By Clair Mangan The morsel of frozen pastry sits on her tongue, her ears pricked for noise, hands stuck to the fridge door, as the last light of the day exits its ugly head through curtain folds. A packet of biscuits 3 birthday cake slices 3 donuts 6 mini sausage rolls Half a cheeseboard. Leftovers- she’s just getting started, a balloon fit to EXPLODE! Is it the thrill of eating stolen food? Or that her housemate Joanna has started to ask questions about her rapidly depleting

By Lillibit Ray Opening the door to the tavern Rotten royal scent fuming from the neck of an empty bourbon flask. Drunk eyes staring to the fly on the wall That watches a girl drown her liver And compromise her soul All to take the sting of the real world away. Curly club roller coaster, jukebox pulsates To the beat of the empty heart in the corner With an empty home and empty bed And wallet of twenties and clouded head. Grin of stone with a glass of whiskey to wash it down,

By himragged I awake from a feeling of midnight’s wine-intoxicant shroud of mull seed-cake, dreaming again I was my sis/ter, dreaming again I brought somebody else home, finger the surgeon’s trans scar, reach out for you, touch you in your sleep, but see the winged shadow shimmering in summer’s dead air. My groin is wet. Blood. Black wax. She stands, watching, hungers for the fouled world we have made today, or its corruption is found in tomorrow’s false dawn. I have read of