Infinite

by Erin Gardosh

infinite, Erin Gardosh

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I Think

by Cassie Walters

Whenever I make love,

I think about you watching-

Wincing and shuttering

As your little girl gives herself away.

 

I think about your bones-

Still and cold.

I wonder how much flesh has since decayed,

And if I would recognize you.

 

I think about you thinking about

What you could have done differently.

I think about

What I could have done differently.

 

I think about that night months ago,

When you came to me and said,

“You made good choices.”

I think about that everyday.

 

I wear your clothes.

Your scent no longer lingers.

I think about the man

I would have died to save.

I Listened

by Emma Nadine

 

Some people say that depression is like sadness

that never goes away

As though my only symptoms are a frown

and an attitude

As though being sad for a day can etch bloody scars into blank slates

I used to be beautiful

But depression hangs on to me

like a parasitic steam bath

Opening my pores to weave its way deeper

 

Some people say taking a deep breath

makes it easier to handle

As though my lungs aren’t filled halfway up with dread

Let me drown in it

This time being half full doesn’t make me optimistic

 

Some people say, “get over it”

As though the bottle of pills under my pillow

doesn’t call to me every night

As though I don’t wear a cloak of fragility that screams

“I listened”

Fingernails

by Andrea Millares

 

Fingernails are the first to go. Hair stays coiffed,

shirts remain tucked

and eyes unbagged—

in the beginning, at least.

 

But my fingernails are the first to go.

Bitten and picked at, soon the floor is covered in tiny shards of white armor.

The skin curls back

like when the wind catches the pages of books I have no will to read

and my fingertips glow an ugly, irritated red.

Please, don’t look at my hands for too long.

You’ll see and you’ll know

and I don’t want anyone to know

not even you—

not yet.

And trust me, the unprotected flesh screams at me,

just like it whispers to you.

Your echo is not unwelcome,

 

but forgive me for getting frustrated with broken records—

Even when the tune is one I need to hear over and over again.

Are You Scared of the Dark?

by Emma Sheinbaum 

Are you scared of the dark? Of the

way it seems so still? Of the sunspots

that sparkle for just five seconds, for the first

five seconds of darkness? Of the second

they stop?

 

Of the way the dark

starts moving, shifting, when you stare

into it for too long? Of the heaviness

it rolls onto you? Of the emptiness

it carves in you? Of the

static it hums inside

your ears? Of the static it

starts inside your head?

 

Of the anonymity

it makes of you? Am I

scared enough to turn

the lights back on, will

the lights ever turn back on?