Vlad The Impaler

Former Voivode of Wallachia

[The Ghost Of M. @blxkboi]

Her skin doesn’t age; it accumulates. Yesterday I found three millimeters of grey limestone powder behind her left ear — the exact compression of a Tuesday afternoon in July. She didn’t look up from her vanity. “Don’t sweep it,” she murmured. “That’s the year we met in Prague.”

[The Ghost Of M. @blxkboi]

The invitations called for raw silk. She arrived wearing nothing but three gallons of unrefined lacquer. It took four hours to dry against her ribs, hardening into a brilliant, unyielding armor that smelled faintly of a luxury hotel immediately after a fire.

[SIAP @SIAP_PHOTO]

BLACKER THAN BLACK

new collab with @unpiccolodrago
Coming soon

[The Ghost Of M. @blxkboi]

We found the sister under the frozen cistern, her hair locked into a flawless web of black ice. Her mouth was propped open with a silver thimble. The winter wind blowing through her teeth played a single, perfect note that kept the crows off the roof until March.

[The Ghost Of M. @blxkboi]

In this valley, you don’t build a fence to keep things out — you build it to give them a place to lean. Every November we leave a bowl of tallow-grease on the top rail. If the bowl is dry by dawn, the winter will be short, but someone’s firstborn will stop speaking.

[The Ghost Of M. @blxkboi]

The liturgy requires you to forget your mother’s middle name before the third candle burns down. If the memory remains, the deacon uses a small brass hook to peel the skin from the roof of your mouth. By dawn the basin was full of pink ribbons, and no one could pray.

[The Ghost Of M. @blxkboi]

The cradle didn’t rock — it vibrated. When the mother peeled back the wool flannel, there was no child. Just six inches of cold black well-chain coiled tightly, sweating rusted grease that smelled of old rain. She didn’t cry. She sat down and began to nurse it anyway.

[Bárbara Bezina @BarbaraBezina]

Thika

[Ahmed/The Ears/IG: BigBizTheGod 🇸🇴 @big_business_]

@cutoffkhakis @IamSpesh @Therealkiss @JoeAndJada 38 Spesh is that nigga

[The Ghost Of M. @blxkboi]

She wore my mother’s old perfume and the dress I buried her in. We made love on the living room floor while the television whispered static. When I came she held my face gently and let her tongue—longer than should fit—slide behind my eye to stroke the optic nerve like a lover.

[The Ghost Of M. @blxkboi]

The world went gold and rotten. I have never seen anything more beautiful.

[Bárbara Bezina @BarbaraBezina]

Jula

[The Ghost Of M. @blxkboi]

She wore my favorite black dress and kept smiling at me over candlelight. When she finally winked, her eyelid split horizontally instead, revealing a wet gold iris underneath, patient and unembarrassed, as if it had been waiting years to be introduced.

[The Ghost Of M. @blxkboi]

She spent the afternoon making her grandmother’s stew, the apartment thick with salt, onions, and something sacred. I bit down and cracked a silver baby tooth between my molars. She wiped the blood from my lip and whispered, “Now we’re family.”

[The Ghost Of M. @blxkboi]

We love walking past the abandoned asylum after dark. She always holds my hand tighter near the graveyard. I thought it was affection until tonight, when I looked down and realized grey soil was falling from her fingers, quietly rooting our hands together.

[The Ghost Of M. @blxkboi]

She whispered a secret against my ear, lips brushing softly enough to raise gooseflesh. It sounded like a promise of forever. But when she pulled away, the voice stayed behind—burrowing deeper into my skull, laying eggs somewhere dark.

[The Ghost Of M. @blxkboi]

The deep-sea camera didn’t find wreckage at the bottom of the trench. It found a colossal, perfectly smooth limestone staircase descending into the crust. On the third step stood my childhood bicycle, rusted with salt, its front wheel still spinning.

[The Ghost Of M. @blxkboi]

We slow-danced in the kitchen, her head on my chest. Her heartbeat was wrong—too slow, like something moving in deep mud. She looked up adoringly & whispered, “I kept your place warm for nine thousand years.” Her collarbone split, revealing the pulsing dark. I pulled her closer.

[The Ghost Of M. @blxkboi]

She challenged me to a rap battle in the middle of a snowstorm in Oslo. She stepped forward in a fur coat worth more than my bloodline and destroyed me in perfect iambic pentameter laced with quantum physics and generational trauma. The snow kept falling like it was taking notes.

[The Ghost Of M. @blxkboi]

I mistook her quietness for shyness. Animals never did. Sparrows landed in her palms. Stray cats slept at her door like disciples. One night I found her hovering perfectly still above the kitchen floor, hair drifting softly around her while the rest of the world stayed heavy.