The air felt so heavy that it would suffocate all language.

‘Eaten.’ He rectifies, his tongue flips out and recoils in saurian swiftness.

And by:

Elizabeth Ellen’s Instagram account (@shortflightlongdrive). Come for the cougar stalking the line between avant-tasteful and not not ironic literary hot mom, stay for zooming in on the books in the background. Elizabeth Ellen’s Instagram. I’m liking it for the captions.

My surroundings, though I’d moved through them prolifically as a child, seemed then like an opaque screen placed there to conceal something from me

On the train to Avenue du Roi Albert, I knew that this would be the last time I would see her. Feeling time slip over my fingertips like waterflow, I decided I would savor the experience as fully as I

You’ll know you’re entering pound-town, U.S.A. if you start to lie a lot

Because isn’t that the true nature of love, protecting each other from our wickedest parts?

The moon men decided to come to Earth because they didn’t like the way the Earth people were always staring at them. Whenever they looked up at that enormous blue orb through their telescope, the

Take another fry to further the feeling.

If I was a dog, I wouldn't be responsible for my own life.

It’s got good bones, everyone kept telling us. Who knows.

I see them right there plain as day, two-dimensional prints, sacred geometry, my life is full of meaning.

I wake up the next morning with the sensation that my lips weigh ten pounds and are about to drop off my face. I’m too scared to look in the mirror,

In those days, it was popular to ask, What would Jesus do? I crucified myself for days.

They said it was a record-breaking storm. I wasn’t paying attention. I was trying to find a clean bowl and wondering if the radiator was supposed to make that noise. I didn’t think anyone would be out

Somebody is going to roofie them, I said. Dave laughed uncertainly. 

I look at the curtain. I haven’t touched the red box since my new friend from Russian class opened it. It feels like a different object now that she’s touched it.

“Are you being held against your will?”

“I think so? There’s kind of an implication.”

“An implication?”

When you rearrange my insides you leave me for dead.

When his heart is an ashtray—cigarette butts put out on a surface that will not flinch

When I finally swallow, it feels like an admission of failure.

She buys us both mineral waters from the MoMA cafe.

So what if, slightly buzzed, she witnessed jubilant souls who succored maggots with their wounds, or improvised love songs to Señor Suboxone

As the day proceeds, we end up chatting. I tell the man with the snowflake tattoo: I thought you were in a biker gang but you’re all just working on Excel. 

Let’s be clear:

You destroy things.