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

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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




nothings shocking anymore


exhausted i havent slept for days




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 




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

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.]