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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: creative obsession

  • The Monster in the Margins | A Horror Poetry Tribute to Creative Obsession

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    I’ve always loved horror—not for the blood or the jump scares, but because horror understands metaphor.

    The best monsters are never just monsters.

    They’re grief. They’re guilt. They’re obsession. They’re the parts of ourselves we’d rather keep locked in the basement.

    This poem started as a playful exercise in horror references. I wanted to see how many iconic slasher and supernatural figures I could weave together without losing the rhythm.

    But somewhere along the way, the references stopped being the point.

    The “monster” became the creative voice itself.

    The one that refuses to stay quiet. The one that follows me from notebook to notebook, insisting on another poem, another line, another draft.

    Writers often talk about inspiration as something beautiful.

    Sometimes it is.

    Sometimes it’s relentless.

    Sometimes it feels less like a muse…

    and more like the monster waiting patiently in the margins until you pick up the pen again.

    — Rowan Evans

    An open notebook with dark ink spreading through the margins like ghostly shadows beneath a dim desk lamp.
    “Every writer knows the feeling—the story isn’t always waiting on the page. Sometimes it’s waiting in the margins.”

    The Monster in the Margins
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’m a literary slasher villain,
    Michael Myers with a pen.
    I’m a humorous menace,
    a terror with a clown’s face—

    Pennywise in my rhymes,
    with a Ghostface rhythm.
    It’s Kruger in the cadence,
    you can try and imitate it.

    I’m the ghost that haunts
    these old bones—
    the groan in the rafters
    of this old home—
    I’m the eyes you can’t seem to shake,
    the reason you never feel alone.

    My poetry is a whisper
    in an empty room,
    the cold chill in the air—
    I weave lines with rhymes
    like hidden messages
    in the mirror.

    Bloody Mary.
    Redrum—

    a horror scene
    on college-ruled—
    notebook full
    of nightmare fuel.

    I am the Pulse
    in the Infection,
    the killer’s Resurrection.

    Red tape won’t stop this.
    It’s a ritual, no control—
    you’ve lost it.

    I’m the creeping dread,
    the scream inside your head.
    The tingle in your spine—
    a voice echoing to no end.

    I’m the shadow you cast in your own mind—
    the part of you that never dies.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Returning to My Bones] – Rowan Evans
    Some dreams fade the moment we wake. Others leave behind emotions that linger long after reality returns. Returning to My Bones explores the strange grief of leaving a dream that felt real enough to matter.

    [Before My Feet Touch the Floor] – Rowan Evans
    What happens when your dreams feel more real than your waking life? Before My Feet Touch the Floor explores the strange grief of waking up, the lingering memory of dream selves, and the quiet question of which version of us is truly real.

    [The Hunted] – B.D. Nightshade
    Under a blood-red Oklahoma moon, predators stalk the silent fields—and one soul learns what it means to be chosen by the night.

    [Cannibal Carnival] – B.D. Nightshade
    A carnival arrives under cover of mist—bright tents, painted smiles, and a hunger that won’t stay hidden. By morning, only whispers remain.

    [Ouija]– B.D. Nightshade
    A grieving soul seeks comfort through a Ouija board—only to discover that not every voice from the dark belongs to the dead we miss.

    [Before the Glass Shattered] – B.D. Nightshade
    Before the glass shatters, shadows linger and memories twist. Discover the haunting prelude to B.D. Nightshade’s “Through the Shattered Glass” series—where ordinary moments become portals to fractured realities.

    If you’re interested in more poetry, you can find it here → [The Library of Ashes]

  • Back to Darkseid — A Poem About Chaos, Identity, and the Mind

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem started as play.

    I wasn’t trying to be deep or careful — I was letting my brain sprint, letting pop culture, mythology, and intrusive thoughts collide on the page. Comics, villains, alter egos, masks — all the familiar metaphors we use when our minds feel too loud to live in quietly.

    What surprised me wasn’t the darkness, but the balance. This isn’t a descent — it’s a return with awareness. Standing in the light doesn’t mean pretending the shadows don’t exist. It means no longer fearing them.

    This is what it feels like when poetry stops being a tool and starts being a force — when the ink takes over, and you let it.

    Surreal illustration of a figure in shadow with ink tendrils rising up their spine, symbolizing chaos, identity, and creative obsession.
    Where chaos, identity, and ink collide.

    Back to Darkseid
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I walk in,
    ready to rock
    like a shock
    to the system.

    Watch me
    ghost ride the whip,
    hit you with the
    penance stare.

    Watch as you become
    hyper aware
    of every misdeed,
    and every sin seeps
    into the veins.

    It circulates
    until it hits
    the brain.

    Lights out.

    Silence.

    My noggin’s
    an asylum,
    I’m sick in the head.
    Coin flip of fate,
    I’m two-faced
    with my joker’s thoughts.

    I’m a dark knight,
    on a dark night—
    fighting the monsters
    that my mind creates.

    Don’t try to figure me out.
    I’m an enigma, a riddle
    with no answer.

    A twisted harlequin
    in a garden
    made by Ivy.
    Each petal unfurls,
    guiding—
    leading me back
    from the edge.

    Now I’m standing in the light,
    back to Darkseid—
    I no longer fear
    Apocalypse.

    Watch my ink
    twist into tendrils.
    Watch as they
    wrap around,
    and creep up
    my spine like venom.
    Watch as poetry
    slowly,
    takes over
    my mind.

    If you’re interested in more poetry, you can find it here → [The Library of Ashes]