Girls for Satan – Malicia Frost

Girls for Satan, by Malicia Frost

Sudden Denouement Literary Collective

My best friend used to whisper:
“Let us lay down our lives tonight
here, at the offering table
let us tie our mouths shut
and tape tongues to our legs!
We’ll never be pure again!”

It was funny, back then
when we were a bunch of chuckling preteens
and would sneak into the bathroom together,
pull out our pocket demons
and dance around the sink as if it was a naked calf.

People say girlhood is full of glitter and carnage
we would collect the heads of boys who over-talked us
and we would let the blood water our throats,
nourish our budding lust for revenge.

I kissed my friend’s naked areola
under the blankets in my bed
while we were hiding from our parents
we chewed bubblegum and performed blood offerings monthly
we cried in the shower at night
and sang for the devil watching us in the the…

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Flightless Birds & Fireballs

Flightless Birds & Fireballs by Nicholas Osborne

The Dirty Limerick

I am not love, and
lust is no object I possess;
attention is a cardboard city
strung with garish Xmas
lights.

I am not man or woman—
my present state attained by
psychosomatic chromosomal
elimination.

I am not indulgence or delight;
the food I chew is cold and
bland, plucked from a gaunt
metal grid under the pale
light of a wheezing
refrigerator.

I am not corporeal, my
two-dimensioned body
won’t be discovered in
sunshine or by dark,
for I have sidled
into a realm of gray
on gray—an endless
archipelago of mist-clung
uncertainties.

I am not the skeleton key to
your locked strongbox of
happiness or despair—
not the kindling or the
matchhead to strike
sparks upon your dry
desires.

I am not genius, nor am I
revolution at the tip of
a sword, the end of a
gun, or in the gleaning of
catchphrase words on a picket

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Fraudulent

A wonderful story from WovenEclipse

WovenEclipse

He was nervous; apprehensive. The poor boy wouldn’t stop shaking. And when he blushed, the room lit up a startling scarlet, to the extent that you felt your eyes burn; shrinking away from the stark light. Hiding behind his wavy locks, he was a startled fawn in a den of tigers.

So she took him in. With coercing and coddling, he would come to his angel, with stuttering tales of awkward incidents and flustered pauses which spoke more than his words. He would come to her, in a way that no one else would. Like she was a light and he the moth, flinching in the heat of the all-encompassing flame. Her silken wings wrapped around his malnourished form, the ultimate comfort.

Soon opening up was no problem at all. The problem was his own problems. Anxious and unstable, he would call up to the sky each night, calling for…

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