Between Flashes-Nicole Lyons/The Lithium Chronicles

Nicole Lyons

This piece was originally published on Feminine Collective

I still remember the way
adrenaline burned
when my pulse raced
to sync with the others,
between flashes of light,
and the gulp of yours.
I still remember the way
deviance danced in my veins
when my pulse raced
to sync with the others,
between stops,
and licking you
up off the floor.
I still remember the way
shame seared
when my pulse raced
to sync with the others,
between flashes of truth,
and hot mouths slurping
our cold lies.
I still remember the way
my pulse slowed
to sync with the others,
between flashes of disbelief
and the scalding emptiness
after the taste of my dreams
hit the back of our throats.

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Untitled-Rana Kelly/2nd star to the Left, straight on ’til morning

2nd star to the Left, straight on 'til morning

Falling stars
happen every night,
but sometimes I’m transfixed
by the flickering light
and watch it fall
it crashes to the dirt
and the scythe claims
one more soul.
The silence is so loud.
I can’t say why,
But the green of your eyes
usually means trouble
of some kind.
I remember then,
I think I was fourteen.
I wondered how it could be
that someone so unearthly
someone so fey
could have landed down here
in hell.
And I knew that both of us
would have to pay our way.
I never thought
you would take some
of my skin
as you walked by.

Rana Kelly

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crescent.-ari purkayastha/Fallen Alone

Fallen Alone

The ageless stars fall,
and I fall right along with them.
How could I not?
When even they bow
to your majestic beauty;
that to gaze upon you once
they readily renounce,
of their angelic statures,
and fall..

How come one,
as luminescent as you-
came into my
light-less night?
Drowning me in your
candescent breath of life,
you finally made me see
the hidden beauty of ardor.

Your lunar essence,
awakens my soul,
just for it to drift away into
the astral presence
of your ever watching gaze,
so that when ever I feel lost,
or hopeless, and drown into the darkness,
you shine just a little bit brighter
and illuminate my core.

Your grandiose, even the seraphs envy,
because albeit your scars
and imperfections,
you are still
the most captivating being,
that I have ever cohered with.
For like a crescent moon at night
in midst of a…

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Gestalt-OldePunk/RamJet Poetry

RamJet Poetry

Gestalt

Grasping convolutions

anything will do really

corrugated steel rictus

pulls at corners

a shadow play

in ritual dusk

down another

glass of slow derision

at the nearest

watering hole

wondering how and why

I am unholy

reconcile I’m alone

with the pictures

we both inhabit

I could not hold

the fire

so now I choke

on smoke

and bathe in ashes

my breath stinks

of rebellion

my words are heavy

and low, lo

unto tomorrow

riveting the compunction

to depart the now

the how and when of it

matter little

respond to extinguish

the embers

of my love, of

your ruin

I absolve myself

of any wrongdoing

It’s stern

your reflection

I return

to the objection

and babe

it’s all gone down

it’s all your fault

it’s not the noun

it’s not this town

the fade of gestalt

that I caught

standing outside

looking in at

your origins

I am…

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manchester-Lois E. Linkens

lois e. linkens

http://media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/e0/e2/55/e0e255d0f276598c119475025bfacfb2.jpg

there is a perpetual silence
that ring will out
in the final ignition
of the fires of hell.
and oh,
my human heart longs
to make you
take assurance
that your homemade, homespun cowardice
and dining-table death machine
will not create the heat
that you desire;
that fire belongs to the night
and yours will now be infinite.
my hating, human heart
wants to hope
that the service given you
by the last of your life
would be worth the tears;
it aches to hope
that a godless expanse
would be all that would welcome
the last fragments of your soul.
but who am i,
who am i to condemn
when the mind of the devoted
runs so wild and afraid?
can my belief and my doctrine
so outweigh the sacrifice and solitude
of the sacred pages –
i am helpless to comfort,
helpless to confront.
screaming down an empty…

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Moon Ate the Dark Challenge: Kindra M. Austin/There Was a Full Moon

Kindra M. Austin

Brave & Reckless

Inkblot black canvas

Sky, static, supine

To needle and thread;

Flat-felled seam,

The stars are all dead.

So sing, heartstrings, and

Chant dirges, solemn;

Lo, the funeral

March does march and will

Soon march for us all.

Dread step to altar

With rosary beads;

Pray, but beseech whom?

Penitence won’t save–

God is locked in tomb.

White spectre does rise,

Corpulent, and cruel;

Satellite low-slung,

Beneath her sharp light

Many men have hung

In the precious name

Of righteous justice—

In the name of He.

Now they shall lose the

One they cannot see.

There was a full moon.

And moon ate the dark; 

Eclipsed the Heavens.   


Kindra M. Austin is a self-published fiction author, and a writer/Contributing Editor for The Bridge Magazine online. You can read her poems and prose at https://poemsandparagraphs.wordpress.com/ and articles at http://thebridgemag.com/.

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Moon Ate the Dark Challenge: Sarah Doughty/Scythe

Sarah Doughty/Heartstring Eulogies

Brave & Reckless

The night was black, void of all stars, and not even the glow of the moon cut through it like a blue-tipped blade, devouring that obsidian nothingness like it’s next meal. That silence, where only my thoughts, breaths, and beating heart kept me company, wasn’t enough to tame that lingering sense of desperation. It ate away at me. Each second feeling like hours, and hours feeling like days, until I’d lost all sense of time. I’d never felt more alone. But after what felt like an eternity of nothing, when the last of my sanity began to slip away, the clouds parted, revealing the moon. It shone like a beacon in the abyss, and at long last, I was no longer alone.

© Sarah Doughty (or whatever signature you’d like to use)


Sarah Doughty is the tingling wonder-voice behind Heartstring Eulogies. She’s also the author of The Silence Between Moonbeams, her poetry…

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Island Thoughts and Ship Songs – Nathan McCool

Call me down from the star splattered sky
of another opiate morning,
from bad dreams of your sails burning and
my body of wind passing through
uncatchable.

My limbs still shake from faltering flight
and the total absence of rapture’s acceptance. But fear,
I think it only finds home in the idea that you may
one day long for me only to feel my
fingers as morphine injections;
taste my breath as methadone.

So what if all I want is to walk the sea shore with the
solitary rose I harvested from your mouth,
collecting bowl shaped shells for holding
that nonexistent kiss;
your lips – a wreath of phantom accelerants.

I’m sinking way down to gather enough salt
from this ocean
to blanket pictures of old wounds.
An arm still reaching wide to hold hope,
a neck still turning to see our ideals of goodness.

You can have my wounds and salt, my dear. My
small amount of goodness that looks like
a corpse filling picnic baskets with
flashing images and blinding murmurations
of color.
I’m still an uninhabitable island in moon’s long
light. What else can I say, baby?
“Come sail your ships around me.”


[Nathan McCool is the dark lord over on Instagram at God Of Dregs.]