By Gabrielle Munslow First, apologise for still having a body. Then moisturise it like a crime scene. Cover yourself in eau de vie or desperation— whichever was on sale. Smear peanut butter on your nether regions. Someone on the internet swears by it. Baptise your face in the fountain of youth— or Botox if the fountain’s closed. Hold very still. Desire prefers a smooth surface. Meanwhile your actual life— messy, breathing, glorious— waits impatiently offstage while you negoti

By A.N. Szymanski They say to talk to plants, to sing, to whisper love into their stems. I did. It never perked up, just drooped, like it had already decided to ghost me politely. I gave it water, light, my midnight thoughts, my half-hope. Maybe that was the problem, not neglect, but too much of me. It died quietly, like it was proving a point. Even something rooted would rather rot than stay with me. #DarkPoetsClub #DarkHumourBitterIrony

By Alice Evemy How I died, you’ll never know. An elm became my coffin. My remains, now a dining hall. A buffet, long forgotten. I hosted my guests graciously, The crawlies feasted like kings. Sunken eyes, cleanly plucked, Dark hair stolen by beaks. Teeth remained, but were no use In finding my identity. For eighteen moons, I lay untouched. At last, finally some peace. The cage cinched my ribs, A corset of bark, laced too tight, The figure I dreamed was finally found. Pity, it