Lustmord

Deliciously twisty writing from Malicia’s Malebolge

Murder Tramp Birthday

she_is_dead_by_pandora123-d4q66opsource

“Don’t worry. The vein isn’t cut,” you say and I
– no! Don’t touch me
“It’s not the problem”
I pull my fingers trough the trail of blood.
You are impure for sure,
but everyone, even the filthiest sinner is clean at the core,
inside, where it flows, I can smell it now, your innocent wanting, the growing need makes my stomach rumble
and I’m getting hungry I’m getting hungry I’m getting hungry
I need to breathe, need to restrain myself
I let my knees cave in and it’s better to fall, yes, better not to feel.
But of course, you catch me and your bony fingers dig into my hip
and trough your skin I can feel the life flowing, throbbing with fear
Your veins are shivering on my hipbone and my predator muscles are tensing
God I’m hungry I’m hungry I’m hungry I’m hungry
Your wrist is…

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XX Chromosome-Hannah Wagner-The Hero’s Inferno

Hannah Wagner of The Hero’s Inferno cuts like a knife

Hannah Wagner

I am not the Woman of Willendorf

I have a face with many expressions

Do not exaggerate my features

Don’t put me in a tight outfit, give me a push up bra, or shrink my shirt to reveal my midriff

My mind  is not full of flowers

My neurons move just as fast as yours

I am a woman but it is not my ass, my breasts, or my aptitude for giving birth that makes me so

There is no milk flowing from my body

My womb is empty–it’s doing just fine on it’s own

No I am not the Woman of Willendorf

I am not a symbol for your manhood

I am the woman of battlefields

Your fist could never knock me out

I’ve had knives deep inside me

You couldn’t scare me if you tried

So go ahead put me on a shelf

Use me as nothing more…

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smoking- Samantha Lucero

Samantha Lucero being her badass self.

samantha lucero

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i live at the end
vanishing in the bed of a wine glass,
a stuck-stain that only dissolves in hot water.
l et  t he  d a rk  o ne  i n,
& maybe your wet fingerprint can rouse me again.
i breathe deep when i’m alone because it’s the only time that i remember i’m alive. i’m here. where are you?
i want a cigarette w/ hot chamomile. it’s 11:59pm & you had a fireplace that night, naked on a floor. the miracle of sleep skips my window, no wonder. the undead mouth of my house is ice-teethed, damp skin emerging from the tub steams. it’s sharp, the air, comforting.
i want the wild-hunt smoke in my throat; the drifting dust in my head, the slit feline focus on the void that softens into ridiculed slumber. the sex/bonfire scent in my hair. dreams with…

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the stocking monster-Lois E. Linkens

The incredible Lois E. Linkens

lois e. linkens

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it is late, too late to still be awake. it is a school night, father said. i hope you will be asleep when i get home. i wonder why he thinks he can say that, and expect me to sleep. i cannot even close my eyes knowing that he is not here. somebody might get me.
i have been lying for hours now. the light from the street lamps makes patterns through the holes in my curtains, and it keeps me entertained. like clouds, but for the night time.
i have left the window open, and the autumn chill has snuck its way into the room with me. sometimes my toes escape under the end of my duvet and the cold tickles me, i yank my feet back under the duvet. they are safe there.
i imagine little green monsters scampering around on the carpet, hiding behind the legs of…

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of suicides and the living-Fallen Alone/Ari Purkayastha

Stunning writing from Ari Purkayastha from Fallen Alone

Fallen Alone

“watch-
as your hand falters and falls between five lines of a music sheet, torn right before a hastily scribbled apology. suicides do that. they climb over your back and break your spine with the slightest pressure of their voices, while you still hear the hum-
missing a note. skipping a note like it never existed.”

•••

there are too many different sorts of variations to this song and i still couldn’t seem to remember the first line before you were gone.

i never knew that you could lose people to the turbulence of a whiskey bottle until you proved that gravity was unbiased; that a one litre bottle could be just as deep, and hold just as many coffins as the bermuda triangle.

guess you learn something new each day.

sometimes i wish you hadn’t left anything behind. voices tend to have a ghost like ability to be heard…

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