Like a leech, he drained me. Slowly at first, until he cut a wound so deep the life cascaded from me like a tsunami. Bleeding. Dying. A husk was all that was left. An empty casket. A body devoid of a soul. You have made me a vampire. Reanimated the dead. Feverishly I hunt for you. Desperate for your taste on my tongue. Kiss me in the dark before the morning sun burns my skin. Chloe Gorman is a copywriter, aspiring poet & author. Her poetry and fiction leans towards romantic,

rusted garden gate woven with ivy has secrets she'll never utter, but no one thinks to listen to the songs she sings subtle little reminders of where and how carefully to wander here; because there are creatures lurking in and of the shadows creatures that make nightmares seem tame— drowning in illusions of grandeur they perceive themselves wiser than this gate firmly steeling herself shut they force her open, and on their own heads be it she thinks; they can encounter death

Someone said I'll know love when my heartbeat changes, Becomes your-name-your-name-your-name And it did. Except, when it speeds up, Skips, Makes the sky go black, It's his-name-his-name-his-name-his-name-his-name-his-name And I know how it feels to be careful, Lest I go mad, Lest he hear his name from beneath the floorboards. And, try as I might, I can't beat the pounding in my ears, In my chest, When it feels like he's you, In this room, Behind a velvet curtain, Just under t

gray clouds drifting past tombstones sing an ancient song, and she stands by the gate in her black gown tattered like the pages of an old book beyond repair; her long raven hair dances in the wind wild and untamed as the spirits whose bones are eager to dance above the earth once more— she is death guarding the hauntings, but they cannot see her; all these mischief makers or mourners walk as if she does not stand here silver scythe whispering secrets none of them can hope to

I've been spending time on finishing up design on the site: I'm happy that I've laid all the bones of the design down, and you'll see that I've been able to flip the blog design so it has black background and white text. That seemed like an undertaking and a half, but it got there. At the same time, I've been working on promoting the Twitter and slowly, slowly bringing an Instagram account to life. Things are picking up: I'm seeing follower count on both the site and Twitter

It lands atop your lower lip. Wings fan expanse of freckled cheeks. You grip her hand. a sister near, while it expands wingspan, symbiotic fear. You must understand the tutor speaks, a lantern light she shines, expires in weeks. It pines the mouth it lost to gain these wings. You have become a shrine, and it is visiting. Familiar cost, you know it well, a mother’s love, something they say, above, is flowering, was changed then dead, a scarlet fever offering you life instead o

There's been a fair bit of behind-the-scenes to get done before I began bringing work here. So far, I've maintained the Twitter and done up this website (new theme: the old one really didn't do it for a Gothic magazine, as my business partner pointed out. Now, we've white text on black background, and I'm digging how that simple inversion fits so much better.) Things are picking up: I'm seeing follower count on both the site and Twitter tick upwards, but more importantly, eng