there was space, and there was the empty distance between us-Ari Purkayastha/Fallen Alone

Ari Purkayastha, Fallen Alone

Fallen Alone

i have been, and i will always be, that pair of eyes that was too restless to ever hold yours when you spoke. i have those hands that were far too engaged in playing with themselves to ever acknowledge yours; and i have a tongue that only ever talked with the empty rooms to remember how it felt to utter words within ears of a breathing person.

so you see, how could the person i wrote of be any more real than myself?

and you—

you have been that stranger that offered me free shots of tequila, and the unfulfilled promise of a night together where we fucked more than just our bodies (where we fucked our hearts into submission, because there is nothing more degrading and beautiful than to watch your heart beat in a submissive whimper- too broken to even consider the thought of being unfaithful), and you…

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A blue moon and a wolf-Nicole Lyons/ The Lithium Chronicles

Nicole Lyons of The Lithium Chronicles

The Lithium Chronicles

The sun has set
a thousand times
since the night
a blue moon burst
and I opened my door
to a wolf grinning wildly,
chewing on my name.
My, what spectacular eyes
he had; deep pools of golden
madness churning the reflection
of my surprise
into blazing fire that broke
his gaze and seared fear
into my flesh.
My pulse raced, leaping
to ride the sweet stench
of terror ripping holes
through my veins
before it danced under
the great weight of his
paws crushing
the walls of my chest.
The sun has set
a thousand times
since the night
a blue moon burst,
and cast its shadow
upon pebbles,
and the wolf
that would steal my breath.
But even now, on
the eve of a rising,
I can barely breathe
until I hear them
howling in the distance,
and then I will drift, pulling
wilderness from my hair
under…

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A DECADE OF SOLITUDE-Rana Kelly/ 2nd star to the Left, straight on ’til morning

 

Almost a decade

 

Of desolation and disguise.

 

Of loneliness and downcast eyes.

 

My spine was pulled

 

Out of my mad mouth

 

And I laid there breathless

 

For this eternity.

 

Fear of the enemy

 

Pushed me to soliloquy

 

For an eternity

 

Of my wolves hunted

 

And fresh hell.

 

I walk forward over water

 

Washed clean of your sickness

 

You cannot kick me

 

In the guts again.

 

I will rise

 

And eat your face

 

Shred your skin

 

And walk westward

 

Crushing your setting sun.


[Rana Kelly was born and raised in the Deep South, and now resides in the Southwest.  Her poetry, personal essays, short fiction, and photography has been published in anthologies and literary magazines far and wide over the years, from Caesura to featherproof press, FM to Ceremony Collected. Her first novel, Until Her Darkness Goes, was published in 2015. She’s currently writing her second novel under a pseudonym.]

Eating Away to the Bone – SRP


stick to yourself afraid of what could happen

 

when I’m cornered

 

what i may do

 

scared of what you make me do

 

the things I’ve done

 

the things I’ve said

 

why does it always end this way

 

why does it have to be so sad

 

why do i hurt so bad

 

eating myself from the inside out

 

black cancer growing inside of me 

 

i feel less everyday

 

numb

 

nothings shocking anymore

 

exhausted i havent slept for days

 

deprivation

 

self loathing

 

all day

 

every day

 

never ending


[SRP is a co-creator of Sudden Denouement and driving force in the collective. He is a musician, a writer, and a friend.]

Nobody Screams – SRP

 

sick of all of the apologies

 

i can’t read anymore

 

of the rhetoric

 

cause it started to make me sick

 

guess I’m just another lunatic

 

start to smoke 

 

but then i quit

 

started posing

 

now I’m bored

 

I’m too old to give a shit

 

pretend not to notice

 

and have a fit

 

another spineless hypocrite

 

i don’t know if anyone listens

 

maybe nobody even listens

 

i don’t mind if anyone cares

 

i don’t believe in all the lameness

 

unsubscribe to all

 

the bullshit

 

clean up my act

 

&learn how to 

 

smile

 

just another handshake scene

 

i get lost in the dream

 

wish it was mostly make believe

 

stabbed in the back

 

nobody screams


[SRP is a co-creator of Sudden Denouement and driving force in the collective. He is a musician, a writer, and a friend.]

 

The Weyward Sisters: Hand in Hand – A Collaboration from the Women of Sudden Denouement

Stand, a nighean.
Call the moon.
Bring your Wolves
With you.
Let down the flames of your hair.
The Great War
Has come again.
 – Rana Kelly

In the end there will be fire and ash
But to us it will be like the Fourth of July
What could be more powerful than women
Standing together in solidarity
We’re taking a page out of Lilith’s book
The one you never read
We will not lie on the bottom
We will stand side by side.
Hannah Wagner

skål,
Thrills the Viking Whisper ice –
splinters of the north wind
Of the high noon blood of sister-raiders slain
The shield-maidens dine
Tonight, too.
Samantha Lucero

It is well within the fires
of burning words
and stolen wombs, ravaged,
we have birthed a beast.
Swaddled in the souls
of her mothers of fire
and maidens of ice,
she has been touched
with the wisdom of crones blazing,
and she will cast
her shadow upon the ashes
of their bones.
Nicole Lyons

hail the harlot
and crown the courtesan,
for she has seen seduction’s beast
and let it swallow her.
let her tread its veins like footpaths
and sleep upon its heart.
Lois E. Linkens 

We stand shoulder to shoulder with our sisters
Warrior women all
We draw down the moon and hold her as our shield
Our pens will be our swords
We will no longer be silenced
Hear the chorus of our voices
We shall ROAR!
Christine Ray


Nighean is Scottish Gaelic for “lass.”

Lilith is considered to be Adams first wife who would not lie beneath him in bed. She wanted to be his equal.

Shield maidens were Vikings who fought alongside the men in battle.

Weyward Sisters are a reference from the witches in Macbeth.

Dream catcher never understood the bus schedule – Mick Hugh

The library has been converted into classrooms for fifth-year students. Shelves emptied and rearranged to fit rows of desks, projector screens, faculty offices and the Office of Student Retention. My exam is running late to complete. I am tapping fingers on the desktop nervously rapping away. My feet twitch uncomfortably. I scribble out essays and vague answers to questions I can only half-read. I don’t have the time. I don’t have the time and this afternoon you’re boarding a bus for a move to LA. It’s your mistake; you’re my mistake: I let you mistake me. I’m coming with you. I should. I spring from my desk and let the stapled papers fly apart through the air at the professor’s head. The race is on skip the elevator and dash the stairs, leave the books behind at the counter I’ll come back for them later if they really mean that much to me. I burst out the doors and check the time on my phone – bright fresh sun, and the aluminum numbness creeping deeper in my lower gut; I know I’m going to be late. I hustle across campus and halfway there double-back the other way; in my haste I made the mistake of trying to cut through the campus construction. But all I find in the other direction are new dormitories and expansions under construction for the new Department of Student Retention and I cannot find the god damned parking lot where it used to be.

Out of breath sucking wind through the sweat and jello’d legs, the aluminum numbness has crept up and blossomed into wilting fireworks of frustration and shame – standing alone on the curb sucking wind, just in time to see the bus trail away. Just a moment too late.

Dream catcher, forever just a moment too late.

I’ve awoken at a desk. Lifeless fluorescent lighting and drool puddled by the keyboard. The office is a warm fuzz of processors and clacking keyboards. Assignments due before the evening commute home, and three hours wasted in a sleep-haze fading out and in, out and in – lonely headlights passing through fog of an empty exurban town. I am standing at dusk at the bus stop with an aluminum numbness curdling my gut. I don’t know the time. But I don’t know the time. There was something I missed, and it still runs unleashed from my grip, ten years now past my prime. I don’t know if the bus is late or if I missed its final run for the day. I may not be home tonight. I may not ever be home again

in time to pay our taxes, or to consolidate our student debt.

Or to find a house to live in,

to keep us off the street.

In time to see the kids grow up,

or in time to grow old with you,

I can’t come home again. Ten years of shame and pain puts no hope to death by stone. Alone, and ripped at the heart, I will sit on this bus stop bench and wait for the late-night bus ride back to the dreams that could’ve been.


[Mick Hugh is the creator of Mick’s Neon Fog. And an all-around bad ass.]