I started writing the poems in this collection, titled Evil At My Heels, during the summer of 2023, and decided it was finished in the spring of 2024. This is my first time sharing poems publicly since at least 2016. These days I am mostly known for music journalism, but I once had dreams of being a poet, novelist, and/or screenwriter. Sometimes I still think I have it in me.
There are 22 poems here. Some are better than others, but they do have a narrative flow to them in a way. They are written about things that I wrestle with inside my mind. Much of it is deeply personal, and I was hesitant to share, but decided to just post them here for anybody who wants to read them.
I hope you enjoy my first-ever poetry collection, Evil At My Heels below. Use the navigation buttons to flip through each poem one at a time.
Evil At My Heels by Chris Huber
2023 – 2024 – Charleston, SC
A Poem About Getting Older
in the garden, i watch the time pass
every day, the sunflowers grow taller
12 feet high, only to topple over
in the winds of the first summer storm
under the weight of fading beauty
I’m reminded
when you have something beautiful
something worth beholding
you must admire it while you can
because it may never return
it might
however it won’t be the same
not as tall — or taller
a darker shade of yellow
a lighter shade of green
resilient, but mortal nonetheless
time the great healer
the great destroyer
the builder
A Boring Street in Paradise
You could have the nicest house on the block
the best health insurance
and the most beautiful family
Still die alone
It’s not your fault
the universe is rigged against us
we all have skin in the game
So crack a smile or a cold one
wise decisions could end
tripping over a loose brick on the sidewalk
At least we’re all in it together
we’ll all end up down
on some boring street in paradise
just like the good book says
Frozen Margaritas
Late at night, late in life
when you’re all alone
I hope you can feel what you did
when you want someone to hold
but your best years are behind you
saggy ass and a gut, no kids
legs too thick, gone gray
deep bags, shallow pockets
Nobody will take you home anymore
not even the guy from years back
the one
he wanted to cross oceans
he would have done it
the pieces have been picked up
shattered, broken glass and heart
bloody soles
enjoy your freedom, and your frozen margarita
everything shines in the daylight
what do you think about at night?
Nothing Whatsoever
Space stares into me
barrel into the void
deplete my ambition
I can no longer write
useless meaningless words
much less words with meaning
sometimes, the book closes
and you never finish the story
so, pour another
and search all night for a pile of nothing
again and again and again
in due time, you will produce
nothing of substance
nothing whatsoever
A Warm Blanket and A Cold Glass of Water
When you cough and your left lung
hops up into your throat
all you can think about is this
another good way to say that I will die one day?
Surely, there must be something more
interesting than pondering death
late at night on beers
and bong rips all day long
single at thirty, sometimes with money
time to kill, but none to spare
a clear plan and a fire
under my ass that burns me
to the very depths of my soul
bags under my eyes
packed but i’m still home
a blanket and a glass of water
and you here with me
forever would do me
a whole lot of good
Mission in the Mist
When the idea struck it was exhilarating
it started with small thoughts and then
one night I got drunk and told Charlie
all about it, and he was
all about it
the thoughts grew larger
outlines written and i just knew
it was going to be such a hit
everyone knew it, everyone was
all about it
I told Harry, Joe, and Eric and they
loved it too, everything
about it, they were
all about it
One of these days, I swear
I’m going to get started
The Daily Prescription
I wonder if it’s okay to adjust
the normal guidelines
the doctor’s orders
two drinks per day they say
the upper limit for your health
and your sanity
two drinks?
are you kidding me?
the people who write these rules
have clearly never lived
somebody’s got to tell them
you could get shot at the grocery store
so drink up
Driving at Night
ambition is forward thinking rebellion
against the right now and always
you know that your destiny is this
weird immeasurable thing
when you look up, you see
half your life, perhaps, in the rearview
swerve
holy shit
I guess I should turn my headlights on
it’s getting pretty dark outside
Cracked the Sky
Is this what kills me?
Not time, but my own perception
of evil at my heels
biting
the slower, the easier
when you want to run
disappear
laugh it off
face it
love is behind that wall
you built it and only you
can destroy it
a soft wall with spikes
inside
everything you cherish
decays
Golden Pothos
the pothos in my bathroom
has thirty feet of vines
the clock never stops ticking
I might stop watering it
let it die
I’m sick of the constant reminder
we used to smoke out of soda cans
now you’re married with a newborn
and I use a bong
my love left years ago
and I never got over it
the problems I had in high school followed me
into adulthood and i mask them
being cool and staying stoned
every single day
I’m the only one who understands
the depths of my internal destruction
and nobody’s coming to save me
I get it
Target Practice
my mind is a weapon
whose default target is the bullseye
right smack dab in the center
of my brain
other targets are hit
with beams of love and light
and detailed action plans
punctuality
the bullets are reserved
in a bin labeled
for internal use only
when people ask me
how i learned to shoot like that
I tell them
I’ve had a lot of practice
Beneath the Dirt
today is the first day of
the rest of your life
and it’s going to suck
like everything before it
radical acceptance is
supposed to make things better
but it hasn’t done shit for me
what does help is
when you dig a hole
in the backyard and shove
your head in there for
a few hours
a whole day
maybe even a year
all you can hear is the worms and
the roots bury themselves
inside your ears
and it feels good
for once
Tar
not worth feeling self pity
sometimes you’re just not good enough
for somebody else’s vision of mediocrity
a white picket fence with selfies
but only during the most wonderful
times you wish you could forget
the reality is bleak
Johnny’s in the bathroom
sticking needles in his arm
he died of stomach failure
but we all know
not drugs
stay away and you’ll never know
how incredible that shit
can really be
Yes
sometimes it does feel good
to forget about everything
because it feels safe
but then you remember
you are stuck with everything
you were born with
and probably
you will die with
life takes a dark turn sometimes
and always
but we hang on
The Feeling Is Mutual
I hear them say, “you’re still young
everything will work out for you”
the truth is nobody knows
I could make a huge mistake
commit some terrible crime tomorrow
throw away everything
including my youth
more likely, however
I will grow old and the sickness
will creep up on me and
rot me from the inside out
turn me into a weak and pathetic
old and out of touch man
god isn’t real enough
to tell us how this will end
but I appreciate the positivity
The Great Switch
When does it switch?
the switch matters
more than anything
the moment when you switch
from
young to old
is not clear
can anybody tell?
it doesn’t happen
you just go
on and on until one day
you stop.
silent killer
please release me
The Flip Side
the weight is heaviest in the late morning
on the flip side of last night’s joys
eating you because you know how much
happier you could be if you just
got sober
somehow the icy draw of the burn
behind your tonsils and down into the pit
you buzz off into another blurred evening
always worth it in the moment
never think about the flip side
bites you right in the ass
once again to the darkness
in bubbles and yeast, you make your final stand
tomorrow, perhaps
tomorrow is the day
D.S.E.B.
your heart never belonged to me
it was a nice job pretending
dangling the carrot of love
before my lonely soul
take me to your leader
the one who drives your visions
your decisions
or
lack thereof
let me have a word
you won’t hear me
ears are sealed
I tried my best to save you
you demonic satanic
evil B-
ahem, angel
my sweet love,
I hope you rot
Why Not?
the knob on the left is for the year
on the bottom there’s a slider for month
then a grid pops up, and you pick the day
finally, the last step
the time
yes, any time
any year in your life
the location is only right here
we’ve managed to warp time but
space remains constant
don’t rush this
the machine won’t work before this year
it’s a one way trip
yes, you’ll remember
we only change physical age
memories remain intact
what’s that?
No, you can’t go back as someone else
you must be yourself
Wrapped in a Cozy Blanket
where oblivion finds me down
at the end of a long, winding road
streetlights flicker in a heavy fog
I beg for rescue
my heart cries out in silence
writhing for embrace
warmth
I’m okay. I’m good enough.
I’m alive.
I can sit still for a moment
and hang onto it before
your hair turns gray and my
internal parasites destroy me
wrapped in a cozy blanket
the clock stops ticking and
it’s just me and you
hold me tight
Interrogation
coffee swirl
hot enough to burn
the back of my throat
like smoke
do you seek that feeling
as a constant?
do you smoke
and drink coffee
to feel it?
sometimes
the burn feels numb
and I’m just trying to
feel good and get some
work done
leave me alone,
mind
There I Said It
the age of now
lasts only for now
to make it this far means nothing
you’re really just getting older
and when it ends that’s it
there’s no heaven
you’re just dead
P.S. – This page is also a little demo of some custom code that I created to showcase these poems. The “Poem Block” is a custom Gutenburg block that allows the pagination of poems in the way that they are displayed here. I think it’s pretty cool.