Articles

A poem by Sam Cooke secrecy and lies and hatred and lies what is up what the fuck is up with my mind out my window i see the whole world...

this piece was constructed from notes people left at the lunar launch party. some are secrets, some are dreams, some are nice things. all...

Editor-in-Chief Alice Graham pens her thoughts Birthdays are hard. They just are. Whether it’s the impending sense of doom that links the...

A poem by Sam Cooke Should I take my top off? Would you rather I keep it all on? Some like my mystery, Others skin They can lay their...

A poem by Shubham Agarwal [24.5.97] You opened your eyes for the first time today, And I swear at that moment it was the happiest I have...

tw // sexual assault Transcription: I hate public transport. Sweat in the air Static exhaustion Silent anxieties Emitted from British...

Amelia Bird writes "The Den" - transcription below. Holding and held, I am sewn into the past, In this fleeting grasp of memory I am...

transcription: if only you could bottle up happiness and save it for later date i think we could both do with some of that now the look...

My mother embraces me when I least expect it, and pushes me offthe edge of the cliff when I need it the most. When I try to run away from...

That moment when We ran so fast to catch that last-minute train Rain drowning streets, dripping off metal pipes We hopped on, out of...

you look at me and i shrink into the cracks of the brickwork i find comfort in the humming of electric ( i wish i was electric ) my blood...

From days that look like dishwater Spring extends her little green arms Coddles us in bright midday skies And everything seems like it...

i am her and she is me if i tried to count how many times i would run out of fingers we would all run out of fingers so engrained it...

My throat is torn A mess Of bloody fingerprints scattering Claiming victory to my Plundered spirit It's funny. why is it so easy to Throw...

The Shape and the Colour In the old dusk there are Sleeping cars sinking into their wheels And someone somewhere is Knitting one,...

Staying at home is sitting in a bright room watching the day darken behind glass. A noisy washing machine. Reruns of A Place in the Sun....

Poem by Aria Aristotleous Artwork/Design by Charlotte Dobson

We used to set his television screen so that it sang blue A brute bright blue that consumed us with the rest of the room We lay and we...

sometimes her mind crumbles cracks a jigsaw piece trapped between old sofa sheets she blinks seconds, a breath as the girl with silver...

Words by Isabel-Sofia Pias Diaz Artwork by Claudia Smith (@claudiart_photo) When I think of apocalyptic environments, strangely enough I...