• A warhammer into my chest. Blunt-force impact with all the intention of a fist to the face. But how could I had seen it coming? Oh, to make me maudlin; to make me sing out in despair. Your face alone is enough to send me into woes. I sing your funeral violins every time my hand slides down my stomach. I can’t deny you. I can’t defy you.

  • You drew in a breath. Held it for the longest time. I waited for the puff of air against my neck, my hair. My skin itched for it, so much that I almost inhaled as well, craving that greedy feeling of comfort, affection, being held. Holding someone.
    You kept holding it. It got to the point that I worried you were dead, and I was turning my head to…[Read more]

  • im softer into my irony commented on the post, amused 5 years ago

    I watched your breath heave as your back arched, the slope of a mackerel bone as thin as the lead of a pencil or of an idiot’s slack jaw, spiny, the kind of bones I would choke on.

  • im softer into my irony commented on the post, thrown 5 years ago

    You always did know me so well. You smirk up at me clumsily, through thick, reddened lips, and I’m reminded of vodka and gin, and of lipstick smears on the toliet seat from where you vomited your nightly drinks.
    “You don’t surprise me,” you say flatly. I lean down and brush some hair out of your face. You toss your head, dislodging my efforts,…[Read more]

  • The thing is about you, is your hair was always pinned back, severe, and your legs were loose and long, unhindered by the grass sweeping across the surface of your shins and calves. Your thighs were open, your eyes closed, your mouth parted and your hands shut. You swung like a fist against my cheekbone, but you were as light as a kiss pressed…[Read more]

  • Sea salt licked up the wooden planks. Brian grinned at her friend, uncertainly.
    “Sure these aren’t pieces of a long-forgotten pirate ship blown on shore we’re burning?” she jokes, in an attempt to lighten the mood. Morgan rolls his eyes.
    “Of course not. Everyone knows Rhode Island wasn’t exactly Pirate Central.” He pauses. “Maybe bootleggers,”…[Read more]

  • There was no doubt about it. The painting had been stolen.
    An empty frame sat hanging desolate on the white-washed wall of the museum, the curator staring dumbfounded at it. It seemed to mock him, swinging like a flower on a breeze, except it had a certain air of contempt about it still, even when the painting had been stolen and
    was that the…[Read more]

  • They found the body on the train tracks.
    “Dear God,” half-whispered Fibs, looking down at the tiniest body they had ever seen, half-decomposed, small, small enough to cradle. “He was just six.”
    Besides him, Brenia looked like she was going to be sick. “He was just a little boy. And they killed him.”
    The smell of rotting flesh was strong in the…[Read more]

  • A craggy face, full of pits and acne scars like pickpocket reminders from childhood, or the bullet holes of a war with adulthood. He was shy, and soft, like a deer, and his eyes were the biggest and dampest blue you had ever seen, like a doe. I was surprised not to see his skin dappled, his cheeks drinking in forest sunlight, his feet hooves.

  • Their hands were striped with scarlet banners and so were their cheeks, ribbons of paint across his bones and his fire. He wants to eat them. the corpses, very badly. he wants to rip off their heads and feast on their skulls, crack open their bones and run his fingers through the still-soft marrow of their freshly killed bodies and oh, oh oh! it’s…[Read more]

  • They call it dead man’s switch, and Jeremiah was so skeptical of it his girlfriend had died last week and it hadn’t worked, she said, was it a fire? had it been a fire she had died in or was that his mother, he couldn’t remember
    he couldn’t remember what was it? did she die? he seemed to remember poisoning maybe her appendix broke or her water…[Read more]

  • Your love was superficial.
    You talked to me behind a screen, neon blue. Your features were bathed in the glowing light, and your eyes seemed shiny beyond mortality; automaton-like. You were feathered and you had a hair of silver; it cascaded around your shoulders like liquid. I left prayers at your feet and scribes in your altar, and poured…[Read more]

  • Everything was –
    wait, no, that wasn’t right. Everything was stirred up. Hair whipping in the faces of the tired-eyed, cold grey succubi around you, and the train itself was rocking slightly, as if bowed to motion. Nothing didn’t move. Flowers in the hand of a boy who had obviously angered his partner the week before shook and rustled, trembling…[Read more]

  • He ran his palm over the flat planes of his chest, obscenely outlined in a soaking white tanktop, and down to the bare curves of his hips over the tightly stretched yellow material of his shorts. “Don’t you want me?” he said, in a breathy mockery of a female’s voice, his lips pursed, a five am shadow around his chin. “You said you would take…[Read more]