My dreams of my lover are true. They're real.
Honored to be a contributor in this upcoming anthology
Congratulations to the following contributors whom have been chosen for the literary publication Fire and Ice – An anthology of collaborations
Fire and Ice Contributors:
Sarah Lamar King
William Wright, Jr.
Sarah Ann Waldron
Mark Andrew Heathcote
John S. Les
Matthew D. Eayre
Susan E. Birch
Tammy S. Thomas
Amanda J. Evans
Justin R. Hart
Prince A. McNally
Shelley Buttenhoff Miller
John Jave Akhimien
Leah Marie Rogers
Thank you for supporting the
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This woman cuts right through my heart with this piece
I never really learned how to be in love with living in this life that is constantly dying. There’s a scream just beneath my skin that never stops crying, makes me stronger each day with the way it teaches me how to die. And I have no right to feel this, no reason or rhyme for this heart breaking me open making me fall like it does. Sometimes I think there is a riddle just under my ribs wanting to be solved, needing to be pieced together until it makes sense of this mess. Until my chest is no longer weighed down with a pain searching for validation to explain the heaviness. I cannot carry it anymore, but it stays and it stays, pounding into me, waiting to break me. I feel it. The way it rises. The way it never settles and I haven’t slept for days. I take…
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I’m on Sudden Denouement today 💚
Greedily this heart reaches
and none may sway its purpose
in pieces, or complete
a want becoming need
will sustain until the night feeds
turning and tearing asunder
what God has gifted
Pointed looks and double-entendre
hang heavily over the top of eyes
too honest, much too open,
no secrets will be kept
Voraciously this mind seeks to consume
hearts and hands and skinned knees
yes and now and yes, please
give and take and
oh goodness gracious, me
Memories of desires left unfulfilled
echo meaningfully in salacious reverberation,
if nothing else keeps the road vanishing then simple lust
might fill the tank
An older man,
but still a man.
The term ‘pervert’ has been used.
Perversion is a matter of perspective
and understanding of physical existence,
what is perverse to the fly
is commonplace to the spider
and the robin notices only in passing
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I fucking miss my sister
There comes a time to say goodbye to who somebody is, and let go of who you wanted them to be.
My grandmother told me this when I was too young to understand, but I have remembered. I was heartbroken (I thought) over a girl who meant everything to me (I thought) and I asked,
“why won’t she let me love her?”
My grandmother patted me on my hands and looked into my eyes as she told me. I did not want to be alone, and that was the whole story for me. What I wanted, what I felt. It took me over twenty years to really understand, to see what she meant.
I have my feelings, my thoughts, my inescapable wants. I have my rules for life, my desires and my insane needs, I have only my own learned lessons to use, and what I needed to know then, as…
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The editors of Sudden Denouement Literary Collective know that our strength is our writers. We hope that you enjoy getting to know them through our new Writer Interview Series.
What name do you write under?
My name is Sarah Doughty and it is not a pseudonym. I wanted my real attached to my words, not just because it’s nice to see my name, but also as a means of showing I’m fully capable as a writer – which is something I was told I would never be able to do as a child. I very much wanted to prove that theory wrong. And I believe I have succeeded in that endeavor.
In what part of the world do you live?
I live in Indiana USA, in a suburb just outside Indianapolis. It’s an interesting place to live, I’ll leave it at that.
Tell us about yourself.
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Kindra M. Austin is a personal favorite
Shall I ascend to solitude,
enough to spy
Put my metal parts to practice, and
train my reason to speak in
I presently think in blinks of
our lives a fucking flip-book filled with phony animation, as
though we’ve never been anything more than a
pair of paper dolls pretending to breathe.
The surgeon lied. I am not bionic;
should’ve demanded a synthetic heart
Mine is afflicted with fissures, and
I feel the blood leaching like so many earthworms
smothering my organs.
My body is not a temple, but a churchyard—
your burial ground, and there’s no space reserved for
me. So ascend I shall,
Kindra M. Austin is an indie author (her books can be found here), a founding member of Indie Blu(e), and a writer/managing editor at Sudden Denouement, Blood Into Ink, and Whisper and the…
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Monster is living inside of me
behind my ribcage,
she curls herself around my spine
draws her fingers to my throat
to stroke my collarbone,
to deliver raspy breath to my ear
repeating the words
on which I always choke –
my name, my wants, my needs,
my apologies, my fury –
and the dust from the bones
she’s grinding with a gummy jaw.
Sometimes she sinks down
to bask in the darkness of my womb,
recline in my pelvis
and drag her nails up my thighs
and down my calves, towards my feet
where she binds me with manacles,
words garbled with my sins –
breathing, praying, hoping,
talking, waiting –
for this torture to end,
for Monster living in my head
and the hollows of my heart,
to vanish and leave me
to play dead.
Kristiana Reed day dreams, people watches in coffee shops, teaches English…
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