HeyJaredSpencer’s Cult of Forbidden Horrors
Horror. The cosmic and Body kind and anything else I want to write about I guess.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 13
- Latest publication
- Sep 30, 2026
- Audience
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 15, 2026
Latest issues
If I was a serial killer every victim would be you. (opens the original)
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You hate me, we had that in common. (opens the original)
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Cold is themoldI chose when I was toldunder this dirt below. Taste it, the waste I chose when I was graced with angel wings nowdebased. I breathe in wriggle, dying but not dead seetheplaced bone breaks. I drain the pustule, the corpse you switched to feign un-addled love brain. Let me show you how it's going to go, show you how to feel and how best to continue to show. What I wa
13,149 days since the first mistake. (opens the original)
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It's no one else, it's always you. Does the blood turn blue? Boil inside?Thoughts as cancer will endlessly divide. You're pathetic, dying to die. Never had wings to try to fly. just a coward hoping for the last sigh. Your death throes started in nineteen ninety. Met me soon after clinching your jaw, trying to convince yourself you aren't me. I'm allergic to your skin, the blank stare, coughing on someone else's sin. Glass coated eyes drown
The baying of a new born god (opens the original)
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Fury contained in each piercing drop of rain. Sheets battered me and each man that was still clinging to the rowboat, knuckles white, eyes sore and red. Each wave felt bigger than the one before it and every time the boat collided in the furious crests, it felt as if it would splinter underneath us. Two other rowboats were lost after we abandoned ship. One to the queen's navy the other to the sea. Good men's lives were lost, but as the days progressed and we continued to paddle, As hope for land
I Want to kill myself just to spite you. (opens the original)
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bright bone breaksflesh fault line flakes. I can feel the scratching, the clawing of insect frustration against my bleeding nail bed. Forked tongue practicing. Drowned alive, Dropped dead. I can't count past two. lives wasted, mud drowned and distasted. worm bound pain, bed stained forever red. sterile white edges of the lake I made from my own waxing blue. With my own two hands and force fed. I want to kill myself just to spite you. I could take it out of me. Flesh gestating a splinter of this
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