Once alive, I now hang dead and blackened from your weary shoulders.

You covet my warmth, yet your heat permeates my every fiber.

Peeled away from my life-giving blood, my once supple skin is now toughened and cold.

But I envelope you, protecting you from the storms that surround you.

You pull me close, until the unyielding heat creeps between our skins. Your body burns and you shrug me away.

You discard me, pushing me into the darkness, but I wait.

A chill will prick at your senses,  your storms will return, and I shall press my skin against yours, and comfort you once more.


-K.R. Rowe.

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The Fourth


I am coveted for my perceived powers

Powers not rising from greatness

But born from the curse of my own deformity

I am but one, standing among thousands

Of three, there are many, but my fourth betrays me

I am plucked, the roots of my soul ripping from the earth

I am treasured, my shell tucked away or discarded in the wind

With the luck that I bear, I cannot save myself

From withering and crumbling to nothing



What The Hell?



Here’s to you

Those seeking to engage my mental fog

Picking at my grey matter

Working it into an even duller shade of confusion

My skull is hurting and I scratch my scalp

Have I figured it out?

But no, the meaning eludes

Like the Chupacabra or the Holy Grail

What the hell?

Like a test I didn’t study

Or a sea of Chili Pepper lyrics

It’s garbled and just doesn’t rhyme

But it does sometimes

Will I ever know the meaning?

Will they ever find Bigfoot?

Some things are not meant to know

The imagery sharp

The prose crisp and clean

But I have to ask

What the hell does it mean?





Cold breath pulls me from slumber


Extinguishing light from my soul


You pass me into your blackened existence


I step away from the stench of my own demise


Stumbling from life into nothing


The past falls away


-K.R. Rowe




It grows within, each heartbeat feeds

Controlling thoughts, distorting needs

Sanity, the first it takes

The choice of will, the first it breaks

Digging in, it gains control

The parasite consumes your soul





Crippling hunger, never abates,
Craving for flesh, the spirit creates.

With the howling wind, its feeding consumes,
The cannibal’s lust, the monster exhumes.

Blood of the dead, the glutton will feast,
But never shall sate the Wendigo beast.

-K. R. Rowe