

tequilia for cold thursdaythe phone rings at 10:03. maybe 9:03. or 11:03. did we set this clock back yet? or were wetequilia for cold thursday
supposed to set it forward? what kind of lost time are we dealing with here?
"you should call matt. have you talked to matt? you're coming to thanksgiving right? you and
javeed" she butchers his name like every white person on earth "can bring chickenwings!"
"it's javid, mother, and we're not bringing chicken wings, we're bringing
desert." i pause, blowing on a grimy fistful of freshly painted nails, carefully capping the
tacky red bottle of thick red laquer. "what's wrong with matt? and are you doin


i'll be the one wearing redwith her blood coming slow to the surface and in a daze, shei'll be the one wearing red
picked up the phone and heard the labored, liquor-thick breath
of her brother easing over the wires. through the dark and into
her bloodstream, placing goosepimples up and down the acid-cracked daisychain of her spine. even with eyes closed
she could see him hunched in a dark sleazy corner with a cold
bottle between his thighs and a cigarette between his lips
glossy brown eyes blood-trimmed and barely open laced neatly
in eyelash bows. years and years ago she'd handed him all her
time in the bottom of a bottle of vodka and said


SqueeekI. The Health-Care Worker and the GirlsSqueeek
Shit. Nobody’s listening.
The health-care worker’s got a room full of Welfare recipients here for the health-and-safety portion of their yearly mandatory job-readiness training, and nobody’s fucking listening.
“THIS IS A FEMALE CONDOM!” she yells, and brandishes the oversized latex tube, flopping like a windsock.
“Dang, that thing’s huge.”
“I’m ‘posed to stick that where?”
“If a man ain’t gonna put on no rubber for me, I sure ain’t doin’ it for him.”
“No man of mine!”
“Show him who’s


No name.She glances sideways at him through long lashes and bright green eyes.No name.
"Huh? Sorry, I was thinking." Smoke floats out the window like fine thread as she sits by the bed staring outside, puffing on a dime store cigeratte.
"Why?" He repeats.
"Why what?"
"Why me? Why did you choose me?"
She can't help but smirk. "You say it as if it's a privilege." She leaves him no time to respond. "Your eyes. It was your eyes."
This time she looks at him deliberately, taking him in. Light chocolate skin, hair stripped back tightly into corn rows, well muscled and lean


Maleficium VWhen he looks at me, I admire the femininity in his long lashes. When he talks to me, I bloom, and he laughs. I feel safe, and in control; I love my friends.Maleficium V
But control borders on chaos.
He's grabbing me, pulling me to him, his arms are too strong. I smile to regain some sense of control, I know this game; I made this game.
He throws me. As I crash into the chair my neck snaps back, and I crack my head. Before my eyes clear, he is on me.
He laughs at my attempts to dislodge him. As I squirm, he pokes at my sides, sliding my shirt up to expose twitching flesh. He flashes his boyish smile at me as he pin


that extravagant pillowcase.i cried once, into that satin and lace, (that extravagant pillowcase) and you never knew.that extravagant pillowcase.
you were already awake, but i was still asleep. i woke up with wet cheeks and in this terrible cold sweat. i just lay there for awhile, unblinking eyes directed out the window you had opened. there was no breeze. the curtains just hung there, lifeless and i just lay there staring at them, (lifeless.) i didn't even mean to. i mean, i would have gotten up and brushed my teeth and taken a shower. but i didn't. i didn't mean to, but i found myself climbing out onto the rooftop, the bedsheet wrapped around me (,protection.) i just sat ther
~M
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You are the circus, I am the freak. [link]
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We shall never cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
T. S. Eliot
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time, they say is the great healer
but I believe in chemicals, baby.
--
My role in society, or any artist's or poet's role, is to try and express what we all feel. Not to tell people how to feel. Not as a preacher, not as a leader, but as a reflection of us all.
-John Lennon
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sophie
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"Sinking, Drowning, Fucking Dying!"
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