Untitled I

Written by Caselka

Photograph by  Sarah Gray

Photograph by Sarah Gray

Your pale skin breathes its scented pollen into my existence

my heart races

the bees of me gather on your skin

in the wind of a dark night under a tree

you’re silhouetted by a street light

your eyes roll towards mine

we speak 2 words in 2 eye movements

the bees return

the queen has her golden


familiar honey

Untitled II

Written by Caselka 

Photograph by  Annie Theby

Photograph by Annie Theby

The tense horse hair screams softly against the intoxicated memories

of yours from mine

his eyes showed the fear of love with regret as your dark hands clenched

his tender neck

i helped him off the cold tile floor of the hallway in this carberry haunted house

this is not a home

homes do not have black eyes and morning wine

I could barely lift his 45 year old shocked figure

he looked at you and asked

how could you

seriously though how could you

tough love they say

does this mean everyone’s mum hits their dad

you have left us astray

The Abstract

Written by Anthony De Vall



Darkness stalks us from our dawn

Relentless for our final breath

At first its form is blurred

Unknown yet familiar

Hiding in the mist of time

Watching, waiting for the moment

By night it closes hidden from our breath our sight our souls

Our name is scrawled upon the wall of those to be recalled

Yet still we betray ourselves

Not wanting to face our fate

Knowing yet waiting for our turn to come

For when it is revealed sadness will be left

A hollow place filled with despair & tears from those who miss

So how to fill the emptiness?

Remember how it was before

Like a leaf caught upon the wind

Floating through the air with grace

Never staying nor wanting for the journeys end

Moving forever on the wind

For even though the darkness comes

It takes us all one by one

Our souls live on in those yet to be gone

Transformed from what we are

The abstract is returned

Size Matters

Written by Perverse Psychology 

Photograph by  patricia serna

Photograph by patricia serna

I just can’t compete with Pete

Have you seen the size of his feet?

They’re like flippers

I’ve no idea where his Missus buys his slippers for Christmas!

They’re ridiculous!

And you know what they say about men with big feet?

No, not the shit joke about wearing big socks

I mean about the size of his cock!

When it comes to Pete I just can’t compete!


Written by Talia Graziano 

Photograph by  Zulmaury Saavedra

Photograph by Zulmaury Saavedra

If you love something, let it go

let it go until there's nothing left of it. 

Let your house go. Your ciggarettes. 

That damn good fucking cup of coffee in the morning. 

Let it go. Let it all go. Let them go. 

Him and her let them fucking go. 

Who needs 'em anyway? You let go and then it all stops hurting after a while. 

It subsides into the recesses of some dark passage that reads, memories or something. Let it go and see what you become. Let them go and see who they become. 


You tell yourself you're not 21 any more. No

i want to be free. Above them all. I'm going to fly man. Everything's going to hell while you just sit there sipping your fucking cow puss latte you insolent bastard. The nerve. The Nerve. 


Before i fall into my cup of coffee remember me. 

Remember trying to like me. i did pretend

pretend to listen to your arduous talk about the incessant abuse life inflicted on you. 

Bleeding on my bedroom floor at 6AM. You're a fucking fool i would recite in my mind. Never out loud to someone as dumb as you would never ring through your wooden skull. 


Ah, to surround herself with friends more insecure than her to not feel the burn of posing as mere distractions from your derived existence. 


Maybe it's you. Maybe it's me. 


Maybe it's this distorted grimacing image we call life.

Scratching on the walls of the echo chamber, beckoning us to take a breath. 


Written by Katharine Wood

Photograph by  Artem Verbo

Photograph by Artem Verbo

Turn off the phone,

Ignore emails,

Scrub teeth of soiled dreams

and sail away.


They will expect you to drive,

or fly or to hide

in your parent’s reveries.

Living a life of clockwork tuning.


But you want to be alone.

To be on snow-globed horizon,

where sea and sky meet

in hazed blue.


Buy all the tins and cans

and bottled water.

Let the cashier look sideways

and give him a briny smile.


Steal a 42-foot Yacht

in bruised morning light.

Listening to creaking chatter

of wooden decks.


Cut ropes and drift

to unknown waters.

And let them talk

and search and wonder.


Your cracked skin will cave

over bones.

As missing posters, yellow

in soured memories.


And you will laugh,

as gulls sweep down

and peel away your crusty stress.

Leaving a muted shell.


Written by Katharine Wood


You’re walking

in rattle tattle streets.

The darkness tickles

and he’s a Creep


HIGH-heeled shoes,

bruised knees and brains-

toxic juices and he’s


        a CreepIN.


Glassy people,

Swaying at corners.

Cracked and roasted

in late night shine.

But he’s Fiiiiine and Creep-in,

Closer AND





In the sour air

of late night purges.

With a quickened step

of cutting heels.


Down graffiti lanes

from thumping lights,

to this empty quiet-



In quaking turquoise dress,

 your feet slip

                       on gravity

and the night shatters.


Monday’s migraine awakens,

pushing off drunken pavement.

It’s time to go home

and you’re a limp-


Liquid Love

Written by Roger Lucas


Woodgrain of piano and bass 

stand side by side,

together your hands over 

ivory and metal slide.


All is coloured with a cover

of soft red light,

only a microphone’s silver gleams 

until your lips part,

and give your face 

its keyboard smile so white.


A down to earth return is showed,

before, the lights of constellation 

on your grin had glowed 

in link up with accompaniment.


This far sparkling sound 

floats, sprinkled on swift streams 

flowing from the spirit continent 

beyond our sight.

Sent through fingers feeling 

the motion and the pace

of that, which they allow to depart

from their high realm.


To bring to man’s, upon the ground 

your notes pour out a whirl

of notes, to fill our ears,

and saturate the heart

with overflowing gladness.


Come true are dreams 

for its powers overwhelm

all that causes sadness,

annulling fears

it brings on peace,

clear eyes, instead of tears.


The elements you've reached tonight 

are created hot 

- up above 

they raise our consciousness.


Out into flight 

condensing drops of concentration 

become pure pearl 

presented here.


They are appealing,

dripping in the atmosphere 

a lot 

of liquid love

F**k You, Muse!

Written by Perverse Psychology 

Photograph by  Riccardo Annandale

Photograph by Riccardo Annandale

Who gave you the right to choose

When to Bloom when to fizzle

When to wake me in the middle of the night

With inspiration

Other times I’m waiting

Aching for a thought to form

But all my thoughts are vacant.

Santa is a Vampire

Written by Elisabeth Smiddy


Santa is a Vampire 

Exciting! Breaking news 

Santa is a Vampire

And here's some vital clues 


He only works at night time,

Plus…(this is Geographic) 

He lives in a cold climate 

And claims he's telepathic    


Santa is a Vampire 

For it is very clear 

He been around for eons

But doesn't age a year,


Yes! Santa is a Vampire 

Robust in his red hood 

Those chubby cheeky ruddy cheeks

Are flushed with pints of blood! 

Love Letter to a Stranger Part IV

Written by Arlee Francis


Dear Stranger,

I live in a small bay

     at the very end of the world.


Bring your rowboat chest

     and I’ll press myself between your ribs


so we can use my arms as oars

     to take us far away

                     from shore.

You’d like it there.

- Love,


(i could use you to stay afloat)

Love Letter to a Stranger Part III

Written by Arlee Francis


Dear Stranger,

Three up and two across from me, you lean out the window. Teeth flashing golden in the light from passing cars. It trails over your form and I can almost make out the title of the battered paperback dangling from your left hand.

Shakespeare, I think.

And this world is your stage, Stranger. You direct from the cracked facade of your seventh floor room. Commanding the white and red lines of traffic streaming endlessly in both directions towards the distance.

They don't see you, Stranger, but I do.

- Love,


(and how you command my attention)

Pretty Hurts

Written by Payge Stanley 


Trust me, I understand how paradoxical it sounds.
To say “being beautiful is hard”.
I can hear your laughter as you read that sentence, but you don’t hear it from my point of view.
"Too pretty to like sports"
"Too pretty to be friends with them"
"Too pretty to have tattoos"
"Too pretty to be smart"
Labelled instantaneously for something as temporary as looks.
As if they define me.
As if they mean my life is perfect.
But the label reads nothing but "Burden".
Tell me, is it me or my body you want?
Everyone so aware of the advantages of being pretty but too naive to notice there are disadvantages.
People constantly searching for flaws and mistakes in you like you are a middle school essay that needs proof-reading.
Only content when they find some because now you’re acceptable.
"How is it fair to be pretty, that’s  got to mean your life is a fairy tale right?".
But don’t you remember that every princess has struggles and pain.
Beauty saves you from nothing.
Especially not the hands of a man whose ego makes him feel entitled to have you because you make him horny.
An added label. "Sex object".

"Well it’s lucky you’re pretty"
5 words that rid any worth I thought I had.
No amount of hard work, accomplishments or personality can ever seem to outshine the shadow of being "just pretty".
Because in a Society this vain nothing matters more.
Who cares, boys are only friends with her to "get some".
Who cares she’s insecure.
Who cares that girls she’s never met already hate her and spread rumours.
Who cares she’s a mother, daughter, girlfriend, sister, a human being.
She’s got it easy because she’s  pretty, right?

Britain is Broken

Written by Jesse Chambers

Photograph by  Chris Lawton  

Photograph by Chris Lawton 

Britain is Broken
But when was it ever fixed? 
Britain is Broken
The young only care about Netflix

Britain is Broken
It was always better ‘back in my day’ 
Britain is Broken
Can’t get by on minimum wage.

Britain is Broken
Sixty children to a class
Britain is Broken
Community is a thing if the past.

Britain is Broken
Only the rich get a mortgage
Britain is Broken
Jobs are in shortage

Britain is Broken
But who is to blame
Britain is Broken
It’ll be fixed again one day.

Life in a Flash

Written by Mike Davies

Photograph by  Jake Thacker

Photograph by Jake Thacker

We create, we live,
We breathe, we give,
We grow, we learn, 
We strive, we earn.

We work, we play,
We love, make hay,
We fall, we commit,
We fallout, we split.

We mature, we age,
We argue, we rage,
We laugh, we cry, 
We wrinkle, we die.

Nobody Knows

Written by Katie Page

Photograph by Lotte Meijer

Photograph by Lotte Meijer

Nobody knows why,

Nobody cares

for those innocent lives that,

could have been spared.

They spent their lives, hiding

Behind their own lives.

Hoping to find the answers,

To fulfill their miserable lives.


They need to open their eyes

They need to follow their hearts.

For this world is falling,

because they have forgotten how to love.

Because they yearn to fill,

the emptiness they feel inside their heart.

Because they don’t know

That all they need is love.

Love Is

Written by Katie Page

Photograph by  Fabrizio Verrecchia

Photograph by Fabrizio Verrecchia

Love is like a river

That flows inside of me

Love is like the air I breathe

Although I cannot see,

As the years go by

I stop and wonder why

I see only darkness in your eyes.

I spent my life

Hiding behind,

the shadows of some else’s life.

I need to be strong

I need to move on

Because I know you’re not the one.

Now it’s time

To find, the love that shows,

 within a smile.


Written by Anonymous 


I rise
With the crow of the cock
I live
By the ticking of the clock
I slumber
At the setting of the sun

I run
And though my days are numbered
I know
I will be free
(And I yearn
For my release)

Yes I run
Through heaven's shaking thunder
And I know
I will be free

For I am one of you
Yes I am one of you
And you are one of me
We are all together

We rise
With the crow of the cock
We live
By the ticking of the clock
We sleep
At the setting of the sun

I thank you all
For the blessings of the day

Late Sunrise

Written by Ian Mann


As the sun breaks

On these fortified roots.

We witness a love

Sprouting new shoots.


Many times the moon

Has rotated the earth

For us to bear witness

To this union’s true birth.


The plus of this taking 

So long of a time…

Is the elements are tested

And the love now divine.


This symbiosis has

Survived many a storm.

No matter the weather

The bark hath not worn.


Bearing true testament

To their spirits nature…

The passing of time

Formed their love more mature.


This sacrament today

Gestures a new start.

A fortified binding

Of hope to ne’er part.


So to the next cycle

Of this mutual fusion.

Entwined forever

Let there be no conclusion.


But, we wish to see saplings

Now this marriage is born.

As each new beginning

Starts with a dawn.


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