The Cove

A flaying of the mind

Adam Ray Cronk

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Photo by Quaid Lagan on Unsplash

Beyond the coves and bays and sounds,
a thick’ning fog casts ships aground,
whereupon the rock, crashing waters break,
and leaves the souls for brine to take.
The midnight hours are sick’ning dark,
heaving ghastly glowing sparks;
birthing foetid remnants of space,
and incomprehensible remains.
In early light, the ire rests,
while slowly leaching pestilence;
infecting lifeblood and its hosts
who bathe in

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Adam Ray Cronk

Poet & short story writer, lover of eldritch horror and anything Poe or Lovecraft | My writing ebbs and flows, from dark to light and back again.