October | 2022

October | 2022

October | 2022

October | 2022

October | 2022

October | 2022

October | 2022

October | 2022

Erin Holder


Her blood will cry like spoiled milk, that swooning soil, evening

By David Marsh

Her body, a symphony of bats,

And they showed it over and over and over,

as the audience bellowed and cackled from the gods.

We used to joke around about the man that fell,

suspended like a stage actor over the rats that dignified themselves as customers,

with little bits and pieces chiseled out of his visage by the end of the evening.

It was bad comedy, some crazy idea of a dream 

and some kind of terror

I never repented of.

Metal rods would fill the mind,

Slabs of flesh torn in two,

Little crevices frayed and grisled by those rouge and rusted entities.

It was a bad partitioning of space they’d said once,

But here I was, a dead man floating above his body in a distant lake of radio noise,

And they’d act it again, time in and time out as the audiences siphoned our veins

of whatever could be left. 

She had black marks plastered to her arms,

and I lesions and boils from the dirt that caked those petty marks,

and ‘they are dead’,

and we have killed them,

and everyone shall weep at the same moment in time.

It made a good story in the paper.


By Elias Huffine


By Whit Halvorson

Seperate little motions

in seperate little towns

Try to drain your notions

and hope that you don't drown

Lick, with salty tongue

the wounds that you regifted

Inflict new pain, dead young,

and see that you are lifted

Follow all your paths

and recognize, full well,

that any of your wrath

will wind you up in hell

Practice, be self jaded,

and don't look in the mirror

See that you are faded

but don't see any clearer

The choirmaster’s coming

buzzard wings and all

so listen to his numbing

alabaster drawl


By Liam Palumbo

The Purge

By Sydney Downs

The morning light bounced off her

Her hair and eyes and lips

We sat in that house made of bright red painted bricks

While waiting and waiting and waiting

All the time hating

What was to come

For the clock to chime nine

And hear the siren

The sound bouncing off that glass door

We joined hands waiting and hoping for more

More time

More time to wait and reflect and ponder whats true

Were we really about to do what they said we would do?

We do what we need too

If that's what it takes to survive till the next chime of nine

Ding, ding, ding 

That went on for what felt like forever

We walked out of that glass door

And we were better together on that fatal day

Because we knew,

Hell was about to be raised


By Lauren Tyler

Every day I wake to rain

But I never built an ark to brave these waves

So I drown in a sea of misery and pain

And my cup overflows

I cry out like Esau

And beg for a single blessing

I pray like Cain

And say it is too much to bear

Yet as I stretch my hands to heaven

I hear my voice screaming out to Him

And the good book says,

“The good Lord giveth, and He taketh away.”

Jesus, My Peace

By Ella Green

Help me to trust You

And make the fog of worry clear

Help me to be still and know You are near

Help me feel peace when I am without it

Guide me on my journey bit by bit

Help me to know You’re there when I feel alone

So that Your Love and Light would be through me shone

Renew my strength when I am weak

So I may reach the glorious peak

Where Heaven will shine

And there will be joy divine

And worry no more 

When I reach the wonderful shore

There with You, I will remain

Forever with You Jesus, no more pain

Your mercies never cease

You are my Peace

To Lose

By Emma Miller

It feels harder to breathe

It feels my lungs have been coated in goo

As if my lungs can't fully expands 

As if my ribs poke into my sides when I try to inhale

It feels harder to swallow

It feels harder to speak

As if my throat as shrunk 3 sizes

It feels harder to remember 

It feels harder to think

As if all my memories are just a dream

Maybe it was always a dream

Maybe I’m only just now feeling what it is to be human

Maybe it’s always been hard to breathe

Maybe my ribs have always felt like spears in my side

Maybe my throat has always been at its normal state

Maybe none of it was a dream

Maybe I’ve just lost something 

To Fall in Love

By Talitha Lubben

I remember the night I met you, 

Or perhaps only saw,

For I did not speak a word to you,

No, we didn't speak at all.

And upon seeing you, 

I wondered, 

Only passingly

If it’s possible to fall in love with you.

You’re nothing but a stranger, 

But as I walk by with my umbrella,

And as you sit there,

Smiling at the rain,

I can’t help but wonder.

Wonder what it would be like to wake up next to you,

Kiss your cheeks, 

Hold your hand,

Call you mine.

But that won’t happen,

Because I don’t know you,

Will never know you,

For you will be gone once I turn the corner.

Do you know how you enchant me?

With your sunhat and forest green dress,

With the way you smile at the rain,

And carefully reach out your hand to catch the drops?

I love you,

But falling out of love is just as easy as falling in,

Because I never knew you,

Will never know you,

Only the way I dreamed of you.

Of when— if, you were mine.

Ashes and Dust

By Sophia Taylor

She wakes each morning with tears in the corner

Of her cold, dark coffin. 

Each morning it swells like the Nile.

It wreaks of mold and often,

She returns back to the sheets of shroud,

Eyes unfixed like a moving cloud,

The dust beneath her softens.

She does not know that she’s boxed in-

To a hole, unknown, unwanted.

She pushes up, against the sky

The ashy, rooted, muddy sky

To reach her final Eden.

Alas her efforts are in vain,

Yet they’re efforts all the same.

And while she takes her final breath,

Her meaning, purpose, lay to rest.

And those who know her— dozen–

Forget her name and summon.

She turns around herself,

Looking at her living hell, 

And cries for there are no skies.

The endless, waking, consuming, lies

Of hope, of joy

Which always die.

Under the ground, amongst the bones,

Lying beneath all of the stones

A song of weeping far less known.

Pillowcase Butterflies

By Isabel Mullins

The rag doll with stringy red hair sat in her liver-spotted hand. It was hers, she told me, when she was my age. Special, that’s what the doll was. Special because family gave it to her, the same kind of special the time I spent with her was. She was proud, that’s what she told me when I showed her my embroidery, a poor shadow of her skillful art. Whoever would’ve thought that this time, she wouldn’t survive. Now it’s all that’s left of her, her beautiful tapestries of love, the little butterflies of string that fly across my pillowcase.

Angel Wings

By Daniel Garner

I stepped onto the board. Wind hugged my body. I lifted my hands to the sky, my head followed them. They connected as I remembered how hard I practiced for this, and now was the time I leaned back, my knees bent. I soared up and I saw the board again. My body pierced the pool. The water turned red, I felt my shoulder blades burning. I escaped the water. My head was foggy, but I wanted to know what happened. “Mom? Can you tell me what it is?” I said wearily. I was told it looked like angel wings.


By Sophia Dowling

August | 2023
May Part 3 | 2023
May Part 2 | 2023
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