Melancholy – S. K. Nicholas

In the middle of eating my sandwich, I come to the sudden realisation that every square inch of this planet must be haunted. Even worse, is that such trauma is as natural as the falling of rain from clouds that come and go like the beat of a heart buried beneath sheets unwashed for several weeks. My sheets, and my heart, I’m ashamed to say. Yesterday, itseemed to be the ‘90s, and for …

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Bee Jams – Jimmi Campkin

Sitting uneasily on the remains of an old washer-dryer, I look up to the sky and toast the world.  At my feet, dead yellow grass paws pathetically at my shoes.  I light another cigarette and blow smoke into the day.  It is nice to feel involved in some small way with this wider conscious, even …

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