“Any second now,” she says. With my eyes closed, I bite the air the same as her. It tastes of cherry pie and the flesh of her pelvis. As the sensations become almost too much for me to bear, I feel the bubbles of time and space popping inside of my mind. The moments contained… Read more

The light of the dead white orbs pierces my mind. The sound is just as intense; it blocks out everything—even the explosions in my chest. It’s like I’m having a heart attack; or a Grand Mal. It feels as if my bones are trying to escape from my cage of skin. If it weren’t for… Read more

She tickles herself with Cleopatra’s Needle. It’s long, hard, and riddled with ancient wonder. It stinks of dog piss, too, and the murky waters of the Thames, which is full of bloated bodies and mystical penny-farthings and the last remaining vestiges of old tales belonging to Londoners dead yet alive. They’re stuck in the forties,… Read more

Gripping me tightly, she squints and spits as I stutter her name. I can feel the seed bubbling in my balls; tingling the same as the fillings in my teeth whenever I come into contact with electricity. Like if I’m caught outside in a thunderstorm, or standing beneath a pylon trying to figure out a… Read more

Bruised skin crisscrossing her wrists. A cigarette or two sat squeezing out a turd deep in a pocket of sleepy morning. In some faraway land, a guy ate a bat, and that was that. The streets stretching from her belly to her knee are neon black. They’re smooth and taste like milky vanilla. The kind… Read more

The cymbals rush, and I bite my tongue. No blood. Some blood. Nobodies looking. I must stress that I am not diabetic. Not to my knowledge. If a part of my body displeases me, I soak it in tea tree oil until it goes black and falls off. I soak my cock in a glass… Read more

In a bingo hall, near my old school, the outlines of people no longer around are visible at a specific time each day. It’s just after tea. Mid-afternoon. Tele and biscuits while the woman next door shaves her legs in full view of us kids on the brink of discovering the meaning behind our favourite… Read more

“I want you to come on that man’s head,” she says. Open-mouthed while imagining what it would be like to play on the slide in my grandparents’ old garden again, I don’t hear her words. Well, I do, but they don’t register. “Did you hear me?” This time the words resonate. It takes a few… Read more

Not vodka but pop. Neither cigarettes nor cigars, but rolled up post-it notes soggy after being chewed by soft, childish lips. Not the lips of the kids I went to school with, though. They’re all old now—old like forgotten oranges in a Christmas stocking—one that’s been tucked away for several months in a basement belonging… Read more