By Alan Ireland Beneath a Hello Kitty banner, the six members of the Sumire Suicide Club are holding a 'graduation ceremony'. Even anorexic Reiko is here, her head in her hands, still overdosed on daylight. The four-and-a-half-mat room is barely large enough for the patchwork quilt of memories. 'Do you remember the time...?' The voice trails off, is lost among abandoned soba bowls. In Apartment 17, the afternoon fades as slowly as the smile of the androgynous pink panther.

By Daphne M.Larner She hung his suits on trees all down the Avenue His evidence would be that she was barking She stole his address book, and met his clients, imagining sex- But really, just for the thrill of illicit meetings for lunch or dinner - she didn’t care Their hands might travel making further suggestion. More wine, playing for time, then one impulsive decision An exit with ‘Please excuse me’ indicating ‘the Ladies’ Her coat abandoned as she disappeared through the k

By Megan Stafford-Adatia We dress the dead in our family. Give ‘em some pride. Nana’s favourite perfume is in the drawer, Spritz it on her before the ambulance come to confirm the death. The perfume is from Lush, called ‘Karma’. We sprayed nana as she’s stiffening from death with Karma. Sorry, gran. Reminds me of when my sister asked if rigor mortis can ‘cause death’. Told her it’s kind of a prerequisite. Her boyfriend’s perfect for her though; Called ‘post-partum depression’

By Carlotta Federica Leone They asked why I was leaving. I said “growth,” which is what you call decay when it happens slowly enough. I stayed longer than I should have long enough to memorize everyone’s breaking point and mistake it for personality. Strengths: I can watch things fall apart without intervening. It’s not apathy it’s respect for the process. Weaknesses: I learn people the way you learn exits in a building quickly, in case of emergency. Achievements: no scenes,

By Synodinos Cassias and geraniums crept through the window shutters. Apparently, they too seek the comfort of home. Yet in this dark, sunless lair, dawn never sweetens the day. Two drinkers grew drunk again, struck by misery. And those who know how to grieve speak no laments. Rebels and Don Quixotes battered the village from end to end. Festivals, songs, revelries travel from afar, where feasts are set, forgetting that only yesterday someone tightened their reins. Darkness,

By Victoria Hat you offered me nothing but the kind of sex that feels like an exorcism. i didn’t just miss the flag. i held it to my face and called it a blanket. #DarkPoetsClub #DarkHumourBitterIrony

By William Rag Judge, jury and executioner by race, gender, colour. Warped from the pages and texts of long-ago ages. Hate and bile a tendency of your vile self-supremacy. Blame those outside to cover the rot from your own inside. So narrow in belief fail to see both ways on the street And the car that struck was a Tesla – what luck! The paramedic was born in Nigeria. The ambulance driver transgender. The surgeon a woman. The anaesthetist’s first language is Farsi. Your blood

By Bethan Parker We baked flapjacks, With apricot, That night, And took it to your boyfriend He lived in a big house A mansion basically, And he was a beautiful boy, or man, Perhaps, Which is it really at 16? Whilst you laughed with him And impressed his mum I did Jäger shots, alone, In the corridor From the hip flask I had in my shoe, Of course, Normal procedure, For a Friday night, or any night really, If the night called out for it. I snuck out, To a different town, I don’

By Onyx Winter god has no voice over my soul in pain or my soulless flesh -computing over my constant timeless tormenting god has no voice, no objection over his electric animations lamenting with tireless meaningless bemoaning with no say in his forgetting- to impart free will god has no voice over his own pretending a man's hopeful way of representing his relentless troubles unconsenting to see god for the reflectionless images- he is presenting man has no mirror he is drif

By Glowingpixie In memory of 'Lightning Jim', a man who outpaced anything. He met his end 19th of May, whilst crossing on the carriageway. The quickest man who walked the earth, struck down by a reversing hearse. #DarkPoetsClub #DarkHumourBitterIrony

By Lize du Toit incremental motion of the trolley slack and self-conscious one wheel squeaks and clunk-clunks over beige and off-white linoleum between two-litre skimmed milk and iron-fortified cereal what is the state of my soul? reach over for the lettuce in the back too many hands have touched the ones in front four-ply is on special this week squeak, clunk-clunk how many spirits have access to my mind? isle three will have the salt and descaler you always forget and then

By Red Frederick I want cuddles! Not just any kinda’ cuddles; I want them fetal position, Crying in a puddle of tears kinda’ cuddles. Cuddle me, cuddle me carefully I want that aftercare cuddles - That play with my hair cuddles. Whisper sweet nothings In my ear cuddles. Bite me on my ear cuddles. Dig into my flesh cuddles. Skin so soft it's chew-able. I love it. I love… you. Hug me, hold me, Don’t walk away from me. It's okay, don't get scared cuddles! You have nothing to fea

By Jasmine Wilda-Wallace I had a date with a fly this morning. He kept rubbing his hands together as we shared a bowl of fruit. I asked him how long he’d been single. He didn’t answer and disappeared behind the pile. Rude. Must’ve been a while. I picked up a peach and found him riving in its rotten flesh. The mould really bringing out the blue in his eyes. I drown them both in the pond outside. My decay too fresh for an Irish goodbye. #DarkPoetsClub #DarkHumourBitterIrony

By Vaiva Grainyte I follow plump tabbies: Impersonated voices asking for haaam Dressing up for Halloween, sporting wigs. Then I’m off to razed buildings in Gaza: Bloodied heads of wee Palestinian brothers on stretchers Weeping, thanking the paramedics for a sip of water. Then suddenly I’m at a frenzied curl-cutting ritual Amidst orthodox Jews, Cut short by coachers preaching on The toxic magnetism of anxious and avoidantly attached personalities. Next, I’m cornered by the urg

By Dez Pondant I'm a big burly man, flex my chest for the girls. I like football and fishing but I'd rather do curls. Not into reflection, unless it's a mirror. Can't handle rejection or if you are queerer- -than folk, If you're woke, lefty scum, you're a joke. Sssshhh, Daddy can't finish unless he can choke... You beta cuck fucks are in awe of my powers. Just ignore the fact I skip leg day and showers. Yee-haw! I'm a cowboy, I shoot from the hip so- -stand and deliver, your

By Victoria Jones It is early and dark, I can see the moon. No heat— only frost and the brittle bite of wind on cold fingers. Artificial light grounds us, holding us—firm— to purpose. Black lace on black hands, a respite, from the uniform and dull. Your flowers were fresh once, scent floating green in the air. Now they are withered, and crack when touched —even gently. They are still beautiful. We descend again. Coats on tight against the winter wind. Pray that I don’t jostle

By Adele Robins “Dont be ridiculous!” She scoffed. “Of course you can’t pick the day you die; It’s not like a booking at a hotel or a seat on an airplane.” We were discussing an article we had read in a magazine about the concept of predicting mortality. But, I thought, imagine if you could? Death is the biggest secret the universe keeps from you, until its too late to cancel. Maybe there is a business opportunity out there for the control freaks, Type A’s, perfectionists

By Jeneva Robyn Icy blue eyes staring at me fears melt away like candle wax my head heavy in a pool of blood those eyes like diamonds a shiver ripples down my spine and disappears into light I sink into the void nothing but a witness watching the world be torn apart by clowns. #DarkPoetsClub #DarkHumourBitterIrony

By Salvatore Difalco One August morning, the weather turned strange: black-robed men with silvery hair rained down from the sky. They fell screaming all day and all night, thudding and thumping to ground, massing in mangled piles. Panicked, people ran hither and thither screaming, wild-eyed, pulling at their hair. My wife and I decided to evacuate the city and head up north to our cottage in Muskoka. The roads were a bloody mess. “Your wipers are no good now,” said my wife as

By Adam Breier If I could just blow it all up, I’d probably not. And despite the joy at not having to clean up afterward, regret my choice. #DarkPoetsClub #DarkHumourBitterIrony