Confessions of Chaos Incarnate

Gengar’s 2025 NaPo thread! Any poems that I write this month will just go here lol

I don’t have a specific theme or anything in mind for this; my only goal is to just write poetry—unapologetically, unabashedly, imperfectly. I also kinda wanna branch out into things I haven’t written before—specifically horror poetry and poetry projects. So some of the poems in here may be darker and grittier than some others that I write (I’ll tag the content accordingly!!)

Poems:

1. scary dog privileges
2. horrors just wanna have fun!
3. at one brief intersection I did exercise this function / what once was mine / &
4. good luck trying to find meaning in this mod-podged hodgepodge of a poem / mmm yummy glue / feast of the worms! a most scrumptious feast indeed!
5. viscera
6. all the trauma from a cobblestone could never beat the devil in me
7. jumping between the magnolias
8. beauty in the beast
9. carry on, carrion

scary dog privileges

Content warning: body horror

Spoiler

something lurks beyond the mist.
the shadows curl around the trees
in unnatural distortions of what should be.
fog rolls out where no soul dares to tread,
with distant howls like odes to no one.

something lurks beyond the mist.
its fur ripples and dissipates in the wind,
stuck in a state between here and there.
yet its figure stands strong atop the rocks,
with red eyes that burn bright through the night.

something lurks beyond the mist.
its jaws snap up any threat to its forest,
with too many teeth impossibly lining its mouth.
its form shifts and morphs into something so other—
a swirly violent mass of shadows and teeth.

something lurks beyond the mist.
a walker of worlds, they've named it,
shining a way through uncertain darkness.
so should you get lost, don't run from the beast;
instead, follow its guiding light back home.

something lurks beyond the mist.
the shadows curl around the trees
in strange contortions of what once was.
fog rolls out where no soul dares to tread,
with distant howls like solemn songs.

~

Spoiler

this poem is about a scary wolfdog-thing made of shadows. it lives in a forest and protects all those that find home there; its not necessarily malicious but it can definitely mess you up if you try to harm anything in its domain.

The image was made using this picrew

horrors just wanna have fun!!

Content warnings: body horror

Spoiler

spindly claws waggle behind your screen,
so long and ghastly like long-dead branches.
unblinking eyes stare into your soul(s),
following your every move in unison.
spectral shadows shimmer across the monitor,
slowly wavering yet never disappearing.

you want to scream at this unnatural horror
—to shut off the TV and never think about it again—
but strangely, you’re captivated by my ever-shifting form.
though my many-toothed smile stretches above and beyond my face,
it seems genial and genuine in some strange way.

spindly nails drag across your screen,
drawing out a familiar murid shape.
in a voice unlike anything else, I say,
“Hi, I’m Chaos Incarnate,
and you’re watching Disney Channel!”

~

Spoiler

This one’s kind of an anti-poem in a way (kind of, only partially); particularly I was subverting from balance in which every stanza has the same number of lines, and the unspoken rule of having every line flow perfectly without being cluttered, and the expectation that every poem should have some deeper meaning to it. I’m not necessarily making a criticism, I just wanted to write silly spooky poetry with an irreverence for rules.

The monster in this one is called Charlie, they call themself “chaos incarnate” but they’re actually just a harmless trickster spirit. They hack into people’s technology to spook them.
(Edit: Charlie is actually an oc now! This poem is mostly accurate, but my description that I’ve put here is a bit outdated)

at one brief intersection I did exercise this function / what once was mine / &

my frail fingers ball into feral fists, thumbs tucked under like pawpads,
and my lips pull back into snarls, my fangs warning you to back off,
and my eyes burn with instinct, only seen in the wildest of beasts,
and my body is draped with fear-striking black, like a crude form of fur,
in futile attempts to imitate what once was.

but dressing like the dead don’t bring me back to life,
and the longing gazes into the mist won’t bring me there,
and the teeth I bare are not as sharp as they should be,
and the paws I walk on uncurl into the fingers I’ve been stuck with.

~

Spoiler

Imagine if you were once a wild creature but now you're a human. This is what I imagine that must feel like sometimes. Hypothetically of course.

I couldn't pick a title so I pulled a Will Wood and used all of them. And it will happen again!!

good luck trying to find meaning in this mod-podged hodgepodge of a poem / mmm yummy glue / feast of the worms! a most scrumptious feast indeed!

Content warnings: a bit of gore/gross imagery, depictions of parasites/sickness, general horror themes

Spoiler

all roads may lead to Rome,
but not all tomes can make gold
out of the lead that weighs you down
when the nights feel endless and cold.

these days stick together like sickly innards
of some ravaged and rabid stray hound,
with worm-and-tear-filled eyes begging for scraps;
or maybe its more like ancient books
in some archive somewhere that nobody’s heard of
where the bookworms feast on the ageing glue.

either way, I hope they’re happy
—the worms, that is—
whether they fancy knowledge or eyeballs for dinner.

~

Spoiler

I walked into school yesterday when suddenly the phrase "all roads lead to Rome, but not all tomes can turn lead into gold" so here is a whole poem based on that little tidbit.

This one is an anti-poem, meaning I'm kinda calling into question what makes a poem—Specifically, must all poems have meaning? I'm not going to tell you that there's absolutely no meaning to this poem, I'm just going to let you come to your own conclusions about what it means.

Also if you didnt know,, Mod Podge is a brand of glue/paint sealer

viscera
Content warnings: gore, violence, manipulative behavior.
Also this is about the spooky month ship RatMeat (Bob Velseb x Dexter Erotoph), told from Dexter's perspective

Spoiler

blood stains under my fingernails
and guts squelch under my grasp
like damned spots that won’t wash out.
it’s funny, isn’t it, that this massive mess of viscera
was once breathing, once thinking, once dreaming,
once someone equal to myself?
now it’s nothing more than meat.

when did these iron-stained thoughts take hold?
when did I accept this discomfort?
when did I become what I promised never to be:
a person whose mugshot is broadcast to all
—who should wither and rot in a concrete cell?
a person my mother would run and hide from?

who else could have done it but him?
that red devil who’s always famished, never satisfied.
I should hate him for dragging me into this darkness,
for twisting and re-arranging my bones
until I’m a contorted caricature of who I once was.

but how can I, when his smile is so sweet
(even when brain matter litters his teeth)
and his hands feel so soft on my shoulders
(even if they’re callused from gripping his knife)
and he whispers such horrible things into my ear, like
“don’t fight your feelings; don’t run from ‘em.
this is who you are, who you’re meant to be
—a callous, cold-blooded killer, just like me.”

~

Spoiler

I've always wanted to write a ratmeat poem bc I love them so much, and I'm rlly proud of this one!! This poem is a twist on how I usually portray them; usually they're this really happy healthy couple who are cute together despite their crimes. But what if they were bad for each other, what if they made each other worse? They're still in love but its kinda twisted.

Oh and a bit of background for those who don't know: Bob is this cannibal serial killer, aka just a really evil fella; Dexter is a guy with violent urges that he's trying to control (usually taking it out on pests bc he works as an exterminator). As you can see Bob is significantly more horrible than Dexter is. And uh in this poem Bob is trying to coerce Dexter into becoming worse, trying to convince him to give in to his violent thoughts. And it's working.

all the trauma from a cobblestone could never beat the devil in me

Content warnings: religious guilt
Note: this is based on the series Spooky Month, told from the perspective of Susie Wonder.

it's sacrilege, I've been warned;
it's selfish, satanic, sinful,
to adorn myself with pointed stars and crosses inverted,
to draw spikes on my eyes and horns on my paper,
to yearn for the heat far below my soles
and disgrace this beautiful life He has given.

"why do you envy the forsaken?" they'd ask,
"those who've fallen far from His light?
don't you know, little girl, that God made you very special
—formed you from clay with His very own hands?
how would He feel if you rejected His design
in favor of something so irreverent?
you are a lamb of God, my child,
not some fiendish goat of Satan."

and to that I ask, “why not?
if I was meant to fear the fallen,
then why must He make them so beautiful?
why must their horns twist into intricate ornaments,
their eyes glittering like precious jewels?
why does my body long for talons and fangs,
like they were always mine, all along?


“He may have given me life, but it’s mine to live
—my time to shine, my place to find.
and if the path I walk is astray and cloven, then so be it;
I’ll make my own home among the fire and brimstone.”

~

Spoiler

So,, in the show, Susie likes to draw demons. And I headcanon her as being demonkin (meaning she identifies as a demon on a non-physical level). The headcanon is a little out there but idk I think its fun. So this poem is kind of about her wishing to be a demon and combating some religious guilt.

This isn’t intended to mock or criticize any religion; its just for fiction

jumping between the magnolias

let us live in ignorance of each other;
make a space for the like-minded to play parallel.
in the corners you weave your gossamer webs,
and on the floor I spin my yarn into flowers.

if you promise not to sink your mandibles
into my skin and fill me with frothing poison,
or make a nest in the pores of my face,
I promise not to swat you away,
not to tear down your fragile home
or stomp you and your kin to death.

~

Spoiler

I was crocheting outside earlier, sitting outside this lil jungle gym thing I have in my yard, and I saw these spider webs in the corner. We existed together for a while. I think it was a green magnolia jumper, hence the title

carry on, carrion

rooks and ravens soar far above the heavens,
with dark plumes sticking out like sore daggers;
in cadence, they sing of avian rage,
no doubt wishing to feast on my flesh.

but just as I quiver from this corvid plight,
blackened feathers fall far from the skies,
still dripping ink from the stems of their quills.
and as every owl screeches in unison,
I see that I won’t be a crow’s carrion tonight;
it’s a sign to carry on though beatings and breaking points,
through painted darkness and deepest fears.

Spoiler

Poem based on this post. I like how this one came out a lot!! It gives Welcome to the Black Parade vibes and thats kinda what I was going for; actually the last few lines are inspired by lyrics from that song (“carry on,” “the broken, beaten, and damned,” “paint it black” and “we carry through the fears”). I think if this poem were a color, it’d be ashy black