To Current Issue

By ansley wiederholt

  1. Anonymity
    By Brittany Ahn
          Do not heed those words of truce that sway in the treetops like will-o-the-wisps. Green light fading so elegantly blind, beautifully aligned to the shape of the poppies. The words that fade into the better way, the only way.
          Dissolve the snake oil on a dry poison tongue, dripping out of the corners of his mouth. Seafoam daydreams against pale walls, blank like the shy, prying eyes of a doll. Shiny and intoxicated. Gleaming, and harsh.
          He extends his contaminated veins out for the shattered mirror images of her body. The decrepit image of Nancy’s lifeless eyes flash in the cold, dead stare of his life giver, his Reaper. Cosmic relief seeps through the holes, blessed trypophobia tattooed in scars of needled memories.
          The faceless coin tosses into the air, spinning through fingers, landing with a clatter on the floor, and the slab of dirtied flesh drops with it. A fresh funeral casket, prettied up to erase the guilt of the masses that shuffle in and swallow regret like a cobweb. Another hero lost, another villain seeking replacement.
          And Sid, buried among the poppies.