Poets logo

The Hag

Like Smoke, She Prowls

By K. J. NeithercuttPublished about a month ago 1 min read
Image Courtesy of Third Party

In the dim-lit corridors she prowls,

Claiming space where shadows dance,

A specter in our midst she scowls,

With each step,

her presence enchants.

Her touch, like icy tendrils, strays,

Tracing patterns on the walls of yore,

“I’m the true matriarch,” she says,

Her whispers echo, chilling to the core.

Across creaking floors, her form glides,

Nails of metal on ancient oak,

Through cracks and crevices, she slides,

Her intent veiled beneath a cloak.

“I'll outshine them,” her voice hisses,

Tracing lines of envy in the air,

Obsidian eyes, with malice, glistens,

As she weaves her web of despair.

She's a master of deception's art,

Masked as kin, yet her essence cold,

Her visage, a deceitful chart,

A facade of warmth, brittle and old.

But heed this eerie, solemn vow,

In shadows deep, her truth will fade,

The day will come, I avow,

When her veil of lies is cruelly unmade.

And I’ll rip off that paper face.

Stream of ConsciousnessProseFree VerseFor Funfact or fictionurban legendsupernaturalmonsterfiction

About the Creator

K. J. Neithercutt

Hello there! I'm Kat, short for Katherine, and I have a passion for writing. I find joy in crafting compelling poetry and captivating short stories, with a keen focus on fiction, science fiction, fantasy, and the paranormal.

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights


There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.