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

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]