Pebble in Your Shoe

By Jerron Feaster

Death woke you that sultry morning to a windshield heavy with dew and carbon dioxide fumes filling the cab. Pulling a hair from back of your parched throat, you rolled a window down, turned off the ignition. While in a haze, you recalled dreaming of your mother, visiting her grave, and promising a polished headstone soon. Wind rushed around the car, through trees, then calmed to eavesdrop the morning message of songbirds, like ones she’d watch feed from the lighthouse you hung on a low branch just outside her dining room window.

The scent of cigarettes and booze lingered on your clammy hands as you pressed firmly, wiping your whiskey-burnt eyes to see that moment: a hospital-white room, her chest rising shallow then falling, machines sounding their farewells, that jaundice-toned skin, a swollen body coupled with death’s scent hovering as flies over a sunbaked carcass— her irises the bluest you’d ever seen.

You thought it was that memory to be the pebble in your shoe. But you’ve a granite stone within your chest, and just enough money to drink until you forget you’ll remember all this soon.

I am alone, falling into the black, Plummeting into my own oblivion. Created by the love they lack And the failure of my salvation.

Falling short is a welcome end

To a dead life I would never live. Because my parents have sinned And made a thing they’d never love.

My beautiful sanctity taken away, Smoking and shriveled like charcoal.

Burned by the home in which I lay, Dragged in pieces to a bloody bowl.

I fall in a stream of crimson strings, Casting a curse of pain unforgivingly.

I can barely wait for what the afterlife brings, As my ungiven life ends unceremoniously.

Trials By Fire

Rachel Belue

My heart, my soul, it cries. It screams in agony as it burns. It burns, scorched by the trials of life. The trials of life bring pain and suffering to all who must endure them. All different but painful just the same.

At times our hearts burn with passion and joy. We relish in that fire for it only to burn us and be lost. We continue this cycle, chasing this passionate spark. We can hold so many different perspectives as to why we must endure this wretched cycle of life. Even so, we can’t help ourselves.

Our attempts to save ourselves from pain only lead to more. If we go along with the cycle, trying to ride it out, we’re foolish, hopeless romantics.

What then must we do?

We’re only left with those two options. Either way we’re suffering through these trials by fire.

Dreaming to Death

Ashleigh Blair Russell

I have a recurring dream where I am struggling to swim Water floods me, my life is taken to its rim

I gasp for air, but I find none

My only friend is the scorching sun

Strangely, I see my mother on the shore I beg for her help, but she just ignores I fight the currents and plead for aid But darkness is enclosing, and I am feeling afraid

Just when things go black, I am brought back awake Tears stream out of my eyes for my life’s sake I know it is just a dream, but to me it means more What do I do when death finally opens its door?

She’s Never Enough Samantha Bailey

If she doesn’t eat she’s too skinny, But if she does eat she’s too fat.

If she’s too short she needs to grow,

But if she’s too tall she needs to shrink.

If she wears too much makeup she looks cakey, But if she doesn’t wear enough she’s ugly.

If she never talks she’s too quiet, But if she talks more she’s too loud.

If she starts to be herself she’s weird, But if she isn’t herself she’s boring. She’s never enough.