
Abandon all hope
at the gates of hell, as you
will never escape
Continue readingThe old man speaks of phantoms. He lay on his death-bed, and his face is ashen and sickly.
“Our home,” he says, “it’s haunted. Haunted by my sins. Haunted by my father’s sins, and his father’s sins.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Continue readingHere’s another graphic art piece I created on Canva. The original photo was taken in Philly in the spring of 2020 when the pandemic first hit. I distorted the image and shapes to turn it into a “Nightmare Alley.” I like how the image in the center almost looks like an alien spaceship or something you’d see in a science fiction movie.
The silence of space is deafening.
Continue readingi grind the herbs i gathered
make a bitter drink
thinking myself a witch-lord
smiling in a pandemic,
scratching my sores
with other witches
Continue readingIn my dreams, I’m buried alive.
Continue readingNo one can hear me scream.
Continue readingThe beast rises from modern hell.
“Dreams are often most profound when they seem the most crazy.” – Sigmund Freud
I.
Dylan yawned, leaned back in his chair. It was another late night at the Nightmare Center, but at least he was collecting overtime. The entire year had been full of late nights, for obvious reasons. The election had peoples’ unconscious selves falling apart at the seams.
“Still here?” Amari asked, bags under her eyes.
“Unfortunately,” Dylan said. “I’m working a double.”
“It never ends.”
Continue reading