Fiction
Auto-crimes
She cornered herself against the shoulders of two meeting walls and wrote her screams into the plaster. The sun was a blade against her skin
You Look Just Like Your Sister
The red door to my home opened and the fresh smell of warm turkey and cranberry sauce collided with my senses the way Sticky
The Day of Our Meeting
I dreamed of the day, In the dead of winter, A dreary day, When I’d step off the train And see you there- The day
Kierston
Meet me in the mountains Of Oregon (Washington’s been having too many fires). It won’t be hard to find me- Just look for the earthship,
Lascaux is Burning
The first art Was not art, Rather, a color line shot through the dark, No more expression Than a plea for explanation. The grandest monuments
Popular Experiment
*synth beats* bright plastic blue screen green screen *auto-tune screams* chunky glasses tuned-in apathy *boy band* drive fast die young pretty corpse *twangy guitar*