In painted ink, with charcoal tones, I confess waiting for Charon.The water too thick for the crossing, watching the gray rise. A single, distant, sickly gas lamp stabs at the gloom, offering notlight, but a suggestion of form—a spectral...

...𝖇𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖒𝖞 𝖖𝖚𝖎𝖑𝖑'𝖘 𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖉𝖔𝖔, 𝖔𝖋𝖋 𝖎𝖓 𝖒𝖞 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉, 𝕾𝖊𝖑𝖘𝖚𝖓 𝕭𝖑𝖚𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖗𝖔𝖜 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖋𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝖙𝖔 𝖗𝖔𝖙 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖎𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖎𝖈𝖍𝖔𝖗 𝖉𝖗𝖎𝖕𝖕𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖎𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖆 𝖗𝖔𝖕𝖊, 𝖗𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆𝖓 𝖔𝖗𝖌𝖆𝖘𝖒 𝖒𝖞 𝖈𝖆𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖙𝖊𝖗, 𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖉, 𝖜𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖇𝖞...

Tonight I am interviewing Kay-1, who is new to the Stars community and I dare say, shed some light on her thereabouts most shortly. Kay, tell the readers who you are.      I’m Kay, a storyteller at heart. At...

Sniffing the wildwood flower that blooms in the inkwell of my mind, where once there were woods. Now insanity vines deeper than my tattoo of grief—I carve the veins in Mama's wrists, blue as the bruises left by her...

Your hands are a slow, deliberate scriptsnowing cold glass frozen in marroweach syllable, a fucking shardwhere my lips have beencarved into your flesh—up to my toesiesthe cunt has wornInto a hollow, seeping starepulsing for sharp kisses in the airyou...