things with flowers

Gorgeous piece from Devika 💛


bc6c6dcb0f924115b8e3f3389ef7a67d127409177.jpgits like lilies.
diluted heaps of blue tears.
scalded and indexed.
all the marking onto my heavy lips.
My lips are even today,
with plum shade paint
dancing on the rim of sorbet.

its like white wildflower,
a fish with black scales dancing in its slumber.
Piquant, small pebbles cascacding from tears.
salty as skin. salty as dream.

its like mirror,
sequin shades of lover.
i am wondersruck galaxy.
These veins in my hands run fever now.

Thank you dear readers for always reading my words and leaving your lovely comments. I truly appreciate it.

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Quarry – Jimmi Campkin

Phenomenal piece from Jimmi Campkin 💛


DSC_0068.JPGI’ve been sitting on this icy stone for half an hour watching her swill the endless whisky miniatures, produced from her pocket, around her ulcer pocked mouth.  She hisses at the weak sun, and in the cold our breath mingles like clouds colliding before a storm. The sky is barely lit; just a candle covered in dehydrated piss and viewed through a filthy window, but the grass and the sheet metal buildings and the broken down flat fences all feel alive.  Even the dead trees kick and stomp under the soil, trying to work their dry roots into the moist holes under the soil.

We’d spent the morning in a burned out car, trying to find the places where our arse bones didn’t pinch on the exposed seat springs, making all the appropriate vrooming noises and twisting wheels both real and imagined.  I hadn’t slept in sixteen hours and I’ve…

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There is something seductively sinister about this piece. I love it 💛

Silent Hour


Rowena was hiding behind the rosebush in her garden, watching Julian through his window. He was having his morning cup of coffee. Rowena was jealous of that cup. She was jealous of anything he touched and anyone not too timid to be close to him.

Rowena had been watching Julian since the first day he came to the neighborhood, about six months ago. It was his fault; he had such magnetism it was criminal. He lived opposite her, and she had caught many precious glimpses of him doing this or that. Tableaux of Julian, she called them.

Julian didn’t know she existed, and that had to change. Speaking to him was out of the question, though. She would blush; the very thought made her feel a hot flash. She had to find a way to be seen and remain unseen at the same time. She locked herself in the house…

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Swear To You – Nicholas Gagnier ft. Kristiana Reed

One of the collaborations from Nick and I in All The Lonely People, which reached number one in its category on Amazon yesterday 💛



For Anthology Tuesday we are sharing a piece from Nicholas Gagnier’s recently released anthology which shares his story of survival and self acceptance. Alongside Gagnier, there is an array of talented writers who have gifted readers with their stories too.

Swear To You

Last time, I made you swear always to be honest, always be a shoulder. Another for the books, and we’re another year older. And now you’re the one in flux and fresh out of fucks to give. It took almost killing you to remember how to live.

But I swear to you, as you once did for me; there aren’t enough curse words in my linguistic universe to tell you,

but I would need every one.

Here lies my promise in every shade of blue and red you can assign to my blood;

my promise that no matter what we do, what we say or where we…

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A Letter to Myself – Kristiana Reed



I have no idea what to say to you. I have made a coffee, washed my hair and slipped back into bed and still I’m not sure what this letter is about. All I know is, it is addressed to myself.

I guess I wanted to write about beginning, considering today is the first day of the New Year. I know you’re struggling with the idea of beginning because you’re in the middle of something. I know you’re struggling with the pressure that a new year means something. Your head is full of memories and only outlines of future plans.

Spend a few days with the memories. They do not have to be negative because they live in the past. The more you try to be free from them, the more they turn up in your dreams as names and faces you must stop wishing you could forget. Some…

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