it with my middle finger,
and its ashes fall like (what they are blessed
or cursed with in other parts the world)…snow.
About Karlo Silverio Sevilla

Karlo Sevilla writes from Quezon
City, Philippines and is the
author of two poetry collections:
“Metro Manila Mammal” (Soma
Publishing, 2018) and “You”
(Origami Poems Project, 2017).
He has more than a hundred
poems published in various
literary magazines and platforms
worldwide, including Philippines
Graphic, Radius, Collective
Unrest, Matter, Eclectica,
Duane's PoeTree, Best Poetry,
and elsewhere. His literary work
has earned accolades among
publications and award-giving
bodies in his home country and
abroad. He currently studies for
the Certificate in Literature and
Creative Writing in Filipino
program of the Center for
Creative Writing of the
Polytechnic University of the

leading to your throne
on the opposite sidewalk.

Repeat offender.



(A hint of remorse,
none would see.)

Then a speeding car
driven by Your Likeness,
blind to red light
and white zebra stripes,

marks the street.
Long Live
By Karlo Silverio Sevilla

Unremarkable late afternoon,
crossing pedestrian lane

your peripheral vision
apprehends cars
from both directions,

when a drop of ink,

a condescending thought
on those you con

blots your mind.

Crowned you
King of Second Chances
& More,

as white zebra stripes
consolidate and turn
to woolen red
For poetry by Ezra Stead,
Alexis Child and Karlo
Silverio Sevilla,
click here

For poetry by Marc Carver,
John Grey, Joel Schueler,
Hason Barden, Judson
Michael Agla,
click here