A cutting-edge persona poetry journal obsessed with coloring outside of the lines & pushing the limits of existence to new heights.

[Mckendy Fils-Aime] - Vol. 1 Issue 2

Dracula to Mina Harker

The first bite was a gift,
teeth burrowed into skin,
your body shaking
like a beggar’s hands.

Veins sighing with every sip.
You were a fountain I couldn’t
stop mining.

Your neck looked like home,
my mouth, a doomed village
living off your hope.
There were no promises there,
just regrets in gulps.

I wanted you then,
the meat of ourselves intertwined,
nothing at stake,
no splinter of reluctance.

In your chamber
we mixed like clasped hands,
collapsed at your bedside,
falling like rosary beads.

What a messy prayer we were,
broken on this floor called religion,
your body, a crucifix that stopped working.

When your lover found us,
he howled, watching our dance
to this nocturne sonata,
wolf jaws glaring.

I could have clawed
a fence into his chest,
showed you the sheep inside.
There was no hiding who we were.

When you wed, dream of us.
Think of me with the bible for a heart,
the only book worth reading.
I will picture you as macabre scripture,
my favorite genesis.

Remember how my parting
mist said goodbye.
How I told myself to stop loving things
that look like sunrise.

The Mermaid’s Lament

Some days,
when you called,
I didn’t reply,
preferred the sound
of screaming ships.

But at night,
I’d sleep on bubbles,
dream of sneaking
into your room,

curling up to you,
the safest net I’ve ever felt.
You’d hold me like
a clam shell,
run fingers through
my seaweed hair.

Then I’d wake,
read the messages,
your voice a siren.
I’d look for you,
scraping myself
against earth.

I don’t know if
you’d do the same,
search as messy vermilion,
burst into seafoam,
Would you love me
with bleeding feet?

For Julie Corey and the women like her.

We met in darkness,
her hand looked for mine,
longing for contact.
She whispered gentle through water,
her voice, candy on tongue.
There is sweetness in her ripples.

I sleep to the song of her promises,
turning slowly every time she touches
the skin between us.
This is how we speak, moving fingers
to a heartbeat, its chords, our motion

Tonight, she feels like me,
says the sky looks like mascara,
the stars, glitter,
the moon, a lazy eye,
clouds hanging below like tears.
I want it open, bathing her in spotlight.

We walk through the park,
its trees whispering silence.
In this blackness, not even crickets speak.
All the beautiful things leave with dusk,
swallowed by morning’s gut,
the last promise of paradise.
Is this how Eve felt when she left?
Was Eden this quiet?

She says there’s a serpent here
wrapping itself around tree trunks
squeezing them like necks.
It has blackmailed insects for hushes,
snapped the quiet night.

We hear your slithers,
a tune complimented by footsteps,
by leaves beating air.
Are we cymbals in this drumbeat?
Are we meant to crash?
Your hands thought so, the way they pushed us,
watched her head smack the pavement.

Tell me,
When her lips touched concrete,
How hard did it kiss back?
Skin giving way to blood,
the first chapter in a novel of bruises.
Wasn’t beating her enough?
Fists driving into her body, shifting the tides.
In my flesh sky, your hands played god,
and I saw the devil in your knuckles.       

I felt the struggle, heard her scream,
her voice making waves around me,
lungs gasping for fight,
dancing for life like a flame in a rainstorm.
You opened her womb,
gutted me from home,
knife drawing red crescent,
a bloody genesis baptised in night,
and I came out,