Fiction

Marge Simpson
Knows the heart ache of canaries. Hummimg bird to spilt milk No friends same dress Pearls that rarely dance Five dollar rose bouquets Without a

Blind Devotion
I jack off to one of the pictures of her I have saved on my computer and after I’m done I send her a message to tell her

The Sacrifice
Hauling my suitcase up the unevenly-paved alley, I glance at the second-storey room I share with Komal. Against twilight’s midnight blue, our window glows white.

Firework Girl
‘‘It’s okay to change your mind.’’ About feeling, a person, a promise of love. I can’t just stay to avoid contradicting myself. I don’t have

Wednesday
It’ll be a Wednesday. It’ll be cloudy outside. There will be fog creeping over the ravine and remnants of an early-morning rain still drifting

Ghost Hunting
I’m hunting for ghosts,In alleys lit by memories,Phantoms of yesterday,Carved out of my mind.What I once held,You me and our dreams,Scraped knees and screeching swings,Pokémon