Don’t scratch now.
We’re so close.

Ciphers flicker and spin like firemoths in the lambent glow // Bending and twisting in cyclone contortions // Trembling at the touch of my haptic caress

You float through our house to the sky // black with your skeleton storms.

You need fine clothes to make the man.

you know what it means
but you mustn’t look back

An apocalyptic poem.

Two sacrificial lambs.

The poem depicts the plight of Medieval villagers who have fallen prey to witches. They visited the hamlet guised as damsels and allured them into consuming the mangoes they had brought as an offering. The rural settlers were unaware of the fact that while they were enjoying this new delicacy, their beating hearts were growing as crops in the witches’ lair.

A threatening email written by a hypnotic sender.

“Come outside, dearest mine.
Come taste the spring honey
drip-drip-dripping from every hive.” Read this dark poem by Avra Margariti.

The poltergeists leave the darkroom the way they came: faceless. Read this beautiful poem by Avra Margariti, only on The Dread Machine.

(What are humans but an amalgamation
of meat and electricity?) Read this unsettling poem by Avra Margariti.

These women and priests just don’t get it at all.