By Joeii Monday Pressing Fingers to Pains & panes Both kinds.   Warm and cold At the same time   A parched need These dry lips Pursed And...

By GP Hyde for Samuel Taylor Coleridge   I’ll take a glass of Kendal Black Drop, a mixture to ease the pain that eats my heart, liver and...

By Frost They say still waters run deep, yet still others run when intensity is offered at the coffee shop steps from a reusable cup. If...

By Dael Mac she was the type of child who liked to hold life in her tiny hands squeezing until the pink turned blue with an asphyxiated...

By Ann MacAskill My daughters were packed tight together in utero Breech babies in their club for two In the womb where there is hardly...

By Glyn Matthews I found my mother hanging from the washing post, toes ballet dancing over a blue plastic basket with diamond...

By George Amabile Birds collect on the telephone wires like blots in a child’s drawing as bronze bells pulse through the valley dusk, and...

By Hidden There’s an eclipse today I want to be reborn like that Entering the darkness and coming out pure Leaving behind the past and...

By Rio L. Barney I stared into the dark void of space. I let the darkness enfold me, Wrap around me like a blanket. The emptiness...

By Vincent De Souza In search of a single act, or juju to cast you away, I name my first spell, When Words Become Sorrow . Arcing hands,...

By Silvia Jude Every day is the same. I wake up to silence. And a face in my ear.   Excruciated. Red faced. Strained. Mouth agape....

By Ella Alsop A wet swallow muffles a cry, Before the maw of something unseen closes upon its neck and it is silent once more. A hidden...

By Parker Penwright We learn to love in tight spaces, find balance in the turning of the clock, become close with our innermost...

By Courtenay Schembri Gray To the calling smudge I wake; a pearl between lumps of cotton.   I bunch myself as a spider would. Brooding, I...

By Megan Romaine Bill The Butcher asks “Do you have the sand?”   “Do you have the sand necessary to keep going in this miserable hell...

By Julia Ireland At least once a day I form a path to his grave. Sometimes it’s as open as his mouth in the bar, sometimes it’s as...

By John Francis Antal a monologue of the lonely    this world is full of hidden celestial blockages and pipe cracks   in the evenings the...

By Ash LaVictor grief was supposed to get easier. the crying should have stopped. each day felt heavier and the wound did not clot. grief...

By Verity Sanders She has this endearing habit, Of covering her mouth when she speaks. But no one knows the real reason, It’s to hide the...

By Isabel del Rio Look at my hands, not aging hands just yet but you can feel a draught between the crooks and a barrenness in the...