Black Lives Matter To Pour Cash Into Georgia Senate Runoff by Coffee82

Anchor sponsored this podcast. Source: Black Lives Matter Pour Cash Into Georgia Senate Runoff by Coffee82 • A podcast on Anchor

Don’t Stroke It (Let Me!)

Could you not touch it? she said. Just watch. So I didn’t touch it; I watched. I’m going to strip, but don’t stroke it. I stroked nothing. Got lotion? I said that I didn’t. Sit still, she said. I’m not going to go too fast. Ahh… just like that. Feel good? Good thing you’re aContinue reading “Don’t Stroke It (Let Me!)”

Heaven Opened Its Gates; Hell Rained Bombs

Heaven opened its gates, but hell rained fire and brimstone on the town, exploding bombsbodies float, baptized, in a river of boiling blood. Smoke rises with ashes.And shrapnel left her bleeding, huddled, crawling for cover to the corner of her mosque.A double-tap! she says, choking on blood like communion, but nothing comes across her tongue.SheContinue reading “Heaven Opened Its Gates; Hell Rained Bombs”

My ‘Dream Cabin’ Rests In Her Eyes (Part Three)

“Drop dead, Mr. Dawson!” I say, ripping the eviction notice taped to the front door. My head hung as I closed the door behind me, sliding to the floor, pounding the ground with clenched fists. I do this for several minutes. “What the fuck did I do to deserve this?” I scream, gazing heavenward. “YouContinue reading “My ‘Dream Cabin’ Rests In Her Eyes (Part Three)”

“There Is No Baby. I Lied.” (Abortion)

“What are you doing here?” Hannah asks, opening the door, tucking her bangs behind her ear. “You can’t be here! He’s going to kill—” “I’m not leavin’ until we tell him,” I say. “Face-to-face like a man.” “It’s his baby, not yours,” she says, shoving her hand on my chest. “You’re lying to one ofContinue reading ““There Is No Baby. I Lied.” (Abortion)”

My ‘Dream Cabin’ Rests In Her Eyes

Molecules vibrate, closing in on my skin, expanding their distance between love and pain, yanking at my vocal cords. I form I hate you with my lips, but the words refuse to see the light of day. Despair drips, like a Chinese torture technique, flooding my wherewithal to put together sentences, creeping up the hill ofContinue reading “My ‘Dream Cabin’ Rests In Her Eyes”

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