POETRY BY COREY NILES

Corey Niles was born and raised in the Rust Belt. His poetry and short fiction have appeared in over twenty publications, including Nightmare Magazine, Ghost Orchid Press, and Lycan Valley Press. His first book of horror poetry, Death & Other Forms of Devotion, was released in October 2024.

THE MERMAID’S LAMENT

what more could I have done for you
I brought you to my home
showered you with presents
seated you upon a coral throne as my king

when you slouched
I remained proudly beside you
I made sure you sat tall
long before you could do it on your own

when the other fish began to linger
I shooed them away
I chose you above them all
I invested in our love

when you shut your eyes
I held them open
when your face fell
I raised it into a smile
even when the flesh began to slip from your bones
I tied it back down with seaweed

you may not be able to hear me sing anymore
but I continue belting our melody
I do it for you
it was all for you
so why do you continue to disrespect me with your rot
your impermanence
don’t you realize how much I sacrificed to ensure
we could be together forever

MEET ME IN THE GRAVEYARD

meet me in the graveyard
press me against my stone
and whisper sweet nothings
into my empty skull

bring me roses
I want to see the lines
that have carved their way
into your handsome face

and take your time leaving
I want to pretend               
I can walk alongside you
out of this prison of eternal rest

UNTETHERED

weren’t you supposed to
pull me along
drag my corpse through time

when did the cord fray
did you notice
I was too busy admiring the Milky Way
I hardly remembered anything until the force of you was
gone

then I hardened
hurtling through space
an asteroid
that burned up in the atmosphere

your children pointed it out
“look a shooting star”
lying on the trampoline in your backyard
weightless
enjoying a summer night
when magic still blurred the ends of reality

I saw it all
my only beautiful creation
our death

THE NECROMANCER’S RESURRECTION

there was magic again last night
born from crude concoctions and
derivative incantations
all plagued with the rust of neglect

but their stiff joints still reanimated
eyes snapped open
dry mouths spat dirt and gasped for air
the pockmarked graveyard emptied
filling my barren chambers with life

a reminder
I had not first sought out those forbidden tomes
to perfect the dark arts
my aching hands and hoarse voice once longed for
the rush of creation