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Emily Dickinson, from The complete poems of Emily Dickinson (Poem 254).

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Else Fitzgerald, from "Everything Feels Like the End of The World," publ. in 2022

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Alfonsina Storni, tr. by Dorothy Scott Loos, from Selected Poems; "My Ghosts,"

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(finding some nice fresh limbs) nice... these will be perfect for my frankenstein

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[...] she belonged to the spirit world, a world of fantasy and ghosts.

Daphne du Maurier, Sunless Solstice: Strange Christmas Tales for the Longest Nights; from ‘The Apple Tree’, ed. Lucy Evans & Tanya Kirk

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Monika Szewczyk

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Virginia Woolf, from her novel titled "The Voyage Out," originally published in 1915

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Because I Know You Love Me:

(Inspired by 'TV', Billie Eilish)

I'll try not to starve myself

Just to make myself feel free

But I can't promise anything

So you'll just have to wait patiently

And see if I recover

From another episode

That probably should have killed me -

If I hadn't spun my spiral

Left another half a mile

By listening to 'TV'

I said I'd be productive

In this time I have to give

But the static is haunting me

So I'll say there's always next week

And believe I'm gunna do it -

Though, the chances are quite bleak.

I'll do my best to smile

When you meet me at The Dial

With my whole life in front of me

But I'd be in denial if I said

This wasn't vile

And I'd rather be in bed instead.

Now, all my friends seemed to have ghosted

And I'm left with only posted

Echoes of what used to be...

I'll try to not hear it

While I let Morphius near it

And forget the things the darkness bleeds.

Maybe one day I won't feel lonely

And you'll forget you've ever known me

But that's another pipe dream

Most likely, we'll just lose connection

Like a vampire with reflection

And you'll forget we ever ceased to be.

I'll be staring at the Thames

Whilst you're with your other friends

Because there's nothing here left for me

Maybe I'll get lucky

And the police won't find my body

So you won't have to pretend to grieve.

I'll wake up in bed,

Another dream, another nightmare

Am I going out my head?

You'll send me a voicenote

About your day and all the bullshit

To sink this isolation float

I'll hear in the car,

How children are forced to starve

While the profiters prepare their votes.

They're all talking in news Styles

Whilst they put him up on trial

About his sexuality -

But I'll keep myself together,

Long enough, to read your letters

Because I know that you love me.

So I'll try not to carve into myself

Instead, I'll just scroll through my TV

Then you can go to sleep at night

Dreaming all your dreams,

Knowing you're still loved by me.

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Penguin Classics

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physically i am here, mentally i am a maiden wandering the english moors on a late-eighteenth century afternoon while the rain dampens my elaborately flowing gown,

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reading 19th-century literature is just *character gets injured/falls ill and stays at a stranger's house for weeks*, *woman descends into insanity*, *london is full of smog and also child exploitation*, *frame narratives containing letters full of excessive small talk*, *underlying homoeroticism*, *the good characters being described as beautiful and the immoral people are ugly but sometimes that is ~subverted~*, *typhoid*, *tuberculosis*, *at least one woman is called jane, mary, or catherine*, *opium opium opium opium opium*.

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Marienburg Castle, Hanover, Germany, photos by Dejan Saulic

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𝘙𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘭𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘺