You are a volcano always accused of eruption. Whether or not you Lay dormant you will be feared. You will carry your keys in between White knuckles like a secret weapon and gift your best friend Pepper spray for Christmas, because God knows she’s afraid to walk Home alone at night. You will be expected to smile, receive graciously and benevolently The hungry eyes of men twice your age, The whistles and catcalls of boys who haven’t yet hit puberty. You will always have a re

I’ve known dead who grab the steering wheel. Each time I wish they wouldn’t catch me with their eyes like I’m something that’s been broken. I’ve sworn I’m fine, I’m not lying, I’m just neglecting to talk about the reasons behind my wrinkles and the cracks in the plaster on my skin. The truth is, I’ve yelled more about love than sworn over mistakes. Mikael Vinke was previously an acting major at NYU and is now working on a degree in game design at UTD. Mikael has s

I wasn’t kidding when I said “You kill me, kid” Deep, hot breath like fire in my bones and Your hands two stitches sewing up my hips I got so drunk off the scent of your skin Blood loss by a bitten bottom lip Blindness, because the look in your eyes was no match for mine Cause of death: side smiling Are these love-bites or lacerations Handprints where they shouldn’t be Chicken pox goosebumps 98.6 degree burns where you touched me Walk-of-shame eyebags Nausea from ne

I am made of sea glass And all the times I panicked Soft and weathered Once part of a whole Manufactured in a sheltered city Used to help fill Warm bellies before a man got too Drunk and tossed me out to sea On Christmas I am made of beach sand And the time I fell asleep Face-down and burned my rough skin raw So I could finish my dream My past is a mystery to those who hold me All they know, what is in their hand I am, thanks be to the waves Silent when asked to

My eyes were open too long and a draft has gotten in fully open shedding light on all my many sins now this room is creeping cavernous cadaverous suggestions of something haunted and dangerous A subtle wind blows between my heart and lungs my neglect my indifference let it enter in the first place my ribs and the spaces spread to make space my organs shuffled to accommodate Starving on the inside my mind the open sea my chest the night sky blown

I feel the rhythm of the moon in the base of my skull. Can you feel it too? It’s slender fingers slipped into the top of my neck, and pulled me out through it. I was above me, looking down at a familiar stranger. I stare into the face of the man, and although I recognize myself there, I feel as if those eyes are lying. I want those eyes to leave. I want the comfort of steel to shift the skin from the bone, so I don’t have to bother with meat. I want to be better. I w

I remember your delicate brown skin, and the fresh fluid surrounding your form. You looked unreal, as you grasped at my chin you were so small, but your heart was so warm. A few days from then, I saw you again. Your shape, once so darling bright, had ceased it's grasping and mewling motion, and I knew you had been lost to the night. Even if there's nothing out there after this. A world without you isn't a world. There can be no smiles, no joy, no laughter so long as my so

(Original in Afrikaans) ek skilder myself vas ’n fetus in ’n winterboom sodat die lente kan kom maar die impastogreep van bas kramp krom en dig ’n blou kring om die kind se mond totdat botsel-oë ewig sluit klein gebalde vuisies gestuip hemelwaarts rig (English Translation) I embed myself with paint a fetus in a tree that grows bare to rebirth colors and light air but the impasto-grasp of bark is a holdfast of denser words tightening hardening back labor a blue rhyme

Gusty winds and cotton skin Blessed with unclean thoughts Sky blue teeth and tongues of fire Charmed with smoke and cough For those who tremble For those who weep For those who shiver For those you can't keep For those who crawl on hands and knees Through broken glass to beg and plead For those who drink and never sleep And pray the Lord their crown to keep Stephen Viola ($) is a writer and musician based in NYC/NJ. #winds #skin #blessed #thoughts #fire #smoke #tremble #weep