eo-07

I knew from the moment I chose the Theme & Prompt that #7 was going to be on the heavy side, emotionally speaking. Some of works in this issue have Content Warnings. CWs are tricky. In general, I leave it up to the contributor to determine if a CW is warranted for their work. Three of the contributors to this

On certain days, I am disparate / fragments, washed up on the shores / of humanity; my limbs and torso, / unclassifiable as natural in origin, / my heart, hidden in sodden detritus, like a matchbox / thrown overboard, adrift and finally ejected…

carve this marble face again / it’s the ADHD masking me, / the drink blurring my face into a recognisable shape, / something I can stand looking back at me, / though the mirror grimaces at my horror contorted teeth…

All creatures under the moon gaze into the
Blue, as we watch True Crime documentaries
Catapulting us to the future. They submit to the
Darkness. All creatures are listening. It might be
Easy to join them, but we whisper on another
Frequency…

Now, floating on the shining altar of nothing, I have a confession to make. No longer will I seek fine excuses, no longer will I escape into the warmth of a benevolent gloom. Here I stand against the blinding azure cool, Below me, above me, beside me, emptiness. There is no trace of humanity, only I breathe faintly. I prepared

Content Warning: physical abuse

When you were a child only books had been kind enough to tell you any stories…

At dusk, I’m slowly walking
under a dark cast of hawks.
Rain is again approaching,
a wash of blue-black clouds
coloring everything…

From the turmoiled age of thirteen, she has rebuilt herself, piece by piece, into something far less inconvenient. When her father told her she was too sensitive, she plucked the tear ducts from her face and replaced them with a rolodex. When her mother scolded her for being stubborn, she sawed her fists off at the wrists, crafted fingers out

suddenly everything leapt into continuous motion / the debunked tripartite brain / your fearful shoulders / wing bones seizing, our bodies seed- / ing the soil of the pillowcase, in your sweatpants / pockets / my shovel hands…

The silence on my end of the phone stretches. Oh, the dreaded third date. First dates often revolve around coffee. Second dates involve dinner at a favorite restaurant, maybe a movie. But the third date? Why does it always have to be dinner at someone’s house? I simmer my panic attack and propose other options. Nope. Mike wants to cook

cobbled street —
seeping through the cracks
my childhood

The witching hour passes in a jiffy.A cauldron of repressed torment flows from a blemished soul.The spectre of my harrowing past stood with open arms,ready to devour me into its crater of debacle.Your stinking touch still ravages my sanity.Your stares defiled my vanity.I was broken beyond measure!My childhood wasn’t a treasure.It turned to a curse,Those days when existence was sombre

“What happened to the bottle opener?” I ask.

“What happened to the murder hornets?” he counters. My partner has a theory that 2020 is proof that time travel exists…

West Coast departure, my lover / awaiting partner reunion / his permanent move / Permanent. / “I’m so excited for you!” / even as veiled grief wept out…

sickly, stagnant / Thumb-sized bruises—from griping too hard—pepper my inner thighs. / it’s swimsuit season / and my awkward legs are decorated with scars…

Content Warning: mental health issues and mild, unconventional self harm

I step into the shower after days without sleep –
Thanks to the lovechild of anxiety and hypomania
That incessantly wails at all hours of the night.
As I step in, the water burns my skin…

Content Warning: child sexual abuse, incest

My mother sits perched on the beige leather, her pale feet—thin like mine—rest on the edge of the couch, her knees pressed into her chest. She is delicate and bird-like…

I cut around my heart, and carefully
lift it out, pushing it slowly
towards you…

Content Warning: child abuse, sexual violence

spider legs crawl / at the hind of my neck / girl/ like twelve / crying on her eighteenth birthday. / unclasp before the dresser mirror; a comb made of your father’s teeth: / saturday’s apple juice. sophomore drop-out…

I don’t know what to put here
except the quiet

questions
I keep behind
my morning lips…

I broke things apart back then. I’d use glitches and exploits in my favorite video games to clip through geometry, fly beyond the textured world and into the formless, where the game designers never thought you’d reach, where nothing existed beyond a blue skybox void. When that failed, I’d use a GameShark, mess with the game’s code until it became