by Mariah Rackliff There is a battle in my head. Daily filling me with dread. I hear a voice say, “Let me in!” “No!” Says another. “I win!” “I’m depression, I think I’ll stay. How long the visit? I can’t say.” “Come closer dear, now just lie down.” I oblige,…
by Christy Bailes Drought-rain slips off the predator until five-hundred wet pounds make him stand ground, spread like a picked-apart fan. Yellow beads turn his oily, spiked head, as I fly past, sweating ocean salt; it runs like interrupted feathers pulled from God’s washing machine, that dries now in cellophane…
by Kristal Peace Mother used to stand Five foot four, She was proud Of her ability To do sums. Mother used to dream Of doing more Than being paid To drown her pride In other people’s dish water. Mother had an accent She said it kept people From seeing her…
by Amber Box I will deceive you So turn away where the steam of my breath cannot be seen I am wicked You are mortal The shards of glass from your own wreckage Feed my poison Injected into your veins, the ghost of yourself Your treacherous thoughts are only the…
by Jo-Anne Lucas I’m sorry but we have filled the position…. I’m sorry but you are not my type…. I’m sorry but you are no longer welcome here…. It sucks It stings It scorns I’m sorry but I already have a job…. I’m sorry but I am seeing someone…. I’m…
By Alex Scarelli I drew in the dirt of our yard with a stick, watching the late summer sun fall from the sky and my Dad coming up the driveway in his pickup. When he parked, he got out and grabbed his lunchbox and a six-pack of Budweiser from the…
By Dawn Goodwin I hate it when people owe me money and act like they don’t know it. This kind of thing makes it easy for me to hold a grudge against them. I bet the first grudge ever held by mankind was between Adam and Eve. I’m sure Adam…
By Jennifer Kopec Turn my back Just to please you Whap! I scream Whap! A sound I’ve grown to love Stockholm syndrome at its finest The love for the whip The love I live for The time passes by The clock ticks on Tick Tock Tick Tock The sound grows…
By Christy Bailes My walls have seen forty years, with each layer more concealed than the last, and I wash, scrubbing nicotine-stained body, so full of memory that I measure time by yellow, once white smoke, swirling elegantly about the room, looking visually pleasing until I smell burnt tar. I…
By Frank Scozzari The door swung open and the silhouette that appeared was undoubtedly that of a ballerina. The figure was sublime and had the fanning outline of a tutu about the waist. “Can I use your phone?” the silhouette cried out. Marge, the fifty-something waitress-proprietor looked over at the…