Still Life: Smear – Malicia Frost

The waiting room is full
the tapestry bleeding fungi,
framing the stain
where I pinned their lifeless bodies
a collection of easy-to-use, handicraft lovers
The steel door damp from their reluctant moans
Ideas when abandoned take on hideous forms
Glimmering girls
fly for one night only

Now, her legs are spread wide to receive salvation
Rib cage bent open like sharp mandibles
Intestines twined into useless arms
flapping up and down,
as if mocking the art of flight

You think it will not kill you too?
halo around your thorax won’t protect you
when my mind, with the hands of the drowning
clings on to anything and anyone
that crosses it


 

[Malicia Frost, or Henna, is a hobbyist writer and an aspiring novelist from Finland. She enjoys surrealism, sci-fi and horror, and her works often deal with mental illness. More of her works can be found at her personal blog.]

Sex During Surgery – Malicia Frost

I made a joke
of pretending to be injured
when actually I was only transparent
the light shining through me
revealing the unforgiving truth;
“you can be better”

but with his latex-clad hands wriggling against my uterine wall
it is so hard to stay anesthetized
all I can do is hold my breath
and pray for release

the source of my problem was an overactive imagination
he swore to remove carefully
“Everything must be kept sterile” he said
while using a rusty pair of pliers
to extract the last pieces of woman from me

It shouldn’t have been me
I cry into the piercing light of the fluorescent
I only wished to be reborn as a more complex being
freed from the prison of fertility and lust
this kind of love
that will leave you naked and ripped open
in a cheap motel bed at 5 in the morning

His are hands that take and take
and I’m the giver that produces
the weeping mother of aborted dreams
I don’t want to sleep with a meat cleaver tucked in between my thighs
and wake up just in time for the slaughter

Am I too alive for you,
my aseptic lover?
Will you need me sedated,
a twitching sack of flesh underneath your blackened fingers?
It doesn’t matter that I’m dreaming of someone else
Blood gushing from mutilated genitals,
my eyes go dim as you pull the mask over my nose
(sooner or later I’ll have to breathe)


 

[Malicia Frost, or Henna, is a hobbyist writer and an aspiring novelist from Finland. She enjoys surrealism, sci-fi and horror, and her works often deal with mental illness. More of her works can be found at her personal blog.]

bogged, buried, bridgewatered-Lois E. Linkens & Malicia Frost/Malicia’s Malebolge

I was fourteen, and starting to decompose faster

the water spilled

over the years,

over her body

like a plague of ants.

Already kneeling in the mud

I could feel my body being stretched out 

nipples aching, labia swelling

it drove its way in,

with a silent battering ram

and swords of silk.

you were the first time

I felt the touch of death 

between my legs

oh, hateful –
but grateful she was
that the stone struck when it did.

a cry of despair,
like when I was nine,
lying on the hard parquet floor of the living room
cupping my breasts,
trying to push the knots back in
I’m just a child! I’m just a child!

she lifted dead hands
in praise of her protector,
for protect her he had,
and as layers of dirt built up,

I threw rocks after boys
who came yelling my name

she pitied them,
Leave me alone! Leave me alone!
And oh,
didn’t you know?
You’re supposed to bleed

bound to lie
in pungent darkness
that she only made danker.

Year by year,
as my body sank down in the bog
I grew more and more desperate
searching for ways to cleanse myself
an orgasm,
a reckless mascara plump on the cheek,
a slit wrist,
an aching need
for affirmation
the summary of an entire childhood,
tucked into a bra

the sores on her skin
filled with soil,

all girly things are good,

the scars on her arms

bright in the black of the bog

all girls to learn how to play nicely

how to decay without a sound

compressing yourself into a fossilized smile,

a blindfold

and a constantly repeating

“yes, I forgive you”


Lois describes herself as a “confused english student,” though one quickly finds a polished, charming poet in her work. She has an elegant style that compliments her keen insight and whimsical sensibilities. It is a pleasure to present her work, and we ask you to take a second to look at more of her wonderful work.
Malicia Frost, or Henna, is a hobbyist writer and an aspiring novelist from Finland. She enjoys surrealism, sci-fi and horror, and her works often deal with mental illness. More of her works can be found at her personal blog.]

Girls for Satan – Malicia Frost

My best friend used to whisper:
“Let us lay down our lives tonight
here, at the offering table
let us tie our mouths shut
and tape tongues to our legs!
We’ll never be pure again!”

It was funny, back then
when we were a bunch of chuckling preteens
and would sneak into the bathroom together,
pull out our pocket demons
and dance around the sink as if it was a naked calf.

People say girlhood is full of glitter and carnage
we would collect the heads of boys who over-talked us
and we would let the blood water our throats,
nourish our budding lust for revenge.

I kissed my friend’s naked areola
under the blankets in my bed
while we were hiding from our parents
we chewed bubblegum and performed blood offerings monthly
we cried in the shower at night
and sang for the devil watching us in the the moon
we could fall asleep safely
knowing we weren’t alone.

Oh, now what will our parents say?
Girl rejects god, finds self-realization
Girl is full of itches, can no longer accept place in society
Girl found at devil’s side, drinking absinthe and reading obscene books
Girl doesn’t care what you think
Girl touches herself and likes it.
Girl disappoints the world,
pukes all over your condescending words.
Girl gains safety
through deviation.


[Malicia Frost, or Henna, is a hobbyist writer and an aspiring novelist from Finland. She enjoys surrealism, sci-fi and horror, and her works often deal with mental illness. More of her works can be found at her personal blog.]

| IMAGE CREDIT: Satan2222 by glooh on Deviant Art. |

(Sc)avenger-Malicia Frost/Malicia’s Malebolge

Malicia's Malebolge

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second-hand girl,
how brave she must be
to face her enemies
hands bound behind her back
a rusty lantern levitating before her
setting her eyes ablaze.
don’t let the halo fool you.
She’s no martyr
nor saint
She’s not heaven sent
or divinely gifted.
she will not knock on your door
and ask your permission
she will make you
pour holy water into her wounds
while screaming in ecstasy,
stretching her hands up to heaven.

she doesn’t believe in god
she doesn’t believe in justice.
she falls asleep fantasizing about self harm
wrists that are opened and then sewn back together
she makes up these scenarios
not as a means of inflicting damage
but as a road to retribution

too long she’s been pushed aside
chopped into pieces and carefully sealed into
thrift shop bags
who wants to buy a sexy, self-destructive no-girl?
who would like to buy an unfinished…

View original post 43 more words

Sainted/Tainted

Malicia's Malebolge

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What to do with all this love drink it swallow it then vomit it up but don’t stain the carpet
What to do with all this pain cough it up so you can drink it again
All I ever learned was how to defend myself from others but not how to let go
I can’t hold it, I can’t hold it
No. Eat. Swallow. Tuck in my tears behind my eyelids, never let go
I smile, lipstick and lies and intestines gushing out from my mouth
You think I’m pretty, I’m a fucking monster
I’ll eat you, I’ll eat them, I’ll devour you all
I’m all oozing wounds and ichor inside
Perverse satisfaction and self disgust and I’ll love you,
oh I will,
not as a human but as an abyss
I will never let go and
I’ll keep you safe and I’ll let you drink me
and what to…

View original post 65 more words

Teratophilia

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Drawing (c) Malicia Frost // Henna Sjöblom

 

I never wanted your understanding
All I need is a mouth
someone who roars louder than me
someone who grabs first and asks not
whether I’m enjoying it
to block out
my own desires
I have chosen to love the monster
I did not ask for it,
still
I think I’m quite comfortable in here

Being bitten is painful and familiar
I collect his teeth as trophies
like soldiers stacking bullets around their necks
like we used to compare our scars
in middle school
“I think he’s getting more violent,” you whispered
and shivered in terror and ecstasy
over the thought of getting torn apart
at the dinner table that night

Now,
my skin has become a topographic map of wars
that were never recorded in history
My anxious fingers wander up to his jawline
and starts deciphering
where the next impact will strike
so that I might pull my shirt up
make sure it hits the spot
to make me see stars, nebulae bruises
flashing before my eyelids
And it doesn’t matter that he is all teeth
and no bones
I always found it easier
to love the wound
rather than the person inflicting it

 

[Malicia Frost, or Henna, is a hobbyist writer and an aspiring novelist from Finland. She enjoys surrealism, sci-fi and horror, and her works often deal with mental illness. The drawing is from her sketchbook, a place she likes to illustrate her thoughts. More of her works can be found at her personal blog.]