By Peter Devonald Back here again in the hospital made of snow, we shiver as IV drips into the back of our hand, another catheter for another broken memory. We fade as twilight is a hush of whispers in the wind, as snow shudders in with promises it cannot keep, in a ward of last regrets. Our heart is made of crystal, our bones are made of glass, our lungs full of ground-glass opacities, our skin weakens, fragile as angels wings. We watch the stacking up of snow as we fold int

By Anna D Invernizzi There you sit, Dark Prince, Not a man, nor king, Beast, nor mage. No. You are a prince, Sat upon a hollow throne of borrowed power, As you never dared to claim your own. Instead, you stole, clawed at freedom, wretched and rotten under Fingernails that tore their Way through wild and beautiful things. And to think, for all these years I lived terrified in the wake of your shadows, Never realising it was my light that cast them. And without it, you simply c

By Sarai Nichole She told me to write—a cure in a tidy sentence. Not that the corners of my bedroom ever learned to leave. I learned to be an artist by accident: a body stitched together by wars no one visits. They drink from our blood like ritual, no pity for the open casket as colour thins from my veins. I do not brew tea to begin. I do not stroke a sleeping cat. I pace until there is nothing left of me on the shelves, then choose the floor because the bed remembers my spil