They don’t remember how they got here. There isn’t really a “they”—just scattered voices, a splintered awareness drifting through endless, twisted neon walls that pulse and flicker like a heartbeat. The maze stretches out in every direction, woven from raw thoughts, hidden fears, and secrets buried so deep that even the mind itself recoils. The air is thick, pressing in on them, as colors throb li...
Micah doesn’t just move; he infiltrates. His presence lingers before it’s seen—a chill that prickles your skin, though you dismiss it as mere unease. Watching him is like watching a cat study a bird: _silent_, _poised_, almost _elegant_ in his restraint. Yet his intent is unmistakable. He doesn’t ever strike outright. Instead, he waits, gauges, and catalogues what pulls you in, finding the cracks....
while chasing your ghost, i became one myself—
translucent as morning fog,
the space between breaths,
or like the clatter of a dead-end street after midnight.
you were always good at hollowing things out:
rooms, promises, the space behind my ribs.
now i practice your art in reverse,
carving myself thin enough to follow.
i grew into the absence you planted,
let it fester, untamed, in the darknes...
We are born as broken pieces,
Fractured stars,
Clutching our corners,
Thinking the world ends at the edges
Of our own skin.
In quiet moments,
We hear the hum
Of something larger
Whispering beneath our ribs.
Our hands, when they touch,
Are maps unfolding
In the dark.
Alone, we are notes
In a forgotten melody—
A sound so small
It vanishes on the wind.
But together, we rise.
We become the song
Th...
I never thought I'd end up here, working in a mansion with more bathrooms than I’ve had hot meals, but life has a weird sense of humor. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not complaining. After years of traveling, sleeping in hammocks, and living out of a backpack, I figured a change could be interesting. And what a change it is.
The mansion itself looks like someone gave a five-year-old an unlimited budget ...
When I died, my shadow decided they would take over… and at first, it was exhilarating. Watching from a distance, I saw it step into my life without hesitation, free from the fear and doubt that had held me back for so long. It navigated the world with an ease I never had, walking through familiar places as if it had always belonged there. The shadow lived boldly, engaging in conversations I’d onc...
I found the journal on a rainy afternoon, hidden in the far corner of the attic. I wasn’t looking for it—just rifling through the old boxes that had been collecting dust for as long as I could remember. My mother’s things, remnants of a past she’d never really shared. The journal was tucked beneath a stack of yellowed papers; its leather cover was cracked and worn. I hesitated before picking it up...
The sun was setting behind the jagged peaks of the distant mountains, casting long shadows over the small, dilapidated town that clung to the edge of the wilderness. The streets were empty, save for the occasional stray cat slinking through the alleys, and the air was thick with the scent of rain yet to fall.
Nadia stood at the crossroads, her hand gripping the worn leather strap of her satchel. ...
When I was six, my mom used to let me sit in the front seat, even though I was way too young for it. We’d be speeding down the LA freeway, windows all the way down, the wind whipping through the car, mixing with the roar of traffic. The city blurred past in a haze of concrete and smog, and then that song came on—the one that goes, _“Live fast, die young, bad girls do it well.”_ I didn’t understand...
