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Literature

TOUCH ME

Do the words of a hedonist Leak from ebony lips? Is it bad to admit That I find refuge in that Little space between your thighs? Where I could just crawl and cry Until the storm passes by Only an arm’s length away From your heartbeat and breath Touch me until every edge Softens to nothingness I’ll be the F to your M and then the M to the S So just touch me until A smile creeps on your face Black clouds gather at your doorstep And cry life’s transience Like the end of our sentence That’s why I took refuge In every wrinkle and welt Hold me against the shelf that I had placed my former self Only an arm’s length away From anger and self hatred Touch me until every edge Softens to nothingness I’ll be whoever you assume As long as you like me too So just touch me until You find a better mood So just touch me until Sunrise makes you ill Enough to recognize That I’m no good for you

Literature

Insanity comes back

And that door, its hinges drunk on lubricant, not a squeak or sigh in sight, gave entry to Insanity, with his mullet freshly cut, curls inspired to stand messy and marvelous. He worked well with burgundy: a matching jacket and skirt, heavy glitter around his eyelids, and heels that snickered and clicked on the floor as he kicked and curled his lip. Yes, he was back to his feminine side, as if she won every fight at the end of the night, as if every inch of what was once masculine could be so easily peeled off and hung up in a closet. Or, perhaps, what was once masculine had been hidden deep within the trenches of the overstuffed duffel bag he dropped on the floor upon entry. No matter the answer, it didn’t matter, for it was in the past. Yes, heads had already turned, and marbles had already begun to emerge from eye sockets, wide and worried like colorful comets closing in on the earth, ready to impact and erupt a red rage, swirls and sunbursts disturbed, with dragonflies and