I Could Almost Sparkle-Nicole Lyons/The Lithium Chronicles

The truth is I liked the filth of it all.

I was a fucking mess,

but eventually life demanded

cleanliness, and eventually

I could almost sparkle.

Still every now and again I’ll slip,

and cast my shadow to the delight

of the other sparkling messes

afraid of their own.

They cool their heels

and laugh, patting each other

on the backs for shining

so bright that their tiny things

will grow dull. I watch them

from my shadow, wrapped

in the warmth of my cleanest

tiny things that will grow wild

and bright despite the mess of me,

and in that moment,

when their lights fade

and the breeze meets the sweat

on the back of my neck,

in that moment I am clean.


[Nicole Lyons is creator of The Lithium Chronicles, as well as being an editor and writer for Sudden Denouement. As always, we are honored by her presence.]

Sym(me)try-OldePunk/RamJet Poetry

RamJet Poetry

chicsmoke

so nothing will be left to embrace

the sundering

they say it comes and goes

but for naught

lifeless headlamps

which will break into the oceans

of the love of something that’s burning

on the mother’s unmarked grave

conceptions regress into giant’s toys

that kill in the instant

it takes for life to go bye

leave while their backs are to you

filter thoughts through the skein

of the silence releasing all of the blessings

malformed by lesser words said

feed the symmetry emotion

you are dying every little moment anyway

only open eyes realize

certain aspects ascertain paths

of the ways you feel

having undone the doing

sighs upon size upon rise upon minds

regressing into a soft submission

regarding the small death that can grace

your schedule at any instant, an impromptu meeting

solving the problems that seem the most important dawning

realization that they are the least

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Of horror & humor-Candice Louisa Daquin/The Feathered Sleep

TheFeatheredSleep

kitsune_noh_mask_by_tiggytuppence-d5zp6nb.pngI lied and the lie was more honest than the truth

I’m not bitter I said

and it rolled off my tongue like peppermint lip gloss

I’m not bitter about anything

my nails digging deep into my palm do not

give me away

my grotesque sham

remember that ardent denials are always the ones

keeping disgraced secrets in over-size boxes

those who protest the loudest

usually guilt-ridden

I was guilty of detesting myself

and wearing too much make-up to show my artifice

I was guilty of saying I felt nothing

when it crawled up my neck like a necklace of shame

branding me queen of fibs

you see, it’s easier to be a boy

you can talk dirty, masturbate on trains, act like an asshole

and forgiveness will find you Joel

but a girl is supposed to be on a higher plain

we’re not expected to be so filthy minded…

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Hel-Hannah Wagner/The Hero’s Inferno

The Hero's Inferno

Striking and stunning
Stopped the room in its tracks
He loves to stare into her eyes
Strange he thinks I don’t even know what color they are
I can’t stay past midnight
The parts of me you love will decay
It’s not a pumpkin that you’ll find but a rotting corpse
Where can I find you, what town did you say you’re from?
Oh sweet boy did I say town? It is a place rather far down
Hunger and famine are the only company to keep
Do you know what they call my bed? Sick bed
You’ll know why in the morning
And now the clock is ticking and my flesh is sinking
I didn’t mean for you to see me in all my gloom
Don’t look so surprised we all look like this without the makeup
What does the goddess of the underworld have to do to get a…

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Thank you.-Georgia Park/Private Bad Thoughts

I am a poet! I am. I am. I am a poet, I reaffirmed, ashamed.

Thank you for propositioning
my best friend for sex
behind my back
after you said
you wanted to be
exclusive.

and thank you (to her)
for calling me up
immediately
to tell me about it
and for wanting
to kill him
then meeting me
for drinks

and thank you
to my professor
for giving me yet
another extension
because i need it

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she-Lois E. Linkens

lois e. linkens

writing.jpeg

she was in possession
of a little more than her male counterparts.
she was different,
she had a little extra –
a little something
that they did not.

she stored it by nature,
by the way of the world
and the liquid of language.
it was sat within her skin
and washed along her breath.

she curved over paper
like a tired snake,
charmed by those who spoke
or wrote of her.

and yet, when her fingers
laid pen to parchment
in discussion of herself,
the ink did not identify her
as woman.

she wrote, simply, ‘i.’

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Animal Daddy-S.K. Nicholas/A Journal For Damned Lovers

S. K. Nicholas

sweat-1576382_1920

When I’m drunk, I insert things into her body. Marbles. Coins. Sunflower seeds. Stuff like that. As she’s lying there laughing at the absurdity of it all, I speak in hushed tones to her vagina. Questions, so many questions. She is my alter, she’s monolithic. When she asks what I’m doing I feed her my kiss to hush those sweet lips before returning to her real mouth. Latin. French. Hebrew. So many languages, such little time. Gripping her ankles in my greasy hands, I kneel forwardsand begin. The voice that calls out isn’t my own. It growls and salivates. It howls and spits and sniffs out her truth. As the words lose their meaning and become dark energy, I bite the inside of her thighs causing her to suck in mouthfuls of dry air. Getting to my feet, I walk through walls and pass through mirrors until I’m in…

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