♦Ψ◊ LU⊄IFΕR’S L∀DY ◊Ψ♦

White ash and black magic, coax the others from across the cosmos. Close the curtains, open the cellar. Let the oxblood noir slither down your throat. Crinkled sheets and twisted dimensions, rung like wet laundry hung to dry. Spiral in and spiral out, we’re ghosts wandering between the high and low tides of an apocalyptic riptide. But hallow’s eve, hallow be thy tale of the creatures of the night.

The sky polluted with a syrupy fog, or pollinated.. Whichever you’d consider a sky drenched in lingering souls of the departed. Chains wrapped around their ankles, falling through milky silk clouds. A phantom trapeze, they hang and they glide. They let go between small breathes of time to tumble between our rippling veins. They pirouette their silhouettes, wafting through our vitality. A galaxy of frosted porcelain fingertips, craving to sink into our velvet surfaces. You shiver when one slips into the cavern beneath your lowest rib. She lingers for a moment. Just long enough to press her sunken shadow against your pulsating heart. She can’t stay long, Lucifer’s watching. But she missed that sound. They all do. To whom do we tally as the outcasts, the living or the lived?

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