Say, do you remember when
we pressed our palms together
and our lifelines intertwined –
I wonder how many millimeters
of time can be measuring in
these tangled memories.
get lost in frayed thoughts,
set tears on fire so cooled hearts
remember what numb is not,
even if the burn is less passion and
more pain, feel it from femur to fingertips.
sometimes I wake up from dreams
that have more vibrancy than reality,
haven’t we all lied in bed for what could
have been a moment or stretched by shadow
into days, into a daze, eyes closed,
trying to slot scrambled scenes into a movie
where we get the happy ending we deserve
before the light turns back on?
when boredom creeps in,
I hold my breath and watch the clock
tick down just so emptiness gains form
and I can be reminded that this body,
gasping for air, wants to be alive.
Tonight, the sky is black.
Fire is calm, heart obsidian, cuts
life in unequal halves.
If you’re searching for a shortcut to satisfaction, then look no further! Sample our state-approved recipe for success.
This is something for the whole family to enjoy; a simple recipe that will stick to the social order and suit everyone’s tastes.
You will need:
● 3 cups self raising insecurities ● 2 cups sugar to coat the uncomfortable truths ● 1 tsp of confidence, sifted ● A 5”10” inch cake tin, depending on small man syndrome, if applicable and you can never go wrong with a sprinkle of maniac dream pixie girl fairy dust!
Step 1: Add a pinch of handholding and a peck on the cheek. This should create a sticky syrup layer to catch any unfortunate sexual deviances which could spoil the consistency of the cake.
Step 2: Dissolve in a cup of unrealistic expectations, skim but full-bodied, injected with sharp sweet lollipop. (Now now, not in front of the children)
Step 3: BANG NAIL AND SCREW the batter into submission, making sure the consistency is thin and smooth, we’ll have no lumps or bumps thank you.
Step 4: Cook until mixture becomes unrecognisable. A gentle rising of male ego and erection to be expected but not explicitly viewed. Keep in mind that opening the oven at this point will result in a loss of self respect and crumbling of social standing.
Step 5: Add pressure lightly to surface of cake to check progress, noting that too much force could cause irreparable damage. When you have collapsed the exterior, you must think of the cake as ruined because insides are irrelevant, presentation and purity are to be prioritised. When the cake has reached appropriate height and maturity, prepare to remove from oven.
Step 6: Allow time to set and cool. The social mould will hold conforming thoughts together until you do.
tick tock, tick tock, ding!
Happy Birthday! If you followed our recipe correctly, today is the day you get to enjoy artificial acceptance presented on a silver platter as if it was worth something.
Go on, make a wish.
I want to be pretty.
That’s easy! You are what you eat
so stuff yourself with what they want you to be
swallow your pride
swallow before you taste despair swallow until even your body hates you
then regurgitate the lessons you have been spoon fed
since you were a little girl
and smear it over your face like salvation
cake over every piece of you that made you unique
because the world likes vanilla
trust me, they don’t care what’s inside hand them the knife
let them have a bite (and don’t forget to smile)
Congratulations, you have completed your first individuality-repressing recipe. Check next week’s issue for how to lose your love handles and great new ways to pleasure your man.
One of the worst things that happens after you die – is that you leave no trace behind.
Eventually, memories once treasured will fade betrayed by time
until one day you are just a name
in the graveyard
for children to make up stories for.
but that is nothing compares to being forgotten when you’re still alive
forced to contrive meaning to a meaningless life
finding solace in insignificant details
if only to relieve that pressing feeling
against your ribcage that you are insignificant
[note: video is of an older version of the poem, slight difference with the text below]
I was a collector
not of coins or comic books
but crushes I could count
as I fall asleep
if only to escape the reality
of spending the rest of eternity with
I dreamt of
arms wrapped around my fragile bones
lips kissing the bruises
that hid the true colours of my heart
as it bled for
to care enough
if not to love but to hate
push me away
so I can fall apart
I was a criminal
serial in nature
stealing last names
from boys with expressive eyes
plotting murders of pretty girls
I saw as threats
and they were all threats
locked up in a prison cell
guarded by self doubt and desperation
I had written a million love letters
changing who I am for each delivery
just to fit into the envelopes
I thought they’d want to receive
presenting myself as the perfect package
I never attached the fragile sticker
it’s no wonder I always ended up as broken pieces