By Brian Cameron I wrote Do no harm  and split the nib. Ink climbed my wrist— slow, deliberate— as if it had been waiting. The page swallowed what it could. The rest kept moving. I pressed my hand there, trying to quiet the noise. It didn’t stop. I meant to save someone. Instead, I watched their story dry on my skin. When I washed, it bloomed again— dark, ferrous, faithful. I said I understood hunger. I lied. It burned the same going down, and I kept drinking. Silence came in

By Petty Dreadful Bitter leaf brews noxious as bubbling rust of an aged screw rests submerged under black moon water knocking gently in the murk against jagged quartz. Hateful utterings form mantras at the darkest early hours by the dim light of a red candle that drips it's wax beside a spotted trail of blood. Intentions of ruin bringing forth an era of misfortune from a vengeful grinding of cinnamon and cayenne that promise no flavour, only spite. Black salt, belladonna, pis

By Millie Graham And hellfire shall rain down upon the land And the people shall burn in fearful anguish. Satan shall rule the souls And rip from them all purity Till all remains the writhing husk Of those who thought to be clean. In the filth of their intention they squirm, Vainly hoping to free from the sulphurous clutches Of the dark prince almighty And the carnal temptations that prevail. Suckle at his breast And taste the malicious ecstasy of evil As it fills your veins