Again.

And as your body falls apart around you,
What’s left will grow another;
Like carcinisation, it moves ever closer
To what we ought to be.

Pick up the shell you outgrew,
Frame it, burn it, write about it,
Take a photo that sits lifeless
In a book, forgotten, on the shelf.

Feel the ground like gospel;
It’s never been this new.
Dig deep with digits unfamiliar
Unearth something wholly.

Stumble, pick yourself up.
Stumble, get up again.
Stutter, crack, stumble,
Get. Up.

again. And again. And a

Gain ground from the past
Take light from the future
Molding life out of inanimate
Like you’re your own god.

One day, too, your skin will shed
You’ll molt and peel out, fresh,
New.
Your skin will touch air, new breath,
New words,
To describe your birth,
Again

and

a
g
a
I
n
.

Quick Update

Hello!

I’m busy with many things – not the least of which is a fully-fledged TTRPG system I’m in the late stages of developing, plus another text adventure like Drone, a short Twine game I made. I’m also working with my health providers and government about some personal things, so stories will be even more sporadic for a bit here! But i’m okay!

I also wanted to mention that I started a Tumblr for these writings as well; it’ll be the same content that you see here, just on that site instead of this one. So if that’s your preferred site, here’s the link!

I hope you’re all doing well, and keep your eyes peeled for some more stuff from these new worlds.

Meet you at the horizon,

– Jae

Salt in the Wound

Photo by Matheo JBT on Unsplash

This is a part of my Fourth Age Witches series; you can find them all here. The protagonist Calfin uses the neopronouns ze/zim/zir.


The old ship groaned in the whipping wind, always threatening to tip over but never following through.

Yet, thought Calfin, Always yet.

Ze took a look through one of the portholes, scratched on one side and covered with candle soot and ages-old grime on the other. The dried lake looked much the same as it had the past day, last month and the summer before: tediously barren, with a hint of unguided malice to anything that found itself stranded there. No trace of the trio yet.

Continue reading “Salt in the Wound”