Under Blades of Wings

Nicole Lyons

Nicole Lyons

I remember moments with him and how he made things
that could never feel burst with feelings, like the day
the wind felt angry against my legs, and how it blew
the hem of my dress up around my knees and whipped
at my thighs until my legs were as pink as the petals
of the flowers my mother had sewn onto that dress.
I remember the smile in his eyes and the love
in his smile, and how he chuckled when he hid
his love from me somewhere underneath his breath.
I remember watching in awe as he harnessed the devil
in his thumb and flicked him into submission with nothing
more than a wink and little less than his smirk,
and I remember falling in love with him just a little bit
more as he laughed at the sound that devil made, when he
ricocheted off of brick…

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Guest Spot: A Dark State of Mind – John Collins

Looking from the outside in
All seems well
A façade to disguise an underlying impression
Not to be viewed by the outside world
For risk of alienation

Hiding in this world
Although hide would be the wrong word
As a want to break free from this entrapment
Seems like a never achieving moment
Unless confession is given

But to confess
Relief in one hand
Damnation in the other
Two sides of the same coin
But tarnished none the less

A continued state of loneliness
Behind the eyes of the lonely
Family and Friends
Distorted worse than a carnival mirror
Fearful Phantoms in a cold mist

Chemical intervention a likely option
But to succumb to such a need
Would again require an opening
For Stigmatism to tattoo its brand
On another victim in an unwelcoming world

What else then… Death
Another inconceivable notion
Frowned upon by the very world
That frowns upon a depressed life
Finding it difficult to help

But to succeed
What would be left behind?
The Fearful Phantoms
Weeping for their loss
Of the Wretch
Who was trapped in a dark state of mind

[John Collins come from Swansea in South Wales where he has lived his whole life, except for 10 months of stupidity that made him wake up to what he really loved; Swansea bay. He finds his inspiration from many of his life’s moments and sprinkles on some of his imaginative nightmares and daydreams just to spice things up a little. You can read more of his work on his blog or FB page]

Sudden Denouement Welcomes Patrick Hart

We at Sudden Denouement Literary Collective are thrilled to introduce you, once again to Patrick Hart, and also to give him a very warm welcome into the collective.

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Patrick Hart is a writer from Hampton Roads Virginia, currently spending time in Valdosta Georgia with his wife and dog. His day job is serving in the United States Air Force as an Air Traffic Controller. His passion for writing has been present for as long as he can remember, but it really presented itself as songwriting during his youth. When he left his drum-kit for a different career path, he realized that that he was lacking an outlet; that outlet became poetry, and Instagram became his venue. “Untrained, but untamed” would be an appropriate way to describe his breadth of work. Patrick sets out to write about the truths we all have inside of us that we typically turn a blind eye too. He’s down right dogmatic about his attempts to step into the ring with melancholia, mental health, anger, and loss. His writing is self-serving when it’s therapeutic, but he skewers himself in the public eye to welcome connection.

He says, “We must write for ourselves first, but through that, and in this glorious day of technology, we can let others know they aren’t alone in their emotions. Writers and readers are typically a conglomeration of outcasts, and we’re not as rare as we might think in our darkest moments.”

Patrick Hart has an unhealthy craving for marshmallows, and good music. He collects vinyl records because they symbolize commitment. For more random facts about him, and to keep up with his writing, you’ll have to follow his IG account @workinprogress13

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Five Years and Counting – Patrick Hart

Today I am rolled over
Mauled by bitter sundown
And the amalgamation
Of sterile interaction and dulled colors

What did I miss?
Was it the phone calls?
Or the way you would have to clinch your jaw
To utter “God” through your teeth?
Was it the rusting way you would say goodbye

I was too busy honoring your strength
To acknowledge your misery

I remember the parking lot at 8pm
When you left us for Alaska
You told me to look after my sister
(Which I’m failing at)
Was the ground vibrating and I missed it?
If you come back,
I swear to God that I would feel it
I would stop you

So, today I am worn
Like the carcass of trees
And the cigarette burning
So closely
I am dried wood
I am dyed wool
And I am weak enough
To light the whole thing myself

Pennywise, smokes, and Jameson
Today is about recognizing that love
Comes in many forms
And sometimes we dirty our hands
With devotion to the glacier inside
And man, you burned so goddamn bright
That the ice melted too soon
And I forgave you long ago,
But it scares me to admit
That I understand you
That I understand ‘It”

There’s a lack in the air
Hands reach up from soft soil
As my head ascends
My body repines
Fawning eyes used to hold me
Until the things inside
Became a sadness you couldn’t teach
It has been five years and counting
It has been five years and…

© Patrick Hart 2018

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Grab a copy of Patrick’s stunning debut collection War Paint, and you can thank us later.

Sudden Denouement Welcomes Jason Kynge

We at Sudden Denouement Literary Collective are ridiculously proud, and entirely honoured, to introduce all of you (who may have been living under a rock) to Jason Kynge, and we are thrilled to welcome him into the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective.

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Jason Kynge is a poet, a Viking, a wanderer and a writer; he is a lost soul searching for truth and for love, and the answers we all seek during these turbulent times in our ugly world. Jason Kynge is the ringer of truth in a hall of bells struck by the mighty. Never one to mince words, Kynge’s work takes an axe to every modern day “contemporary poet” who flood the social media landscape with cries of “love her wild” and “broken is beautiful”, and he leaves them all bleeding in the wake of his shadow. If you haven’t read Jason Kynge, buckle up enjoy the ride; you can thank us later.

We look forward to featuring Jason’s latest work, but until then we are happy to share some of his best blasts from the past, and we invite you to follow him on Facebook and Instagram, and encourage you to pick up a copy of his self-published debut collection Skeletons and Wine.

Skeletons

Modern Day Savages – Jason Kynge

Fuck fuck fuck….. Oh yes you read that right….because sometimes that’s the only word that is fitting for this life….and the things that happen in it….what were you expecting….some grouping of words…eloquent perhaps… not this time….anyone on the frontline of living will get it….this is for them.

As we look around at all the bullshit we are forced to swallow….give me your opinions….give me your vitriol….give me your righteousness….feed me your holier-than-thou…..so I can chew it up and spit back my own truth….I’m not interested in how you exist….who are you to say how I’m supposed to live….I’m not the only one.

What you see behind me is an army….modern day savages….tired of all the lies….exhausted from the world we’ve been sold….prostituted politics….puppets with money strings….out of touch with reality for millions while illusions are sold….we all see the slight of hand….and we are raging….your entertainment sells us love and tries to tell us we must suffer for love….because that’s how you prove yourself….by the amount of pain you carry….that’s how you know it’s real….generations now hurt and left confused….but….but….it’s supposed to be like this….look what I’m carrying….Atlas would be proud….Sisyphus even pities us….why….why….why….pretty packages in delicate paper like Christmas morning….here….you should be excited for this….but we are waking up….like children in the morning….and we see….something is off….this isn’t right….this isn’t life….we are meant for so much more….love….is more than what you pimp….and it’s time we stop accepting less that what we deserve….in life….in love.

All we are doing because of what we are told is creating monsters….myself included….but these devils don’t go bump in the night….they go bump in our bed….just to spawn the next one….endless cycle….work….work work work….doesn’t matter if you hate what you’re doing….it’s what you’re supposed to do….how else will the rich get richer….never mind that chain in the cubicle….or the assembly line….they have vacations to take….it’s for the good of your fellow man.

The ladder to the top is built on the fallen backs of the working class….but it’s okay….here is a distraction….it’s no longer gladiators in the coliseum….it’s reality television….but if you listen closely….you can hear it….it’s the bass from the speakers building….it’s the crowd stomping….it’s millions of voices behind me….all gathering in one huge sound….that we are done….we are fed up….we are no longer bleeding for you….the world is in love with wars….well you’ve started one….and you are not ready….because we are coming….the disillusioned….the tired….the weary….every race….religion….sex….gay….straight….transsexual….fuck your labels….we are simply people….one people….and we are done….we are ready to be happy….to love….to live….to lay waste to your ideas of what should be.

Make no mistake….we are awake….we are coming….we are no longer alone….and you….the powers that be….the way things have always been….well fuck….you should fear us….and if you don’t yet….you will.

© Jason Kynge 2016

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Flirting With Danger – Jason Kynge

Oh how I want to write something that will uplift the masses….offer encouragement….but I can’t….that’s not where I’m at….where I’m at is flirting with danger….I know this because I’ve been here before….many years ago….I didn’t think I’d be back….but I am….dancing with nostalgia….flirting once again with old demons….my familiar friends….the ones that never leave me….only slumber for a time….my Rip Van Winkles…..seems they’re the only ones that don’t….everyone else always leaves eventually….no this isn’t some woe is me bullshit….it just taste like truth….sometimes I’m the one that makes them run screaming for the hills….the ones I talk to and help would be surprised to know that yes I can push people away….I’m an expert at it….you may not even see it coming….but when that mood finally embraces me….nobody is safe….no….not even you….I will drive you away with pitch forks and fire….maybe I think it’s just being prudent….because they’re going to go anyway….may as well give them a reason….or be the reason….why do I do this….I’ve asked myself many times….I think it’s fear of rejection….you can’t reject me if I’m not there….and if I’m the one pushing….maybe….maybe it won’t hurt as much….

I was shown long ago that people leave….the ones that say they love you the most….are going to hurt you the deepest….so began my pattern….arm’s length was where everyone was kept….don’t come too close….I bite….stay back….I broke my rules last year….and let someone in….and I was happy….my God for the first time in a long time I was genuinely happy….but what happened….they rejected me….or that is how it felt….after I poured my all into it….( that’s a lie)….but I really tried….and it wasn’t enough….but I get it….that story has been told….it really wasn’t as good as my romantic heart wants to paint it….I guess it likes to color it a certain way to give it more meaning….don’t do that….it’s not real….but it gave me an excuse to put walls back up….back to don’t get too close….

I’ve been like that abused dog….I’ll flinch if you try an pet me….probably growl….I have a great growl by the way….it’s sexy I’ve been told….but I will….when deep down I just want to feel your touch….I really do….just hold me….whisper in my ear….tell me I’m a good boy…..a few have tried….but I’ll push them away per my training….then complain about the ones that ghost….

I’m a delicious fucking contradiction….I want what I can’t have and brush over what I can….for all my talks of love I really can be a huge fucking cynic….mainly because I know people….and let’s be honest….a lot of them are selfish assholes….wait….so am I….I don’t believe in karma though….it’s a good thing otherwise we are all screwed…..deep down I still hold on to that idea….that desire….for the one….that’s going to step in and shake the universe….maybe it’s not true….and it’s just a comforting kiss when I’m alone at night….oh I’m alone because I’m still waiting for the one….maybe The One is a bullshit concept….and if I put effort into some of things that have shown up it would be good….in all honesty it probably would….but I still want more….I want that thing they write stories about….again maybe it’s not true….and I’ll become the crazy cat guy….

What if I’ve met her and she’s just too damn stubborn and scared to let me….so she pushes me away….couldn’t really blame her….makes sense the one for me is going to be a pain in the ass like me….dammit….I guess it boils down to that….I’ve seen people settle my whole life….seen nightmares….even done it myself….so I’m willing to risk being alone….because I want magic….I can’t accept anything less….but it’s not easy….it’s one of the hardest things I’ve done….because I want her there beside me….I don’t care about what the scholars and people smarter than me say….I don’t want to be alone….I want my love and to be loved….she’s just taking a really long damn time to get here….seriously woman….can you walk a little faster….because sometimes I wonder if I’ll be able to hold out and wait….

I got really low the other night….really fucking drunk….and really low….only one person knows just how much so….I think I was losing my mind….it’s always like to wander off anyway….so what snapped me out of it….hope….our favorite four letter word….that what if tomorrow she stepped into the light….and I wasn’t there to greet her….yes yes I know we don’t need someone to complete us….I don’t ever want to be fucking complete anyway….I’ll always be growing and learning….but goddammit I want someone there while I do….someone I can watch grow the same way….I’m not even sorry about that anymore….so….what must I do….I hold on….and I embrace those days when I don’t want to be light and love….

I embrace my cynicism like I will my lover….because it’s a part of me too….when I finally find her I’ll be that much better for her….so the question….how do I deal between here and there….it’s not easy….and I’m not always going to want to do it….but I’m going to have to feel everything….even the things I don’t want to…..the hurt….the anger….it’s the only way….life isn’t rainbows and daisies all the time….it’s dark and dirty and raw and it hurts like hell sometimes….without it though we aren’t as well rounded….because she’s going to have those kinds of days….how could I ever expect to be there during that….her rock….if I too hadn’t survived….to be able to say….I know where you’re at….and I’m not afraid to join you….because at the end of the day that’s what love is to me….it’s being there….good and bad….real and dirty….life.

© Jason Kynge 2016

Faint Wilderness – Mitch Green

I see you out of the faint.
In amber embers, blowing.
The heat is new.
The air is hollow.
A damning feel.
Unfurled, you sleep;
a weighted wind.
A body made of ivy, aflame
in winter dusk.
You keep warm, the safe
danger you allow into bed.
Wake the wolf,
it howls too harshly.
Hush the lamb
buried behind a
boy’s lobe.
There is comfort in
a dead tongue,
whispering dreams
to the virgin.
A stranger’s throat is as
foreign as the wilderness.

Mitch Green founded Rad Press Publishing in September of 2016. He is an avid artist in visual design and literature. Published in various literary journals and magazines: The Literary Yard. The Penmen Review. Vimfire Magazine – Mitch aims to seize the narrow line between all artistic mediums.

A few of his known poetic titles are: “Flesh Phoenix” “Monsters” “The Wolves Howled”.

Offering his hand in graphic direction – his book design portfolio can be found here.
Follow Mitch and Rad Press Publishing on Instagram.

Obituary 2

Flashing back to one of our favourites from Henna.

Murder Tramp Birthday

Relaterad bildsource

[part 1]

[Trigger warning: suicide, self-harm]

He first appeared as a lump in my throat, rising with the spring floods. A few days later, I found him again, lying in the water. I picked him up, mud-drenched and moldable, and like the goddess Athena breathed life into his figure. I then lent him my fire, which he used to light up the world around us.

That fall, he taught me how to hunt – our bodies merged together in an endless cycle of rebirth, the glory of the kill pulsing through our veins. Using my spiky nibs to slice trough prey, I felt myself growing stronger. Meanwhile, the forest grew dense, shielding our distorted figures from the world. I soon started to forget what water tasted like.

Every night, he’d watch me from outside the window, covered in frost. You foul thing, I exclaimed, my thorns scraping against his…

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