‘The Question’ (Anon.)
Anon. Germany
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It wouldn’t be fair to say the ache starts every morning as I wake. Or truthfully that I wake at all, more I become conscious… of the pain. The fire started small and young. Fickle flickering up my spine. Across my shoulders like a seasoned log, spreading further, faster as I age. It took hold.… Continue Reading ‘The Ache’, by Kitty Frilling
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Work as hard as you can for as long as you can Then you’re ill can’t work can’t walk can’t bear talk or remember how no pain felt can count on the hand you can’t lift your friends and family can’t work or provide can’t afford pride or holidays you manage Christmas, on plastic can’t… Continue Reading ‘The Cost of Falling Ill’, by Linda Cosgriff
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The way the scent of the air changes as the day goes on: the warming sweetness of morning; the sharp resin of fir trees as the sun heats the day; the cool, soft evening air with the ground and lake and all the waving leaves mixed in. The way the early evening light strikes the… Continue Reading ‘In Stillness’, by D. Phoenix
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generate stay slow seal here by Sean Medium Belgium
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Maybe me still being here is as random as someone else dying. Maybe my decisions and actions only worked for me and cannot be replicated by anyone else. I honestly don’t know. My mind is dwarfed by life’s mysterious ways. … All I know for certain is that as much as I would like to… Continue Reading ‘LIVE YOUR STORY’, by Katarina Juvancic
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I lie on the couch, but you cannot see my velocity. I have a tangential vectoring sense that pain is coiled mitochondrial speed, that while I am prone I am riding the rails deep into the future and the past at once, as if pain exposes ruptures in the time/space continuum and pulls me into… Continue Reading ‘The Velocity of Pain’, by Sonya Huber
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An afternoon spent, or was it an evening, or three, in a wheel clamp’s tender clasp. My dues for modernist mutation paid out in full: ribs, calves, hands, sections of skull, wrenching, arching, hardening. A homecoming of sorts, a holding; mattress won’t grumble, neither will I – if only we knew if we’re hot or… Continue Reading ‘Mutation’, by Marion Michell
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Twenty minutes; one thousand two hundred seconds, nothing really, unless you’re waiting, waiting to be told about something you may not want to hear. I feel different; my body is telling me there is a problem. Seventeen have passed. I’m sitting in a room where time has stood still. I’m surrounded by a sea of… Continue Reading ‘Twenty Minutes’ (Anon.)
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that unwanted invasion – now tethered over my back binding my knees burdening my shoulders with the heaviness which is my own being – my own cosmic orb of flames arcing slowly across from dawn until dusk and smoldering on through shadowland. – now anchored still tugging below my ribs pulling inside my left eye… Continue Reading ‘that unwanted invasion’, by R. Redman
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