top of page


Your terror starts

promptly at 10 p.m.

with the blaring theme

of the local news

The room is dark,

you’ve read your books

and yet there is something


The grownups downstairs

your caregivers, your protectors

now impotent, powerless to sense

childish terrors long forgotten

The news marches on:

the world, the city, the weather

(dreary days ahead)

and your chest tightens

Because it’s time to talk

about tonight’s game, sports fans

almost time for the grownups

to go to bed

They’ll come upstairs, thinking

you’re asleep, and your shame

will stay your pathetic bleating:

aren’t you a little old for this?

Before long, they’re dreaming

grown-up dreams and

the house is a tomb for the day

now laid to rest

and in that evil stillness

you know I’m there

it’s just us now

at last


Recent Posts

See All

They Want You Tired

They sold our gilded cage out from underneath us And who can blame them? Why even bother with the pretense whe - BUFFERING - rks just as well: self-incarceration, a gentle opiate for exhausted, restle

Tal Xel’atoth

Deep within that wretched, rapturous, metastatic Uber-city of sprawling slums teeming with bitter ghosts Where the grief peddlers, dream-gropers, and hex-slingers press in, hawking verboten shadowcraf

After Hours

It's after hours now and it's just me, the cat, and the day's ghosts they watch through my eyes, waiting and whispering from shadow-lit corners and dare-not-tread places deep down inside


Thanks for reading!
If you enjoyed this piece, tips are always appreciated!

Get the latest Dregs delivered straight to your spa-- I mean, inbox.

Thanks for subscribing!

bottom of page