By Virginie Bernard You betrayed me, made me a nomad Lied to my face, for more than a year Stole from me, money I never had All to pretend we were both clean Just before my gut-wrenching departure I needed to shock your sedated routine I ran through my memories to capture The one you still care about, our everything I wanted you to find her stabbed on the floor Figure out what to do with her lifeless body Lonely, burdened, yet selfish when you score But she came closer, eye t

By S.D Gould I was hungover the day of your funeral. And so many after that. Grief came in bottles, and left in apologies I never sent. They said the service was beautiful— I don’t remember the lilies or the suits, the priest reciting a name that no longer sounded like yours. I’m sure I mouthed along, tasting the syllables like ash. When they lowered you down, the world didn’t break. That offended me. The sun was obscene in its persistence. The sky had the audacity to stay bl

By Sharon Marie Hier The forest shows its truest face only after the sun abandons it— when the last streak of gold dissolves and the earth exhales its deeper, older breath. In that hour, the wildness wakes. Not the soft, green gentleness of day, but the feral heart beneath it: roots twisted like clenched fists, brambles sharpened into threats, and the night creatures stepping out of their hunger. The darkness here is not empty. It roars. It sings. Its beauty is carved from to