I was ten when my mother first took me to a psychiatrist. He put me on Zoloft at her request. My relationship with pharmaceuticals is my longest running one to date. My normal.
So I guess I’m an animal then, aren’t I? Why? Why was I born?
I, and my vile habit represented a toxic threat both materially and existentially. It wasn’t only the danger of secondhand smoke, but the mere existence of smoking that they wished to shield from their cherub.
Chris snaps the seal of a Jack Daniels shooter and pops the brown sugar down his throat. Tommy pops Vicodin: Coronado eats a stick of dynamite and blasts his brain with meth, no judgement.
She sits in the grass in her special place and she does her meditation. It is the place she has carved out for herself in the world.
Relentless torrents of rain poured down that whole night, gently lulling me to sleep.
I haven’t had a sip of water in days. I scan the colorful, exotic flowers that fill the twenty eighth floor apartment. The view overlooks the Hudson River in New York City, and the lazy, muddy water
So what if I can’t cook? I can clean a crime scene then let you hate-fuck me after.
Chronic illness already made dating hard. And then the pandemic arrived.
“I almost forgot—” my childhood friend interjected as we were wrapping up a phone call on a blustery September day. “I
I keep trying not to say, I think about you all the time, I want to come for you, and I hang up without saying it, and then I call you later from my bed and I end up saying it all anyway.
What I mean is I write auto-biographical fiction and as such I’m a habitual and unrepentant liar-liar-pants-on-fire sheep in wolf’s clothing.
Swallowing those pills at night was now like playing Russian roulette; the blues were, for the first time in many years, the leading cause of drug deaths in Scotland, overtaking even heroin.
Once, I thought I would forgive. Now, a year later, I’m still waiting for the feeling to appear
No, I do not want any kind of modern love, with all its entitlements,
Nipple covers.
Pasties come in every shape, size and color. They can be plain or blinged within an inch of their minuscule lives. They can have tassels attached. They go on one’s butt cheeks with
Full facial tattoo or painlessly losing your lips. One has to happen. What is it going to be? What’s that facial tattoo going to be? How’re you going to face the world without those lips?
You asked Harrison who sat opposite you, if Mexico was a strong team and all he said was they might upset Argentina. He said this in reference to their game against Saudi-Arabia, you no see wetin them play against those Arab men the other day? Your hope dashed. You became a piece of meat doused with anxiety.
I have known / a hunger I would undo / my own good birth to sate
Between long sucks of her Newport, Jessalyn told me she was still so angry at her best friend for missing her wedding that she’d mailed her a box of crickets.
Crickets? I said.
Dead crickets.
What interested me about those stories didn’t really matter to you anyway.
Rebecca K. Reilly’s debut novel Greta & Valdin was a bestseller in her home country of New Zealand in 2021, and today it’s being released in the US and the UK. Pitched as Schitt’s Creek meets
You can tell everything about what a man will be like in bed by how he writes. He had rhythm.
There is an attitude in the liberated fetal detachment
Perhaps God has entered the chat.
My mother always says it was my father’s fault I couldn’t get along with anyone.
Jilly says the 21-year-old is weirdly similar to me, specifically because she’s in her early 20s and has a dead dad.
Pontypridd
When I was born, they thought I was dead. My grandmother, who could neither read nor write, plunged me into a tub of cold water. I got started after that.
My father was a coal miner
