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Dark Poetry by Alistair Cross

As promised, this blog will focus on a variety of entertainment, so long as it’s plenty horrific! Today, I bring you poetry.

Alistair Cross grew up on horror novels and scary movies. By the age of 8, he began writing his own stories. Fast forward to 2012 – that’s when his first novel was published by Damnation Books, and he’s been busy cranking out dark tales and poetry for his readers ever since.

Alistair hosts a live radio show, Thorne & Cross: Haunted Nights LIVE, and you can find his website at: The two poems we’ve chosen to share with you are dark and clever and evocatively disturbing. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did.

The Beautiful Girl

I woke up with a girl

Who was dead as could be

This a most macabre scenario

That made no sense to me


I couldn’t recollect her

From the night before

But there she was with cold blue flesh

In a dress made of velour


Her sightless eyes were watching me

Her mouth agape in fear

And down her cheek a tell-tale streak

Of a single dried up tear


And for weeks now I have wondered

How she came to be

This beautiful, decaying girl

Who keeps me company


A Book of Morbid Methods

I met her in the pages

Of an old dust-covered book

A book of misadventure

And the sad wife of a crook


She married into money

That was her belief

But she recently discovered

She’d been married to a thief


She was written to be pretty

She had diamond rings and furs

And she said it was all mine

If I’d trade my world for hers


She was angry at her writer

For her husband’s cons and lies

For her life of sins and secrets

And her pseudo-human guise


But I told her it was dull

Here on the other side

That over here, life’s dismal

And ruled by greed and pride


I declined her proposition

But she said, “Just look at me…

I have everything I want

I am glamorous and free…”


For a moment, I considered

What did I have to lose?

The world might have more meaning

If viewed from in her shoes


She watched me as I pondered

But she sensed my hesitation

Then a tear fell from her eye

And she said in desperation…


“My husband is suspicious

That I know what’s going on

He’s a man of morbid methods

I’ll be sorry before long.”


And this I did consider

What was I to do?

Maybe if I tried

I could rewrite a page or two


And so I traded places

With my newfound fiction friend

But what I didn’t realize

Was the book was at its end


For, just moments after stepping

Into the pages of this book

By way of strangulation

I was murdered by the crook


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