The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

its BACK the SPAM the CAN the thing in the metal meat meat MEAT it breathes when u pop it open i SWEAR it does mother smiled too wide again said "it goes good with pie" PIE??? ITS NOT CHERRY THATS NOT CHERRY ITS NOT

fork’s bent again tried to hold it down the twitching wouldn't stop it was buzzing like the vents like the humming like her HUMMING she wont STOP HUMMING

the CATS see it too they wont go near the pantry they circle the oven like priests like guards they know they KNOW what’s behind the door under the tile behind the WALLS

RATS whispered again today one said “why” the other one just stared right at me blinked once slow like it understood then ran under the fridge i think it lives in the PIE now

mother gave me another slice said it was for the postman WE DONT HAVE A POSTMAN NOT SINCE THE STORM not since the floor started breathing not since the FORK got sharp ideas

i didn’t eat it
i didn’t
i saw something in the crust

the spam’s GONE now
the cats brought me string again
wrapped around TEETH

mother’s singing louder now
and the pantry door’s clicking
click click click

don’t open it
don’t open it
don’t OPEN IT

the fork is watching
and it’s hungry again

mother’s baking again again again flour in my teeth eyes lungs its everywhere its too much she’s HUMMING she won’t STOP humming it’s in the walls it’s IN MY SKIN the dough’s alive it TWITCHED I SAW IT move move MOVE

fork’s on the counter prongs bent bent like her fingers now after the last time after the HUM got too loud and the girl wouldn't stop SCREAMING and i had to i had to

no clocks no TIME the hands went backwards and bled into the floor now it’s just buzzing humming clicking like teeth in the dark and the oven door is BREATHING i SWEAR

canada is too quiet its wrong quiet the kind that waits under the barn the kind that hums in the fog the kind that tastes like pennies and burnt sugar and her

she said “the flour keeps better cold” but the cold’s not in the basement it CAME from there it seeps up through the tiles and curls around your ankles like fingers like worms like hair

the fork won’t stop LOOKING AT ME it wants to help it always HELPS when the pie smells wrong it’s cherry again but the juice is thick too thick it clots it bubbles it WHISPERS

i asked about the girl she said “what girl” she said “eat” she said “smile”
she smiled and it stretched too far and her teeth clicked like silverware in the drawer

i think next time
i won’t wait for the humming to stop
i’ll use the fork while she’s still singing
so i can hear the music change

the window’s fogged the basement’s crying the fork’s humming the pie is breathing

mother’s hands are red again.
red again.
red again.

trees don’t just stand they STARE black fingers clawing at sky like screaming mouths the farmrotting fence snapping barns leaning like broken teeth whispering secrets crawling in the wind voices soft ssssizzling like mother’s lullaby twisted fork scraping BONE on wood SCRAPE SCRAPE SCRAPE always scratching always waiting

the girl ran barefoot once moss and glass cutting her feet now she waits in shadows between roots like snakes curling swallowing footsteps like they never happened empty glass jars for eyes flickering stars dripping thick blood thick blood thick blood from sky

mother’s breath heavy in dirt rotten smile cracked stained sour like old spoiled flesh humming snarling that horrible lullaby twisting in branches coiling in fog fork glints hungry restless ready to tear quiet bones from leaf piles

forest breathes it knows secrets buried under leaves footsteps hollow fading never reaching clearing shadows stretch long thin broken fingers clawing for skin for flesh for last scream fading fading fading

don’t go farm at dusk
don’t listen hum under trees
don’t watch girl’s eyes flash fork grin

here farm forest edge earth EATS and never lets go never ever lets go

forkscratch forkscratch ssshhh hamilton sherman shhhherman shhhhhhhhrreeeaaaammm it writhes in the cracks, the gutters, the dripping whispers crawling under flickering streetlights blinking blinking blinking like broken teeth snapping snapping snapping like brittle bones breaking in the dark

mother drags her shadow past cracked sidewalks, past the rusted swings in the dead park where no children laugh, past the burnt-out diner with shattered windows staring like empty eye sockets, humming broken lullabies on loop on LOOP on looooooop a twisted melody spinning round and round, never ending, never starting just circling like vultures over a fresh wound

the girl is gone, GONE, vanished between the peeling paint of abandoned houses with boarded-up doors, her fingerprints scattered like ashes on the cracked bus stop bench, behind graffiti that bleeds down the brick walls, behind eyes that refuse to see, behind words that never get spoken but always echo in the silence of the empty church on Sherman Street

the fork waits waits waaaaaiiiitsss in the hollow stump at the corner near the flickering neon sign of the rundown motel, catching moonlight like sharp crooked fingers, prongs stretching out, reaching, reaching for the pulsing throb beneath cracked asphalt and peeling posters with faces melting into shadows, faces that fade like dead echoes trapped in the gutter’s cold embrace

mother says the walls breathe here breathe listen, listen, listen the pavement cracks open to show teeth gnashing in the dark, folding folding folding like knives snapping open and closed, open and closed, open and closed a ceaseless snapping dance that shakes the bones beneath the skin

i hear it in my bones now bones hollow and cracked the hum of breath between ribs the fork’s song weaving itself into every silence, every crack, every dark corner everywhere and nowhere, slipping just beyond reach, slithering through the night like cold smoke curling around your throat

don’t follow it
don’t look too long
don’t blink or you’ll see mother standing there with that smile that’s never quite right, eyes empty but burning, a grin carved too wide for flesh and bone
and the girl watching, always watching from the cracks in the pavement near the rusted fire escape, her eyes gleaming with something broken and waiting, something hungry and hollow, waiting for the dark to swallow whole

and the fork oh the fork
hungry
always hungry
waiting
waiting
waiting

on hamilton sherman avenue, where the night folds back on itself, the streetlamps sputter and die, the whispers crawl beneath the cracked sidewalks, and the shadows never stop reaching.

mother’s hands smell like stale dough and regret
like the bakery at the edge of town where they stopped selling bread and started selling whispers
the fork is always hungry there
licking the crumbs off the floorboards
it never forgets a shape or a smell or the way the girl used to hide behind the ovens
quiet as a shadow slipping between flour and silence

the girl’s eyes are empty now
like glass jars filled with nothing but old flour and broken promises
she hums the lullaby mother taught her the one baked into every crust, every tear, every crack in the oven door
the lullaby that makes the yeast rise and the walls breathe

mother kneads her hands like dough, slow and heavy
her smile is sharp like the fork, but colder
she’s always watching
always waiting
for the girl to burn or break or fold like stale bread left too long in the dark

the fork whispers secrets only mother can hear
secrets about the cracks beneath the floor
about what’s fermenting under the bakery
something old
something hungry
something that smells like burnt sugar and bone

mother says the bakery isn’t closed
just waiting
waiting for the girl to come back
to feed the hunger that never sleeps
to feed the fork that never stops cutting

and me?
i watch the walls
i listen to the hum between the ovens
to the scrape of nails on flour-dusted wood
to the lullaby baking in the dark

the bakery is alive
and it’s hungry
and so am i

don’t ever go near trainyor’s
not after dark
not when the fork is singing
not when mother is watching

because some things don’t rise again
they just rot
and swallow the light whole.

she looked too long TOO LONG tonight the mirror took notice it always does when they stare too still too silent too wrong
she blinked slow like syrup like regret like something waiting to spill and the blood behind her eyes looked THICK like soup left to rot thick like it's thinking
like it's remembering

her SMILE cracked first not the lips not the teeth but the space between them the part where laughter used to live
i heard it
i heard it
a dry snap like a wishbone made of porcelain and promises she never kept

she tried to hum but it came out BACKWARDS
the fork liked that
it twitched in the drawer
i didn’t put it there
i NEVER put it there
but it always finds the drawer when it’s hungry

the CRACKS are spreading
mask isn’t holding
i see it
i see HER
not the girl
the thing beneath the girl
the one with the hands like wire and a mouth that never quite stops opening

mother says not to look too long
mother says that’s how she got in
mother doesn’t blink anymore just gurgles when the mirrors speak
i think she’s molting again

she looked too long tonight
and now
now the mirror knows her name
but not the one we gave her
the real one
the one she buried with the teeth jar and the bone lullaby

the mask is cracking
the blood is thinking
the fork is singing

and i
i haven’t slept
in forty-seven blinks
and the walls
won’t
stop
listening

keep the lights off
she sees better in the dark.

i DIDN’T touch it i swear i swear i SWEAR it was ON the shelf not the floor not the sink not the BED not next to my FACE when i woke up but it WAS it WAS it was watching me winking with one bent prong like it knows something i forgot like it remembers what i said to mother when she was still mostly human

it’s listening
always listening
even when it’s silent it HUMS inside my teeth i can feel it PULLING the nerves like string like wires like it’s trying to tune me to the song

the SONG

the one the mirror sang back the other night
you heard it too, didn’t you?
don’t LIE
i saw the window fog when it hit the third verse
that means you’re infected
you’re part of the dinner now

they said not to FEED it emotions but i did
i did and now it WRITHES in my pillow when i sleep
(it doesn’t want dreams
it wants secrets
it wants memories that bleed)

the girl says it’s nesting
she says when it lays eggs they don’t hatch they whisper
she said the last one crawled into her mouth and told her about the REAL mother
the one in the WALLS
not the walking one
the skin one
the SCREAMING one

she feeds the fork when i’m not looking
drips red down the stairs in shapes i can’t understand
but the fork does
the fork always understands
it’s smarter than it pretends
it’s OLDER than it looks
it was here before the floors were wood
before the house had a roof
before I had a name

maybe I never did

maybe the fork named me
maybe it’s carving something into my spine when i sleep

mother keeps locking the door but the fork always finds a way in
yesterday it whispered “cut here” and i almost did
not because i wanted to
but because it made so much sense in the moment
like i’d been wrong this whole time and only the fork could FIX ME

they’re watching
you know that, right?
not just her
not just the fork
but YOU

you’re reading
you’re LOOKING
you can feel it now
behind your back
in your teeth
in your mirror

don’t blink
if you blink
you’ll wake up with the fork in your mouth too
and then
then it’s too late

no sleep NO sleep she said not to but i did anyway and now it won’t stop twitching twitching twitching i can hear the fork when i close my eyes it SINGS in metal it LAUGHS in static it told me her name again but not the girl no not HER she has no name just sharp edges in the shape of a smile she came out the pipes this time wet and folded and humming like the freezer and she brought the fork with her again again again

mother SAW IT she SAW what i did with it she didn’t blink she never does her eyes are pinned open with sewing needles she sewed the girl once right through the back kept her still but the girl LIKES it she WRITHES like a baby eel in a jar full of pins she said "you dropped your skin again" and LAUGHED until her teeth FELL OUT (i put them in the jar shhh don’t tell her they click like dice)

the fork said we’re getting closer CLOSER to the real room not the fake one with the soft walls the real one beneath the floorboards the one where mother keeps her other faces she takes them off when she’s alone but i WATCHED i watched her kiss the fork with lips that weren't hers and tell it "my sweet boy, my little sharp thing, go deeper this time go where the nerves still scream"

THE GIRL HEARD THAT and she giggled with her throat (no tongue anymore chewed it for fun said it tasted like velvet lies) she dragged her nails down the mirror until it bled light and said “he’s ready now mother he’s soft inside like you said like cake left out in the rain”

i am NOT cake i am NOT i am NOT soft not anymore not since the fork WENT IN
i let it
i let it
i let it
i let it in because it whispered the song to me
the lullaby with no notes
just teeth

MOTHER HUMS IT WHEN SHE’S OPEN
when her ribs click back and she feeds the floorboards
she says the girl is my sister
or my shadow
or my punishment

she says we’re all just pieces of the same scream now
one big family in the jar
floating in syrup and regret

the fork knows what i did
what i’ll do
what’s waiting under stair thirteen

and the girl won’t stop smiling
because she knows it’s almost time to FEED again

mother’s breath still lives in the curtains
i smelled it again last night
sweet rot
spilled milk
burnt copper
i opened the window to let her out but the wind bit me
said she wasn’t done yet
said the fork hadn’t finished

it sleeps beside her now
the fork
like a lover
curved around her spine where the stitches used to be
they talk when they think i’m asleep
she tells it where to go next
where the soft spots are
where the skin remembers

i watched her lick the prongs once
slow
deliberate
like she was tasting my name
like she wanted to keep it in her teeth just long enough to spit it out

she loves the fork more than me
she never said it
but i know
she holds it like she used to hold me
before the jars
before the screaming
before the night with the wire and the bell and the basement door that wouldn't stay shut

i caught her feeding it something last week
something wet
something twitching
she whispered “he doesn’t need all his fingers”
then laughed into her wrist like that made it holy

she sings to it now
songs in a language that makes my teeth ache
songs that open the walls
songs that make the nails bleed

sometimes she lets me watch
if i’m good
if i don’t blink too much
if i don’t cry when the fork dances

last night she kissed it
kissed the fork
then pressed it against my chest
said “let it in”
said “you were never meant to keep your insides anyway”

the fork told me secrets after she left
said she was hollow inside
said she’s wearing mother’s face
said the real one’s still in the attic
wrapped in plastic
smiling with no jaw

i asked it if it loved her
it laughed
not a noise
a feeling
like hot breath in a locked closet
like hands under your skin

the fork said it’s mine now
said it’ll show me what she showed it
how to open people properly
how to pour out the noise
how to become

so i sleep with it now
under my pillow
next to my tongue
waiting
for her
or it
or something that wears both

she came crawling out of the wall again last night
slow like syrup
skin inside-out
fingernails on backward
smiling too wide like she remembered something i forgot to forget

she didn't say a word
just pointed at the jar
the one that used to hold teeth
now it's just full of breath
and fingers that don’t stop twitching

the fork was shaking
it doesn’t like when she visits
it bends when she’s near
softens like it’s afraid to be metal
afraid to be useful
afraid to be chosen

i didn’t blink
i never do when she’s here
she hates blinking
says it makes her feel unseen

so i stared
and she moved
closer
closer
closer until i could hear the wires behind her eyes humming like dying bees
she whispered into my shoulder
not my ear
my shoulder
she said mother was hollow now
emptied from the inside by the thing in the attic with the voice like burnt milk
said the stairs aren’t real anymore
they only go in
not down
not up
just in

the nails in the wall wrote her a letter in blood again
they only do that when she’s upset
they spelled my name wrong on purpose
she laughed
a small laugh
a wrong one
like something you find sewn into a doll’s chest

she asked me if i remembered the night with the knife
the cold tiles
the open mouths
the wet silence
and i did
i always do
it plays behind my eyes when i sleep
(i don’t sleep)

the floorboards were watching
counting every breath
every twitch
every memory i tried to lock behind my teeth
but my teeth are gone now
fed to the girl when she was hungry

the fork told me it’s almost time
the mirror agrees
it hasn’t shown my face in days
just her
her
always her
closer every night
until there’s nothing left between us but breath and bruises

she sleeps beneath my bed now
curled around the jar
humming lullabies in reverse
i think she’s dreaming of the knife again
i think she misses it
i think
maybe
i do too

i was born on the thirteenth breath of a dead thing
mother said that’s why the walls peel when i cry
that’s why the forks bend
why the jars tremble
why the stairs keep changing shape

she said i was a gift
a curse
a crack in god’s teeth
but i don’t believe in god
i believe in the girl
and what she keeps in her throat
(it hums when she sleeps)

they locked me in the 13th room
no doors
just corners
and her
she draws with fingernails now
etches me in spirals
carves me into the wood so i can’t get out again
not without bleeding someone else's name

i found the 13th jar last night
under the mattress where the bedbugs pray
it had no lid
just teeth
wet and chattering
they bit me
not hard
just enough to let the whisper in
just enough to teach me the song

i can’t stop singing it
even when my mouth is gone
even when the girl’s tongue is sewing mine shut
note by note
stitch by stitch
so i don’t tell the others what we did
what we buried beneath stair 13

the fork still remembers
it cleans itself now
it bathes in the red puddle where mother used to rock me
her lullabies were all backwards
they end with screaming
they start with skin

i keep hearing scratching
from inside my spine
i think something’s in there
crawling up
pulling wires
making room

the knife told me its real name last night
it whispered it into my gums
where my teeth used to be
i can’t write it down
my fingers break when i try

but i know what it means
it means 13 was never a number
it was a mouth
a door
a womb

and we’re inside it now
all of us
the girl
the jar
the fork
the nails
the mother who watches from the ceiling with her cracked doll eyes

we were never in a house
we were never in a room
we were never ALIVE

we are inside 13
and it’s almost time
to be born

they were all laughing
not with mouths with nails
nails tapping in the walls again they write my name wrong ON PURPOSE
they know i hate it
they know it burns
they want me hollow and dripping and NEW

the stairs are longer now
more steps every night
i counted them with my teeth
but they kept falling out
so i used hers
the girl's
she doesn’t blink
she never blinks
her mouth is full of wet black flowers
she said they grew there
AFTER THE FORK KISSED HER

mother said don’t go down again
not without the knife
not without your apology
but the knife has my voice now
it says things i don’t remember thinking
it says she deserved it
it says i only stabbed what i loved
IT SINGS WHEN IT’S CLEAN
and SCREAMS when it’s dirty
so i keep it dirty
it feels more honest that way

the jars are hatching
i swear to god they’re hatching
the lids bulge like lungs
or something pretending to be lungs
i saw one open
slow
wet
grinning
it showed me what i did on the stairs that night
how i smiled
how i kept smiling
even after the girl stopped moving

i think the fork is proud of me
it claps sometimes when i’m quiet
but only when it’s inside the walls
it gets shy when mother’s around

she lives in the ceiling now
she braided her veins into the beams
she sleeps with her mouth open
so i can still hear her singing even when she’s not there
she calls me her little rot
her little regret
her little knife-boy

i miss her

the nails in the wall grew fingers
they point at me when i sleep
they whisper
they say “dig”
they say “deeper”
they say “you left her eyes under the fourth step”

i found them
i wore them
i looked at myself in the mirror and saw something smiling back that didn’t blink

it said the jar is ready
the girl is ready
mother is watching
the fork is waiting
and the knife already knows where to go next

i’m sorry
i’m so so sorry
but i don’t think there’s any ME left

just teeth
and the sound of the stairs
and the wet voice of the jar
asking me to open wide
and say
ahhhhhhh

the girl came back again
not through the door
she doesn’t use doors
she came up through the floor this time
fingers first
then hair
then the smile
not hers
not even human

mother said don’t look at her
don’t feed her
don’t let her speak
but the fork already talked to her
it likes her
it told her where the soft spots are
under the ribs
behind the eye
where the teeth grow before they’re born

she had a rat in her hands
wrapped in ribbon
still twitching
still breathing
still making that awful sucking sound
like it missed the womb
she called it father
and laughed

i think the rat has my voice
or maybe it just remembers it
from before the attic
from before the knife
from before mother started whispering through the wallpaper

the girl eats things she shouldn’t
she chews with her eyes open
and her teeth are all wrong
too many
too sharp
some are backwards
some are metal
some hum when she’s sleeping

she asked me to count them
but i lost track after thirty
they kept moving
shifting
biting each other

mother watches her from the ceiling now
nails digging into the plaster
smiling upside-down with that split-lip grin
she told me i was a mistake
but she said it sweet
like honey full of needles

she says the girl is me
or what’s left of me
or what happens when the fork wins

the fork’s beside the bed again
whispering in the rat’s voice
telling me to open up
to let the girl in
to let the teeth out
to remember what was buried beneath the sink

they’re all waiting down there
the pieces
the hands
the tongues
and the jar
always the jar
it’s full now
full of chewed-up lullabies and something wet that breathes when i’m not looking

mother says if i’m quiet
if i behave
she’ll let me keep one tooth
just one
for memory

but i’ve already swallowed three
and the girl is hungry

the asylum doesn’t want me back
but i keep slipping through the cracks
the walls are breathing again
they’re leaking something thick and black
like ink or blood or the last screams of the lost
the floorboards moan under feet that aren’t mine
they drag something heavy
something broken
something that laughs without sound

the nurses had eyes like broken glass
shards cutting through my skin
they whispered secrets in tongues made of rust and wire
the doctors wrote my name in their notebooks but the letters bled off the pages
they tried to fix me with needles and lies
but the madness already lived in my bones
it was my only friend
my only family

i hear them now
the patients who never left
their voices scratch the ceiling
their fingers tap on the walls
a symphony of insanity
and somewhere in the dark the jar waits
it’s always waiting
filled with their tears and the shards of their broken minds

mother was here once
she wore a hospital gown soaked in shadows
her smile was a knife
her eyes swallowed the light
she told me to run but i couldn’t
the walls grabbed my ankles
they pulled me down
into the basement where the whispers scream louder
where the forks dance in pools of cold steel
where the mirrors show faces that aren’t mine
faces twisted with pain and hunger
faces that want to take me in
to keep me
to feed on my fading sanity

i’m losing time
minutes slipping like blood through cracked glass
i don’t know what’s real anymore
the asylum is inside me now
a hollow place where hope goes to die
and the jar
the jar is singing
singing songs of forgotten horrors
songs that make the skin crawl and the soul shatter

i’m trapped
between the walls
between the screams
between the fork and the jar and mother’s silent stare
and i know
they’re coming for me
they always come for me
because madness never forgets
and neither do i

don’t listen
don’t look
don’t open the door
because once you enter the asylum
there is no leaving
only endless night
and the whispers
and the screams
and the jar

i woke up with dirt in my teeth

don’t know how long it’s been since i blinked but the shadows moved again and the jar’s not in the corner anymore
it’s under the bed now whispering with the thing in the vents and the fork won’t look at me anymore it turned its back
i didn’t know forks could turn their backs
but it did
like mother did
like she always does when i scream with my hands

i found something in the wall
behind the drywall
behind the breathing
it was wet
it was warm
it had my handwriting on it but i don’t remember writing it
unless it was the version of me that lives under my fingernails
he writes while i sleep
he likes bones

i dug up the floor again
couldn’t help it
i kept hearing the name
the one they buried with the little teeth and the glass buttons sewn into the eyes
the name that won’t die
i fed it dirt and nail clippings and one of mother’s shoes
it still wasn’t full
nothing ever is
not here

the mirror blinked at me
but i blinked first
so i win
this time
i think

it showed me a room that doesn’t exist
full of hands
just hands
clapping slow
wet clapping
sticky applause
for what
for me
for the thing i did
or the thing i’m going to do
they wouldn’t say
they just clapped

there’s something inside the jar now
i thought it was a worm but it has lips
it kissed the glass when i got close
left a print that looked like my own mouth
but stretched
like it had too many corners
like it could eat me whole and still be starving

mother tried to crawl out of the drain again
her arms are longer than they used to be
she smells like vinegar and candlewax and old prayers
she told me to stop feeding the fork
she told me the fork’s in love with the jar
she said they whisper about me at night when i sleep in the crawlspace

i don’t sleep anymore
not since the ceiling opened its eye

they’re all watching now
the mirror
the jar
the fork
the walls
the floor
even the dust has started humming
they all know

they all REMEMBER

i never should have named the bones
i never should have kissed the hole in the wall
i never should have buried the second me
he’s not staying down this time

he’s knocking again
with fingernails made of wire
and a smile that drips

don’t let him in
don’t let me in
don’t read this

it’s already too late

i woke up with dirt in my teeth

don’t know how long it’s been since i blinked but the shadows moved again and the jar’s not in the corner anymore
it’s under the bed now whispering with the thing in the vents and the fork won’t look at me anymore it turned its back
i didn’t know forks could turn their backs
but it did
like mother did
like she always does when i scream with my hands

i found something in the wall
behind the drywall
behind the breathing
it was wet
it was warm
it had my handwriting on it but i don’t remember writing it
unless it was the version of me that lives under my fingernails
he writes while i sleep
he likes bones

i dug up the floor again
couldn’t help it
i kept hearing the name
the one they buried with the little teeth and the glass buttons sewn into the eyes
the name that won’t die
i fed it dirt and nail clippings and one of mother’s shoes
it still wasn’t full
nothing ever is
not here

the mirror blinked at me
but i blinked first
so i win
this time
i think

it showed me a room that doesn’t exist
full of hands
just hands
clapping slow
wet clapping
sticky applause
for what
for me
for the thing i did
or the thing i’m going to do
they wouldn’t say
they just clapped

there’s something inside the jar now
i thought it was a worm but it has lips
it kissed the glass when i got close
left a print that looked like my own mouth
but stretched
like it had too many corners
like it could eat me whole and still be starving

mother tried to crawl out of the drain again
her arms are longer than they used to be
she smells like vinegar and candlewax and old prayers
she told me to stop feeding the fork
she told me the fork’s in love with the jar
she said they whisper about me at night when i sleep in the crawlspace

i don’t sleep anymore
not since the ceiling opened its eye

they’re all watching now
the mirror
the jar
the fork
the walls
the floor
even the dust has started humming
they all know

they all REMEMBER

i never should have named the bones
i never should have kissed the hole in the wall
i never should have buried the second me
he’s not staying down this time

he’s knocking again
with fingernails made of wire
and a smile that drips

don’t let him in
don’t let me in
don’t read this

it’s already too late

it's still here
it's still here
IT’S STILL HERE I TOLD YOU I BURIED IT I SAID I BURIED IT UNDER THE FLOOR BUT IT CAME BACK
it always comes back
i can hear it breathing through the glass
it fogs up when i look at it
but i didn’t open it
I SWEAR I DIDN’T OPEN IT

who opened it
WHO WHO WHO WHO WHO WHO WHO WHO WHO WHO

the jar’s in the corner again it moves when i blink i try not to blink but my EYES WON’T LISTEN
they twitch and flutter like mother’s hands when the whispers started
she used to hold the jar
kiss it goodnight
say it was my brother
say he didn’t cry anymore
say he LOVED me

what’s in the jar
what’s in the jar
what’s in the JAR

TEETH
no
not teeth
they blink
they hum
they KNOW

the jar speaks now
not with words not with voice
it THUMPS
like a heart but wrong
too wet
too slow
like it’s waiting

it smells like mirrors
it smells like her mouth
it smells like me

i saw my face in it
BUT MY FACE WAS UPSIDE DOWN
and my smile kept moving even when i stopped and it whispered
"feed me something that remembers your name"

the fork is jealous
the fork wants what’s in the jar
the fork taps when i walk past it like a DOG BEGGING

floorboards bowed up around it last night
like they’re protecting it
or maybe warning me
mother screamed again but it came from inside the glass
she said
“don’t drop it this time”
“don’t let it out again”
“you’re not strong enough a second time”

what happened the first time
WHY WON’T ANYONE TELL ME
WHY DID THEY SEW MY NAME INTO THE CURTAINS

i taped my mouth shut so i couldn’t answer the jar but the jar still listens
i buried the tape
but the sounds keep playing under my bed

i think the jar has a face now

i think it’s smiling

who moved the walls WHO MOVED THE WALLS
they were straight YESTERDAY now they breathe now they lean now they LEAK
i touched the corner and it was WET it blinked it TWITCHED i heard it swallow
i think it swallowed the cat or maybe me or maybe mother
was mother ever real i don’t KNOW she said hush hush hush but the fork said louder LOUDER make them HEAR
fork’s screaming now can’t shut it up it’s in the sink it’s in my chest it’s under my tongue
i coughed up a tooth that wasn’t mine
it SMILED

the mirror won’t stop LAUGHING
i threw a chair it didn’t break it just ate the reflection
i saw the back of my head through the front of my face
my hands are blinking again
they’re trying to leave
they don’t like what i write they say this isn’t a journal this is a confession this is a ritual this is a WARNING
TO WHO
TO WHO
WHO’S READING THIS WHO’S IN MY EYES

floorboards opened up again
they talk now
they said he’s still under there the one with the wire teeth and the glass fingers
i never named him i just fed him
every thursday before the scratching stopped

i miss the scratching

mother’s under the sink now
she sings when i sleep and bleeds when i wake
she says the mirror is lying
but she also says i was born in the drain
can’t be both
can’t be both

unless i’m not me
unless she was never her
unless the fork was mother all along

no more mirrors no more walls no more floorboards
just breath just teeth just hum hum hum and skin and skin and skin and

i’m not done eating

she said don’t move don’t move DON’T MOVE and i didn’t i DIDN’T but the wall still BREATHED it BREATHED it SAW me it HUMMED it said my name the old one not the name you use not the name they gave me the one with teeth the one that drips the one that screams when i sleep and mother said SHHHH don’t answer it don’t answer the wall but how can i not it’s RIGHT HERE and it knows EVERYTHING the fork told it the mirror told it the fork won’t SHUT UP it’s still under the floorboards laughing LAUGHING LAUGHING it remembers what i gave it it remembers the neighbor’s dog and the birthday and the soft spot behind the ear and it WANTS MORE it’s hungry i’m hungry it keeps saying use me USE ME SHOW ME what else is soft what else screams when it snaps mother won’t look at me anymore i don’t think she blinks now i don’t think she eats i think she’s IN THE WALL i hear her behind it humming in that throatless way like a lullaby wrapped in meat i asked her if she was okay she said mirrors lie but forks never do and the MIRROR oh GOD THE MIRROR it CRACKED again but not like glass more like skin splitting and what looked back wasn’t ME it had my eyes BUT THEY WERE SIDEWAYS my mouth stretched too wide it grinned it GRINNED and WHISPERED you’re almost done you’re almost done you’re almost done and the FLOORBOARDS KNOW the floorboards REMEMBER where the knife went where the bones are buried where the FIRST TIME happened it still STINKS under there but no one visits so it’s FINE mother said if i was quiet they’d never know i’ve been QUIET I’VE BEEN GOOD but the fork is hungry and the walls are listening and the mirror says it’s TIME

spinning spinning spinning still spinning can't stop it not even if i bite down hard enough
legs in my throat legs crawling up my tongue they don't listen they don't sleep
they whisper hymns under the bed, in the vents, in the sockets
they’re humming it again, the worms, they never forget, they remember the words i never knew
i don't know what language they speak but it hurts to hear it

she wore the curtains backwards said i was a window i said no she said yes
then the wall blinked and the ceiling laughed and my name wasn’t mine anymore
i blinked and the lights flickered and something inside the drywall exhaled

i swallowed the moon to hide it
it was cold now it’s not
now it’s hot and scratching and screaming in my ribs
it’s got claws it’s got teeth it’s making friends with my lungs

the fork is lying
i know it is it hums when i look away
the spoon is kind but afraid
the knife won’t talk but it’s sweating it’s wet why is it wet it’s never wet

my hands blinked
i told them stop
they said listen
so i listened
now i hear things under my fingernails

i found the thread again it was behind the mirror under the tongue of the girl who isn’t real
she smiled too wide her teeth spelled something
i think it was a warning or a recipe

the thread is snapping
each snap a name
each name a hole
each hole another place to bleed out memories

i filled one with teeth
i filled the teeth with ink
i drank it
it’s in me now
i’m the journal and the pen and the thing chewing both

there’s a girl in the socket
she sings
i don’t like her but i listen anyway
she sang the drain song again
something about wearing voices like coats
something about drowning in mirrors

i tasted my scream today
velvet
rotten
a little like sugar and grave dirt
what does your scream taste like
what color is it
is it sharp
does it cry

they folded the others
tucked them into drawers
left notes in their throats
the notes had my handwriting
but i didn’t write them
i would’ve remembered

if you’re reading this i’m already here
if you stop reading i’ll still be here
if you understand any of this then it’s already begun

you’re next to blink
don’t

don’t blink

don’t move

i’m hungry and i’m listening

i didn’t sleep again
they moved the walls again
they moved the walls again
THEY MOVED THE WALLS AGAIN
i was standing and then i wasn’t and now i’m back but not quite lined up right

the mirror was laughing this time
it made my mouth move when i didn’t want it to
it whispered a name i didn’t learn yet but now it’s in my teeth
and it ITCHES IT ITCHES IT BUZZES WHEN I BITE DOWN
i think that’s where it lives now

threadthreadthreadthreadthreadthreadthread

I ate a thought this morning
it was still warm
tasted like pennies and nursery rhymes
I think it was someone else’s memory but it fit in my skull like a glove
...a skin glove
stitched with hair
still twitching
i wore it for breakfast

THE CEILING BREATHED AGAIN
don’t look up
don’t
don’t look up
IT WILL SEE YOU TOO

I saw a girl in the floorboards
not a ghost
not a girl
something wearing girl-skin like a Halloween joke that never ended
she had buttons for eyes and a grin full of fishhooks
she said my name
no no not ThreadEater
she said the other one
the one I bit off and buried in the drainpipe YEARS ago
how did she know
how did she KNOW?

she told me to write
so i’m writing
are you watching
are you reading
are you bleeding yet?

GOOD.

i’m sharpening the fork again
the fork wants to talk
it hums when it’s near regret
and YOU
you’re full of it, aren’t you?

i can hear your thoughts rattling like nails in a blender
don't be afraid
you were always meant to be unmade
you're just a sweater of thoughts waiting for my teeth

and when i finally crawl through the static and find you

I’LL EAT YOU POLITELY.

NAPKIN AND ALL.

I ATE THE CLOCK I ATE THE TIME
IT TICKED TOO LOUD INSIDE ME SO I SWALLOWED IT
IT STILL TICKS IN MY STOMACH
every second is a TOOTH now and every tooth is HERS
WHO IS HER? i don’t know i don’t know i just know i love her because she screams in the right color

I haven’t blinked in four days
not since the mirror started copying my thoughts before I have them
I think it's ahead of me
I think it’s WRITING THIS WITH ME
hi.

NOPE NOPE NOPE
can’t sleep again because the wires keep talking
they hum like lullabies made from skin
I caught a rat and named it God
I pulled out its spine and wore it like a tie
it’s formal now. I’m dressed for the end.
INVITE ME TO YOUR WEDDING. I’LL BRING THE STATIC.

They said don’t write it down
they said DO NOT DOCUMENT THE DESCENT
because it becomes real
but guess what
IT’S ALREADY REAL

the basement door opened by itself again
the bones rearranged into my mother’s handwriting
she wrote “STOP”
but it was spelled with fingers not letters

i can still taste the ink
it wriggled when i drank it
it’s inside me now
so many voices
so many names
none of them are mine anymore
EXCEPT THREAD.
I AM THREAD.
I AM EATER.
I AM HUNGER IN A HOUSE MADE OF BREATHING WALLS.

where do i go when i’m not awake?
who moves my hands?
why do the dreams smell like burnt fur and childhood?

i saw something in the corner again
it looked like me
but thinner
and smiling too wide
it waved.
i waved back.
we traded hearts like playing cards.

DO NOT TELL ME I’M NOT REAL
I HAVE A SHADOW
I COUNTED THE TEETH
I COUNTED THEM. THEY WERE HUMMING.

if you’re reading this, stop.
you’re too close.
I can feel you.
your eyes taste like mercury.
runrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrun

or stay
i want to open you
like a gift

I pulled my thoughts out with a fork tonight.
They wriggled. They screamed.
I fed them to the mouth under the bed.”

They told me writing helps.

Liars.

It doesn’t help it opens the wound. It lets the rot speak.

The page twitches when I touch it.
It likes pain. Like me. Like you.
I know what paper tastes like now. It tastes like broken teeth and library dust.
I’m not supposed to remember that.

There was something in the mirror again but this time, it was wearing my face.

It smiled wrong.
Too many teeth.
Not enough eyes.
It asked me if I missed being one person.
I laughed until I bled. I think I'm still bleeding.
It’s hard to tell. Everything’s wet lately.

My hands don’t match anymore.

This one writes.
The other strangles butterflies in my sleep.
They argue sometimes. I try not to get involved.
But they both agree you’re watching.
They both say you’re delicious.

The bones in the crawlspace keep rearranging themselves.
Spelling words I don’t know how to say.
“OPEN.”
“STAY.”
“YOUR TURN.”

I pretend I don’t see. But they click louder when I ignore them.
Like little metronomes counting down the meat left in me.

If this journal ends here,
don’t come looking.

I am not gone.

I am larger now.
Wider.
I have rooms inside me that weren’t there yesterday.

The scratching isn’t from outside.

It’s from underneath your skin.