Well, they pulled the trigger and I can’t say I’m surprised. It’s hard to think what I have to say is important when every letter has “sorry to inform you” in the second line. What am I supposed to do with that? Pull up the planks of those sentences and nail together a raft as …
Friday
This hour seems truly godless. This dark hour alone, when everyone is asleep or crying through their prayers, and sweating blood isn't a problematic symptom. Everyone's sweating blood now. Get a wipe, get a mask. You're not special in your suffering. This hour seems truly godless. This loud hour when the masses are the murderers. …
Reflections on Self
I press into the mirror, but there’s a gap between my fingertip and its reflection. I guess it’s the glass covering the polished silver-skin, like a window between me and the otherside. Invisible, impenetrable. Ignorable and imminent. I heard if you saw yourself on the street, you wouldn’t recognize the bend of your jaw, the …
late night thoughts
At the end of the day, when the living room lights are long since asleep, when the candied orange streetlight peers through the blinds and gushes over the static-washed room, when the covers lean over the edge of the bed, would I say it was worth it? I think so.
How Skeletons Dream in Song
I’m thinking about the fiberglass threads of my bones. How they’re spun like sugar silk, bunched up like spaghetti knots. How they compose the beams and buttresses of my cathedral. How they’re pulled beyond the point of snapping. And I’m thinking about how those strings are being plucked flat by too many hands. About the round …
From Stardust to Stardust
I read somewhere that we’re made of stardust; that the far corners of the dead cosmos climb into our lungs when we breathe in for the first time, and nest inside our wire-frames every time after. Carbon, they call it. And our bones radiate the stuff long after our meat has grown stale and our …
Loveliness
A bloom of ladybugs is called a loveliness, I think as a tear streaks across my face like a firework scream in the open, July sky. A loveliness. My mom bought a swarm of them once. Let them loose on a golden chain tree bejeweled with aphids. Turned the right way, those green lice hummed …
Caity Scott Writing 