Battle of Boredom – Malicia Frost



There was a war that day
although, nobody talked about it
you would see them walking by a little faster
their funny hats tilting from side to side
Sometimes the sky would shatter above us
And bleed neon blue
the drains would flood
the cats drown in screeches
what good is having nine lives
if you don’t know how to stay afloat

People are all the same
Everyone would unfold their umbrellas
Hoping for the weather to clear
The shards of metal and from the air
they stay cramped in their corners
watching their toes rot away from the humidity

Under-dressed little girl
strutting about, singing
dead men can walk
madness her name
lost her little mind
in the deluge
the acid raindrops
digging trough her temples
like a poem
and when the streets eventually dried up
she would be found crying
in the sewer
bent over the smeared ink stains
the disfigured body
of a paper print lover


[Malicia Frost, or Henna, which is her real name, 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 writing can be found at her personal blog.]

[Author would like to comment: Thank you all for being patient as I’m going trough a very stressful time in my life. I haven’t been half as active on SD as I would have wished, and I’ll try to make it all up to you. You guys are awesome and insanely talented.] 


My Epitaph-Georgia Park/Private Bad Thoughts

There will be criminals, vagabonds

and generally suspicious looking characters

lurking in the background of my funeral

Should i die tomorrow,

half of them will attend in hiding

paying their respects from behind the bushes

and all of them will refuse to make eye contact

Should i die tomorrow,

you cant tell me i haven’t led

a life that was interesting

Should i die tomorrow,

ill know i had

my share of lovers

and adventures

you can write that

for my epitaph:

“She’ll be mourned by

nobody who would dare to admit it

and she was also very mischievous.”

[Georgia Park is creator of Private Bad Thoughts, curator of Whisper and the Roar a feminist literary collective, and a writer for Sudden Denouement. She is a wonderful poet with an enormous heart. We can’t imagine this journey without her. Please check out more of her wonderful work.]

The rule & curve-Introducing New Sudden Denouement Member: Candice Louisa Daquin/The Feathered Sleep

The Sudden Denouement Literary Collective is thrilled to introduce new Collective Member Candice Louisa Daquin.  Candice is the fierce beautiful voice behind The Feathered Sleep.

A dream reminded me of

countryside winter

snowed in house

cut off from sound

ice storm and horror movies

Kurt Cobain

everyone wearing plaid

stringy hair and

grinding hips

the rat eating his house

you smoking in a velvet chair

sunday interminable

release from despair

the portent of future

how hope of youth is our torment

all is possible and nothing is as real as it feels

the illusion and persistence of dreams

did I sleep to wake 20 years hence

still thinking tomorrow I will sit exams

anxious briefly as if time were a rubber band

no more the rule and curve

of outstretched hands

before we could afford tattoos

dying our hair with fragments

only the gentle footfall of sex and orange bulbs

swinging like marmalade

choices made, and made not

kissing arbitrary strangers at costume parties

we drive crowded in

steamed up

cars disguising our zeal behind foggy windows

you pull over for a piss

I run out into empty fields

long legs scratched by dead corn

the sky looks enormous

in a rush of past and future

I see myself in reflection

a small figure staring upward

do I know then what will come to pass?

would it make any difference?

or are we part of a greater weave?

rushing to the culmination of ourselves

only to look back retreating?

far back

through time

changing lens

adding dilution and tint

until the picture we held once

in our tight skin

becomes the us of now

solidified in our skin

like a tree feels its way deep

into soil

grasping blind way for roots

to feed

Candice Louisa Sequin is from sephardi descent and immigrated to the USA where she lives in the American South West. She’s written many poetry reviews, her own work has been published in magazines and she has her fifth book of poetry coming out thru Finishing Line Press. Candice loves modern dance, reads voraciously, walks in the countryside and loves supporting fellow poets in their quest for true creative expression, above all she honors the rare human traits of loyalty, truth and mercy and supports the destigmatization of mental illness.

hansel – lois e. linkens


the back door stands open,
muddy footprints sketched in a scamper
over the coir mat,
earthy clumps scraped off small shoes
lie snuggled between the fibres.

grassy tangles trail from garden to kitchen,
kitchen to corridor,
corridor to shoe rack.
she sighs –
one of hansel’s worse ideas.

she’s the mother at the window,
where faded yellow curtains hang,
limply framing her weathered features
in the glassy reflection.

the early evening sun paints her face,
like a buttercup held under a smooth chin
by innocent fingers.

dusty rays illuminate
the murky rainbows
of glass cleaner and jay cloth.

mama, moving mouths murmur,

she picks at her dry skin,
red and flaky from rubber gloves and dish soap,
plastic cups and plates.

she has swapped smoking
for swaddling,
lingerie for lullabies,
bottled perfume for baby powder,
naps for nappies.

mama, mama –
the shouts and flashes of life before
jump up like a jack-in-the-box.

soapy water splashes,
cries crackle.
she forgets her wet skirts
and takes herself
to the part of herself
that needs her

(lois e. linkens)

Commonality-Max Meunier/Dissociative Void

once we have


our bourn indignation

why must we trudge

through the crux

of man’s blunder

pandering wares 

of despondent disrepair


as figments

of desolate filaments



once we have crossed

from the realm 

of idyll

into the abysmal

dominion of truth

who shall remain

to court these afflictions

but the ghastly cast-offs

from our reflection’s fallout



and deboned

we drift

as detritus 

plagued with the pangs

of our own

rote requitement


not even the trope

of our soul’s transmutation

can stay the aggrievance 

that all shall sustain

[Max states: “I write about the things going on in my life. I am a feminist, humanist, cat loving musician bound by whimsy and the incessant analysis of hyper-vigilant observations.  I am obsessed with words and rhythmically woven wordplay.” We are honored to have him as a member of our tribe.]

Max Meunier Poetry



Sudden Denouement/Secret First Draft Divergent Literature Writing Contest– Submissions Accepted March 1st Through March 31st

Sudden Denouement Literary Collective and Secret First Draft are holding a joint Writing Contest in the month of March to elicit new writers for the Collective.

Writing Prompt: March Madness

Unpublished/Original work

Each entry should be more than 50 words but less than 500

Each writer may submit 1 to 3 (maximum) pieces of writing for consideration

Submissions will be accepted: 3/1/2017 through 3/31/2017

Full prize information to be announced soon!

1st Place Winner will be granted membership in the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective

2nd, 3rd and 4th Place Runners-ups will be granted membership in the Secret First Draft Collective.

Send your submissions with your name, your pen name (if applicable), the address for your blog and a short biography (1 to 3 sentences to):

The Sudden Denouement Literary Collective and its sister sites Secret First Draft and The Whisper and The Roar are forums for divergent literature that we hope excite and challenge you.

The top three posts will be published on Sudden Denouement and the top five posts will be published on Secret First Draft.

Finalists will be contacted by Sudden Denouement no later than May 15, 2017.

My Witch Friend-ohellino


She was into the sort of witchcraft
That involved books
And incense
And I kind of liked that
Sitting there in all that nonsense
Not fucked up
Slitting wrists and saying:  Fuck why do I exist?
She was into the sort of astronomy
Known as astrology
“You had me at dog star” I said
And she scrunched up her entire face
And pulled out her tarot cards
To read the universe
“Why would you read the universe?” I asked
“What do you read?” she said rubbing a crystal
“Books” I said
And she scoffed

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