Fiction & Poetry

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BLOOD FOR THE SHATTERED FIGMENTS IN MY BRAIN

Every lunch period, Ethan ate his soyrizo scrambles and paced around, flexing his biceps and leading the group in animal rights discussions.

Being this close was something I never really thought about. It’s not something I really ever had to think about.

I often hear my neighbors fight,
falling asleep to dimming light.

My name is ghost,
pronounced lost—

I have found my out in violence

Allow me to make one thing clear from the outset: if he lets himself be captured, he’s no brother of mine.

Bloodrage is an orc who looks like your father.

I saw so much death after they took you, my love.

you found it growing in the basement
a sickly lavender with chilling implications