Flickering Flame of Addiction

the abandoned clock tower proved to be the perfect squat, sheltering us from the outside world. she and i took solace in our solitude, hidden away hundreds of feet above the bustling city below. no one knew we were here, and we preferred it that way. we spent our numbered days chasing the flickering flame of addiction, wasting away behind the broken clock. the irony of time stopped was not wasted on us. the giant motionless arms of what was once a great feat of engineering cast eerie shadows throughout our abode. in the sticky hours of midday summer, we would huddle in their shade. life passed slower up here, death beckoning, always one boof away.

By:  Jester Pepperbottom

Stale Flower

She wept for those hardened from their failures, her wisdom written in the eroded walls of her stale flower.

She wore her dick years with pride, her cavernous nethers decorated with the salty stalactites of lovers lost.

She smelled of moldy blackberries, a whore’s sweet scent. Sound out a warning, I’ve fallen inside. ¬†Blown out and oblong, she sheathed me in her rotten essence. Who am I to laugh in the face of opportunity?