Kevin Trent Boswell

Big Bad

You fight even worse than you hid

It’s time to listen to your bedtime story

Did no one caution you, silly girl?
The wolf enters if you don’t bar the door
He hovers, drooling from teeth of pearl
Did you not know the foul deeds in store?

I believe that, deep down, you did
You didn’t flee, knowing he’d ravage
You fight back even worse than you hid
Playing dead, you lay still for the savage

I can only imagine what you’re thinking
You permitted entry, opened up wide
His musky scent, greedy eye, winking
It was foolish to let him come inside

A violation of tender, delicate form
The dastardly work of a dark carnivore
His mouth dripping your fluids, warm
Your ruined body, limp on the floor

©️2026 Kevin Trent Boswell

a little something more

you knew that eventually, you were going to be right here

don’t give me
that look,
my love

you knew what
a monster I was
before you ever
walked in
the door

you wanted
what you ⠀
wanted
from me⠀

and you
wanted it
by the bushel

my nature
doesn’t
bother you
even the
tiniest
little bit

you are ⠀
happy⠀
to heel ⠀
by my side⠀
and wear ⠀
my collar

nothing
could ever ⠀
have possibly
kept you
from me

you knew that
eventually,
you were
going
to be

right here,⠀
serving me

yes, I am
the old man

master of chains
lord of time

and you ⠀
adore me ⠀
and all of my⠀
perversions

call me Hades,⠀
or Pluto, ⠀
or Saturn

I am
your king,
the keeper
of the keys
to all of your
locks

but
I do not
eat my own
children

for that
purpose,

I have
you

©️2026 Kevin Trent Boswell

Down, Down

Into the unknown, faster and faster
Down, down, into places of doubt

Into the unknown, faster and faster
Down, down, into places of doubt
To dark situations we cannot master
Into places no one warned us about⠀

Coming, coming, that terrible sound
Noises we’ve never heard before
Unintelligible whispers, all around
Moment by moment, more and more⠀

We know not what comes, only that it’s nigh
No more information do we possess
Just a powerful dread that soon we shall die
But when or how we can only guess⠀

This must be hell; nothing else can explain
The terror, the darkness, all the confusion
Rattling through the addled brain
It’s impossible to reach any other conclusion⠀

Only hell holds such a perpetual wait
Leading only to more frightened delay
We must be the damned who repented too late⠀
And here, in hell, we now must stay⠀

And yet, we’re wide awake, enough to discuss
What we don’t know and we’re able to curse
The fear of whatever makes its way toward us
If this isn’t hell, it’s something much worse

From the book Out on the Killing Floor – Bleak, dark, dismal, apocalyptic poetry of the most depressing possible variety – The end of all life on Earth & other children’s stories

a beautiful trap

enveloping prey ⠀
with your
impossibilities⠀

ideas…
a subtle swarm ⠀
of lovely fireflies ⠀
invades ⠀
the lungs, ⠀
precipitating
an expensive sleep⠀

and all this ⠀
is just your way ⠀
of saying ⠀
hello

From the book Dark Matter – Poems of Horror and Depravity by Kevin Trent Boswell

Down for the Count

I have crossed wires
And started fires,
Despite having
The best intentions

Hoisted by my own petard
Destroyed by my own inventions

It’s easier than it seems
To give the wrong impression

And harder than you’d think
To explain in a way
That doesn’t sound
Like a confession

Because confessions
Are for intentional harm,
When you knew what
You were doing

But “sorry” is for
When you meant to do well
But didn’t realize
Trouble brewing

I don’t mind saying sorry
For making an ass of myself
I can put my exuberance
Back on the shelf

It’s just that it’s really easy
To do too little
And the other person
Is left to wonder

In attempting to balance it,
Do it right,
I put holes in my boat,
And my boat went under

Herbert’s Ghosts

Woe to the man
Alone in the evening
With a fear of the darkness
And a heart that does thunder⠀

Startling terror
Upon a knock at the door
“Who at this hour?”
He can only wonder⠀

Deep is his impending dread
Of spirits and goblins
Bumps in the night
And things that do prowl⠀

Ghosts and banshees
Lurk around every corner
Wolves in the mountains
With their ominous howls

Author’s Note: I have always written very quickly. In my early twenties, I worked for a while in a textile mill in South Carolina. I mentioned to a coworker named Herbert how fast I write.

He asked what kind of material I was capable of writing, and I said (perhaps arrogantly) “Anything you want.”

He smiled and said “Can you write me something about ghosts?” About ten or twenty minutes later, I returned with “Herbert’s Ghosts” in my notebook. He was pretty impressed.

He knew that I had written it because he could see me writing in my notebook with a pen from his spot on the floor. And he knew I hadn’t used AI or the internet for help, because this was during the pre-internet era.

That was back when dinosaurs still roamed the earth, but they were just itty-bitty baby dinosaurs; it was that long ago.

From the book Dark Matter – Poems of Horror and Depravity

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