Author’s Note

Cannibal Carnival leans into the grotesque joy of horror—where spectacle masks atrocity and laughter becomes a warning sign. This poem plays with the fear of what arrives uninvited, feeds unchecked, and leaves nothing behind but rumors and bloodstains. Sometimes the scariest monsters don’t hide in the shadows—they perform under bright lights and dare you to look away.

Content warning: graphic imagery, violence, cannibalism.

Cannibal Carnival
Poetry by B.D. Nightshade

The carnival rolls through the midnight mist,
A twisted parade of grinning faces,
Where laughter’s a shriek and the air’s thick with dread,
A circus of death that leaves no traces.

Their tents rise high like graves in the dark,
With bright colors that hide the hunger below.
Clowns with painted smiles, eyes hungry and stark,
Their tricks are tricks no one dares to know.

They juggle bones, and toss severed heads,
Their tightrope walks on blood-soaked lines,
Each act a feast for the audience fed,
On terror, fear, and blood-red wines.

But in one town, whispers began to stir,
A sloppy clown with a frown too wide,
He juggled more than just colored balls,
A question formed deep inside.

“Did you hear the screaming behind the tent?”
“A body, still breathing, yet torn to shreds.”
“I saw teeth marks on the flesh they lent—
And the smell, my God, the smell of death.”

The police arrived, badges gleaming bright,
Their steps firm, but hearts unsure,
The carnival’s cheer now tinged with fright,
A deadly game they would not endure.

“We’ve come for answers, you twisted crew,
What hides beneath your painted smiles?”
But the clowns just chuckled, “You’re too late, it’s true,
You’ll join the feast if you stay a while.”

A gunshot rang, but no one fell,
The officers swarmed, hearts frozen with fear.
The cannibals grinned, as if from hell,
Their knives drawn, the end drawing near.

A clash of steel, a cry of pain,
As the police fought with all their might,
But the carnival’s troupe, they’d fed on rain,
The night devoured them, hidden from sight.

In the end, the town was empty—
Except for the echoes of the game,
The carnival packed up, looking so merry,
As if nothing had changed, no shame, no blame.

Now the roads are empty, no signs of their tents,
But the townsfolk still whisper with dread,
For the Cannibal Carnival travels on,
Leaving behind only fear and bloodshed.

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