his touch works against her like mutinous sandpaper;
rough; unyielding-
skin on shark leather, a cage of violent flesh and dishonest bones.
the air between them is static and chilled,
like his eyes, and she remembers,
his magnetic presence pulsing behind her, next to her, inside her, against her-
when she looks in the unrepentant mirror,
it frosts over,
to escape,
like she wishes she could,
and it shatters,
like she wishes she could,
falls away, and breaks apart,
like she wishes she could,
the little shards dancing and spinning through the stagnant air,
looking up, and reflecting his eyes back at her.
let's say that he has a
old wives' tale by brokenfragilethings, literature
Literature
old wives' tale
opposites do not attract.
me, with my soft body
does not want your hard
hands, fists around my
throat.
bathtub sunk, i stay
at the bottom and
watch peach bubbles pop
on my skin. your needle-
nails puncture the
fruit of me. suck the
juice from me. water-
logged, i hop on my
left foot. tilt
to shake you from me.
you are vicious and
sharp. the Anger. i am candy
floss, gummy teeth. the Sadness.
you lick your fingers
clean of me
drop my clothes
on the pantry floor.
writing things i don't understand by kathleenfergie, literature
Literature
writing things i don't understand
it is hard not to love a virus, to love something
that consumes every part of you. takes you between their teeth
and chews, humming in content. that loves your
body and scrapes off the most desirable parts. puts
scrap metal in its place.
you ask, while you’re fragmenting, “why me?”
and it replies with a sweet smile:
“who else?”
I rage because children live fearful
for their lives, because our answer
is always more bombs, because we think
that dead children are collateral damage
and that their parents deserve the despair
of losing a son or daughter so precious.
I storm because my peers forget
that people are real and they bleed
and they feel, and they cry, and they
lose their will to live when babies
are torn apart by a force they can't control
sent by the government of a country
that hates them, and they don't understand
why hatred exists, what they have done
in their ordinary lives to deserve it.
I cry because it could so easily
be my little boy raising his arms
Depression isn’t true, my dear
Depression isn’t real.
It’s just a silly tragedy
You’ve forced yourself to feel.
Anxiety is fake, my friend
You wonder why it’s there.
But others have it worse than you!
Stop forming false despair.
Cutting is dramatic, love,
It’s ugly, and it’s dumb.
Why not just get over it?
Is the attention fun?
Suicide is stupid, dear,
And selfish, if I may.
Get over yourself, darling,
Can you hear these things I say?
Why aren’t you replying, love?
Oh, where could you have gone?
I never meant to hurt you, love,
Did I say something wrong?
Why aren’t you replying, dear
sometimes, i can't contain my loneliness.
[sic]kness/six words
cannot articulate
this numbness i feel
and some nights:
i fall apart
and the rain
from my head
is a tsunami
that chokes me
from the nose
down.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to anyone, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author owns exclusive rights to this story.
______________
It needed to end. Stephan had chased James for days before cornering his quarry. A quick strike was all that was needed to finish it, and Stephan's darkening smile grew larger as the life drained from James' eyes. His own glittered brightly in the low lighting as he turned from the fallen body. His footfalls were sticky with the sweet liquid that had flowed through James' veins as he walked away, searching for new prey.