Weekly Submissions

Week of 7/1/18/-7/6/18

Oxidation

By.Eamon Mokhtari

The decay is evidently seeping through your pores,
crawling under your closed doors and still yet it hides
in the shadow of your doubts.
Locks and keys,
you threw them all out
without a sign left about only a signature in the settling dusk.
Caught by the flakes of your rust
shed over miles like snake skin,
what is to be expected when the beast commits a snake’s sin.
Try to take the fruit
And you can’t avoid the roots.

 

Week of 4/5/18/-4/12/18

Offering

By. Will Archer Jr.
 
Baptize me in vodka partna. 
My gab absolute with a sharp tounge. Don’t make me slice you like Katana… 
Mortal combat oral sex getting head from Katana… 
Keep my room on tropic I’m cold blooded like iguanas… Botswana hot my swag
on living and dead Liu Kang… 
Come bicycle kick it with me and Johnny Cage… 

Week of 3/29/18-4/4/18

Through Cloudy Eyes

By. Rachel Rummel

half-open and aligned
 
morning light pulsates
with love’s ineffable hum
 
the glue that binds us 
like soul-bare flies
 
drunk and drowning 
amazed in the wake
 
on this private plane 
of fly paper
 
the stickiness 
so sweet
 
we never notice 
the trap

Week of 3/9/18-3/15/18

Ode to Studying

By. Rachel Rummel

(one more semester)
of a furious study session
(one more chapter)
during a coffee shop interlude;
(one more day)
i never looked up

the big dreams: they live
(one more task)
buried under the weight
(one more cup)
of a wilting paper stack
(one more hour)
at a nail-biting sonata;
(one more page)
i never looked down

this burning drive i stifle
(one more problem)
stays a pilot light
(one more pill)
my universe is fluoresced
(one more list)
by the glow of a screen;
(one more section)
i never looked away.

Week of 3/2/18-3/8/18

Stuck Shut

By. Aspyn Leeann

My mama thinks I’m reckless
But I’ve just changed my mind
I’m having thoughts of a different kind
I guess I’ve changed with time
Sometimes I feel so breathless
as if my chest is broken
A gaping hole wide open
I wish that I could close it
I wish that life was deathless
And the demons weren’t in my mind
But sometimes the world isn’t kind
We’re running out of time
I make myself so restless
Give me your love but I’m still broken
my walls may never open
I can’t help but close it

Week of 2/23/18-3/1/18

Naked Kids

By. Will Archer Jr.

My eyes wander on their own free will.
This acid rain always helps wash down these euros and pink pills…
Gilded Pleasures on vinyl spins slow.
I growl at these humdrum blues,
But they never leave me alone…

 

 

Week of 2/16/18-2/22/18

I am the Hurricane

By. Aspyn Leeann

I don’t understand why my emotions come in tornadoes and hurricanes and floods and yours are merely a breeze, a puddle. I don’t understand how I could be drowning in sadness, and you simply step over it. How do I get sucked into my emotions, thrashed around and broken and you stand at the center, just watching the chaos around you? I become so stuck in the mess circling me I become it- destroying everything in my path- and you simply ignore the breeze?

Sometimes anger breaks out inside me like a wildfire, I want(need?) to learn to tame it. How is everyone around me putting out the flames while I can not stop burning?

 

Week of 2/9/18-2/15/18

Inferno

By. Will Archer Jr.

The pain thats stained on my stained glass window and windowpane remains viewable for all to see…
Sometimes smoky, hold the quartz…
Your hands I need slowly moving into my shorts. Fuck am I talking about
I only wear pants. There’s friction in these jeans… Fall out on me I’ll be
your boy. Let’s dance dance….
How bout we turn off the lights and shyness and turn on some romance.

 

Week of 2/2/18-2/8/18

Space Age Romance

By. Eamon Mokhtari

“Love” today feels more like
finding someone attractive and
tricking them into
finding you attractive.
Hours, days, weeks, months later
the sedative wears off,
a mongoose is sober and a
a viper is crushed under and blinded by the influence

Week of 1/27/18-2/1/18

Esoteric

By. Vylan Meleleu

After I ascend
from the world wicked from sin
messages send
through the astrals planes connecting within,
Auras lookin bright just an inch from my skin
If I let your brain in
The process will slowly begin

Week of 1/19/18-1/26/18

Infatuation

By. Aspyn Leeann 

your name, it runs through my mind like a record on repeat
my drug of choice, i choose you i will always choose you
infatuation
for who is to say we need to understand love to be consumed by it?
for who is to say we are too young? maybe we do not know love, but i am willing to learn
infatuation
you are mine
for today and tomorrow and maybe forever
hopefully forever
who is to say addiction is always negative?
infatuation

 

Week of 1/12/18-1/18/18

Yellow

By. Will Archer Jr.

You can be my scorpion. If I can be your palm tree…
Hide in my leaves.
I needyour sting more than the Police need Sting…
Handcuff me in your poison Love and never let me go.
I dedicate poisonous Love songs
to you by Bell Biv DeVoe…
You’re an old soul, but my new edition.
I’m hooked on your scarlet fever and I just ran out of penicillin

Week of 1/5/18-01/11/18

Grey Matter

By. Vylan Meleleu 

One solid structure like a diamond
Lock up the open minded in confinement,
Place sacred stones in the perfect alignment
In your home or on the mountains up in Thailand,
For your excitement watching TV that’s blindin’ you or subliminally reminding you to be defiant,
It ain’t rocket science the laws that they’re applying is for us to be compliant,
Fly like the planes there flying that drop pollution to make us sick and dyin’
I’m sick of tryin’ but I’m a keep on tryin’ until I reach the mount of Zion

Week of 12/30/17-01/04/18

Heartache

By. Aspyn Leeann 

Heartache
like poison
makes your throat swell, and your hands shake.
You try to focus on breathing and not the
overwhelming pressure on your chest but it
seems simply impossible.
You wish to die
the only difference is
with poison, you get lucky
your struggle to breathe is over quickly
your hands stop shaking
your heart stops aching
it stops beating

Week of 12/23/17-12/29/17

Body Weight

By. Eamon Mokhtari

Flesh is an anchor of gravity
tethered to a helium balloon mind.
Baboons and orangutangs climb to combust,
feeding the pilot ignition;setting the sail.
The truth is the ship has no course
but the crew is unaware, entertained by the
cumulative cumulonimbus and stratus clouds.
Able to see but not recognize the storm
approaching. Seeing is only believing
if you understand
and even then you may not care.
Not all are born as hot air balloons,
with fires in our bellies and self rising stiching.

 

Week of 12/16/17-12/22/17

Crash Test Love

By. Regan Rodriguez

I kiss you and

taste nothing but ash.

All the warning signs of abusive relationships

should’ve lit red in your eyes when you spoke,

but loving someone through the disgusting

is like slamming on the breaks and

still not stopping in time.

It’s the adrenaline and the crash all at once.

And by the time I noticed that we were living in a house

that only ever rusted when we touched,

it was too late to save the foundations

of who I was before I met you.

There was too much damage that I couldn’t take back.

My heart turned into a graveyard aching

like death at the front door.

So I took all the rage that you left me with

and burned the entire property down until

it was nothing but crumble left at my feet.

I can still smell the smoke,

but the nights don’t scream so loud anymore and

my hands have finally stopped shaking

 

Week of 12/9/17-12/15/17

Funny Games

By. Eamon Mokhtari

I could’ve been someone that strangled the right reflection,
reverse birthing broken glass into unglazed sand.

Wearing Windex is heavy on the knees, suffocates the eyes, esophagus,epiglottis
leaving the mind meddled, shriveling most.

I hid, and continue to hide.
Pretending to play with seekers, pretending to live like a seeker.

Week of 12/2/17-12/8/17

Once More into the Brine

By. Joseph S. Pete

A X-Factor comic book
once had the line of dialogue,
“We’ll talk, as men do,
except with more wit and better grammar.”

Polished pearl-like gems sometimes emerge,
opalescent, glistening,
from the grit and grind of the great confining shell of life,
from the illustrated stash of mediocrity,
from the dark depths of unlimned, abyssopelagic water.

It’s still a rarity
to see such an incandescent glint
in the shadowy cave of a briny clamshell,
a flicker of grace
in the pages of a rollicking yarn,
a comic so evanescent
the next issue could efface the whole canon.

Week of 11/25/17-12/1/17

Head First

By. Aj O.k.E (Matthew Leon)

Let’s jump right in,
Is this the way I’ll feel tomorrow
when the sun beats down on me?
Something has been
tearing at me from the inside
And I think it’s high time
That I found out what it is…

The grocery store,
The girls that leave you wantin more
The drugs that hit you from behind..
(They always hit me from behind)
Yet I digress, I was distracted by a temptress
Or maybe she was an angel in diguise?
Either way.

I’ll never forgive myself…
But if YOU ever feel outnumbered
I’m the one that you should call,
I’ve been right beside you all along!
And
I swear I’ll be here till the end of time

Week of 11/18/17-11/24/17

Cosmos

By. Devin P. Flynn

your beauty doesn’t scare me, but your heart, what a frightening delight
scars like the stroke of a brush, expressing all the little details your tongue can’t find the words to say
such a somber painting on such an angry canvas
pain advocating truth, anger pushing it away, optimism leaving the door unlocked in hopes that one day, it will return home
but with all this doubt can it really return to where it doesn’t have a place?
can something discarded with such apathy return with amnesty?

oh how the fire ignites when you see that which you cherish, but how sad the sight when you see it slipping through your hands
nothing lasts forever and it makes you so damn mad
drives you crazy, gaining so much throughout this life, just to lose it all for the past doesn’t have a price
like why can’t something’s, if not everything last? why can’t we all reside in the halls of eternity?
and why did we ever leave?

so strong are the emotions that you feel, carrying them the best that you can, until the glass you cased around them breaks
surrounding you, sweeping you, engulfing your world and creating an ocean
an ocean so deep the word ‘depth’ holds no eminence,
the evidence is clear, isn’t it?

I looked up into the myriad of the starry night sky, and I dreamed of the cosmos
I thought of the stars colliding, and how it shaped the galaxy to change
oh how small we truly all are, how insignificant this world, compared to the universe
but even with all this significance, the only thing I could seem to worry were the next words to come out your mouth
even with the size of the universe, the world I had created just seemed so much larger
even though my sun and moon were different, they were more important to me than the ones that rule the sky
in this ambience, I radiated all my apprehensions, I saw what made you this way
and what’s more important, is I saw why
I saw all the things you do, that scare yourself at night, and make you drive all the right things away
but even with all the things I saw, I couldn’t seem to turn myself from you
even though I know my efforts may be for naught, I know I am the harbinger of mine own demise
the evidence is clear? isn’t it?
we were always meant to cross, because just like the stars, we were destined to collide.

Week of 11/11/17-11/17/17

If We Had Met

By. Mackenzie Jeter & Regan Rodriguez

If we had met under any other circumstances, would we be friends?”
And she says no. Without question. 
I ask, that in all the timelines and universes stretching beyond and beyond our eyes, if she believes we are strangers there. 
Yes. There is no underscore of doubt folding against her teeth. 
I assure her that I could dream up some scenario, but even before I begin a cursory glance at all those universes I know, I feel a question begging against my skull. 
Are we even friends?
‘Friends’ always felt too narrow. It braced us against tight walls, limbs splayed, odd ends catching on our skin. Even ‘best friends’ sat like an ill-fitting garb, too much starch and pinned pant lines. We are something else altogether. 
I think of us, before. The us who were not so fused together that one step took us both forward. 
And I can’t help thinking that we were exactly who each other needed, before. 
Our friendship, or whatever we may decide to call it, was a work of will. It was sweat and toil, before it ever became this sweet thing. 
Sisyphus spent eternity pushing his stone towards the precipice, only to have it come rolling down again, and again, always again. 
And I won’t say the effort was a torment, as it was meant for him, but something in me understands. 
To dig your heels into the side of looming mountain, and urge yourself forward. To be illusion-less, yet undaunted- knowing that your journey is cyclical, and the bottom awaits. 
But I am not Sisyphus, and my arms grew accustomed to that weight. And that mountain, lifetimes aside, began to wear. 
You’ll always be that mountain, dear, but I know the path you have carved for me. I could follow it night-blind, wind-stung and aching. Yet fearless. Always fearless. 
You asked me, once, to sum up our friendship in a single word. 
I answered: instinctual. 
You never asked what I had meant, maybe you didn’t have to. 
Instinctual, because the way my feet follow that path without me asking.

Week of 11/4/17-11/10/17

Untitled

By. Darius Anderson

Every morning
It’s harder and harder to wake.
I lay
Contemplate
My fate.
What is it that forces me out of bed?
Will it ever stop?
I am the cockroach
Change is near

Week of 10/7/17-10/13/17

Birthright

By. Eamon Mokhtari

Doubts are my
disdainful soul’s civil liberties,
so cast exile as long as
thoughts remain questions,
as long as they continue to run a
rampant course on my neurons.
Restlessness and fright reminds
that blood still pumps warm
and with each metacarpal curl should come comfort,
as should any emotion at all. Lives are spent
falling through the ability to feel.

Week of 10/7/17-10/13/17

Untitled

By. Eamon Mokhtari

She hides from me
teasing, wheezing
mocking me and my lungs.
Wood nymphs love to tantalize
amongst the trees. I am no satyr
so she offers me milk and oil
but does not introduce me to the rest
of her retinue.
Enough to leave me starved,
but I am not thirsty as I drink her.
I don’t have gas to go,
but I have enough to combust if we ever spark.
Armtemis whispers
something heavy in her head that
relieves pressure. She now has
permission to sublime and evaporate.

Week of 10/1/17-10/6/17

Cut-Fishing Bait

By. Eamon Mokhtari

We slice our sights to watch
part of our worlds erupt
and miscarry toxic mushroom cloud fetuses.
No need to see
gives permission to birth a haze
that disembowels confidence and reassurance
like filleting a scaly fish, only to
catch your own finger on the hook
to let someone else fillet you
after the catch.
What are we casting and reeling for?

Week of 9/24/17-9/30/17

Untitled

By. Eamon Mokhtari

The full moon was
puss erupting from a blackhead.
The stars;scars
attractive reminders of dead skin,
dead tissue and a forewarning
of a savage ritualistic cosmic eruption.
The moon was glad to gloss over my face
as long as it was free of its dermic birdcage.

Week of 9/17/17-9/23/17

As a Human

By. Eamon Mokhtari

The heart as a human,
is totalitarian and brittle
with little clammy hands that love to belittle
every riddle they point at.
The heart as a human,
should be looking for a new home;
a healthy host where gambling debts
don’t follow, where it rains the arrows of Apollo
today instead of tommorow.
The heart as a human,
hopefully will have mortal moral recourse
may those scales step sheepishly
and the floor boards still creek and moan cries for help

Week of 8/20/17-8/26/17

Am I Crazy?

By. Mat Moreno

Look In The Eyes of the one I love most.
I keep checking the menu but nothing comes close
Found the problem source, I am the host.
Then I thow it on you, the one I love most.
Are you Crazy?
Am I Crazy?
Take back all my infidelities
I told you this was destiny.
I said margo, but it was really destinee
you brush it off and say “Nothings left in me”
Are you Crazy?
I Gave you a gift, you held my baby.
I Gave you the truth nothing too shady
You went behind my back, you played me.
Premeditated murder, 1st time feloney.
Am I Crazy?

Week of 8/14/17-8/20/17

Capillary Highway Robbery

By. Eamon Mokhtari

Our visions contain
some lime light of doubt
whether silver hazed or silk-screened
they forced each to stare at the fluorescent moon
with everlasting intent when they stomp and shout
leaving noting but bloodshot eyes all about.
Each vein a massive vessel;
timebombs being chased by crucial seconds
devoured by decimals
leaving no culprits but the clocks they left behind
there continues to be a lack of purpose
referring to intentions of trying to rewind.
Seconds continue to stab and hours constantly hurt.
But at least history will protect us.

Week of 8/7/17-8/13/17 

Untitled

By. Anonymous

Outward looking in
Enveloped in sin
Absolutely unsure
Of the me that I’ve been
Should I continue his life of
struggle and strife?
Or give up and fall in the dark
silent night?
No more can I ignore this
premonition
Like the Benz the key is in the
ignition
So strap in and enjoy the ride
Because no one comes out of this alive

 

Week of 7/31/17-8/6/17 

Apollo for Sale

By. Eamon Mokhtari

She keeps her arrows
quivered in my heart .
Sheathed are the shivers
that kissed and left
bites oh so bitter,
bold and keen on leaving
bruises. There are many uses
for an armory like me, one
not to forget or confuse;
batter your aorta’s frustration against mine
and still I’ll never contuse.

Week of 7/24/17 – 7/30/17

 Leech Therapy?

By. Eamon Mokhtari

Can the candle burn out
if the wick lit itself?
Why would the wick light itself
if it doesn’t have a scent?
Does the candle reciprocate,
or is the wick lucky to
shed skin that is celibate?
Each flame provides a noxious self destructive
high, each spark a harmless drug.
The wax is made of leeches with emerald eyes,
nonscented but she looks good, I’m
feeling noxious, craving phosphorus and peroxide.
Put us out.

Week of 7/17/17 – 7/23/17

Untitled

By. S. W.

How many Motel 6’s
With Chipping paint walls
And harsh smelling bleach
Did you stay in
Before you realized the scene was your skin
And no matter ow many times you moved
The room was the same
And you were not home

Week of 7/10/17-7/16

Untitled

By. Darius Anderson

Dark dimensions
Deep within
Destroy the dreams
To which I’ve been

Week of 7/3/17-7/9

Malignity

By. S.W.

At night you seep into my bones
The memory of you
Caught up in a dream-like state
Behind closed lids

I can hear the things you never said
And imagine the ones you never will
But in your absense
I can make you perfect
Which makes the loneliness
Far more seething

You once called me
‘Masochist.’

Week of 5/15/17-5/21

Scribe of Err

By. Anonymous

I slither across the tightrope between
“people person” and Socratically suicidal.
Nobody has ever translated their transcriptions
But I,
Somehow am allowed to bleed them into ink,
page after page waiting
to dry myself up and ring myself out.
We are nothing but dirty washcloths,
each emotion a bead of soiled
aquatic excrement.
Will I ever accept myself as a
rag?

Week of 5/8/17-5/14/17

Glass Eater

By. E. Mokhtari

My forgiving bones
yearn to be
shattered.

My tattered heart
aches to be
broken.

Frozen quakes ripple
across a charred body
that never should have been
chosen.

 

Week of 5/1/17-5/7/17

Gemology

By. E. Mokhtari

My face
Stole the skin of a diamond
To tote as it’s own mask of
Sheepskin.
Me, being the ever-ovulating orchestrator
Needed to pin the tail on this donkey
Only to rationalize why it is
Only in our nature to scrutinize
Our flaws, like a jeweler.
Each facet is forced to plead their case
While in the back of their mind’s eye
They know they will only be allowed on probation
Until the abuse from the lapidary starts again.
Tell me I’m not a real diamond
But then have the courtesy
To shatter me
Back into young, unglazed sand

 

Week of 4/24/17-4/30/17

A Draught of Wine

By. E. Mokhtari

I try to kill at least
one part of myself
each and everyday.

Strangle the host
in between every breath or
suffocate in front of the mirror
under the weight of weary eyes,

Every skin I slither out of
gets me one step farther
from my heart
and adds one lock
to my mind.

The door is always shut
whether locked or not,
but I’m never sure
whether I’m locked in or out.

I want to savor the hemlock
as it invades me. I want to
savor it right out of
the birthing pool of my synapses.
But I am yearning to earn that prize.

Week of 4/17/17-4/23/17 

Stuck in the Elephant Trap

By. E Mokhtari

I am a pawn on my own distraught
chessboard. The juxtaposed avenues of
landscape instill a craving for regression.
No desire to advance thanks to
the looming gift of sacrifice. Lateral steps are cherished,
nourished for too many seasons.
An austere spring is beginning to cascade and crumble
under the weight of the
intransigent summer. The board
begins to emit a cool sizzle
from its pores. Pawns relish
in their lack of duties but are
never graced with the option of lateral steps.
Stalked by the truer ivory pieces of embalmment,
pushed by their slave driving synapses
to chase the horizon for Bimini and longevity.

 

Comments are closed