Submissions by Randon

She had the palest blue lips,
Like the victim of a drowning.
I kept her in jars tied around my waist mostly.
“Samples of my chromosomes, you see!
The meaty parts of them, where the smooth turns of their skeletons collide!”

Sunlight bore across her Christlike back.
She glowed like thermonuclear honey and the velvety skin of off-world aquatic life.

Why am I in this state.
It is a dirty opera,
A beating.

My self is weeping for synthetic concubines and spectral night watchers.
My self is slipping on the rubber suit of...

I was on my final teleport.
Oh, the pain of it.
My particles co-mingled with the grit of existence.
I was getting too old for the grit of existence.
I was getting sad.
Memories that had defined a day and a time had begun to feel like thin little ponds of bright red, meaty blood.
The sadness was overwhelming, the sleepiness.
This was feeling like a long piece of travel.
My atoms and filth were sweating.

She beckoned me into the capsule with long bony fingers and a body swollen with hunger.
She was a mutated harbinger.
I...

Her skin was like dusty old citrus peels.
Cold in the ground, she waits.
“Bad moon rising,” geriatric mutters from greasy gasoline counters.
I was passing through town, gates of death, in my disguises of human flesh, and hair, and fat cells, and floral depravity.
Her screams echoed in my mind.
“Choking back the migraine tears and electroshock scars with fingers gripping tightly the tubes of steering wheel and the glass electricity of alarms.”
Musicality.
Firefighters brought her body down from the scorched tree.
She was so tangled in its...

Ribbons of her effervescent lubrication drain my soul.
Chatter on the radio.

In slim shadows of tyranny she grips my fabrics and glistens in her muscular ruin.
A punch of electricity.

Her name was the doom of humanity
And she had lost all control.
Riding on the waves of scripture
And the breath of adorable vermin.

Windows squeal open and she hovers in the cracked plaster of death rooms.

This gorgon was like no other
Her pants were tight, her head plasmatic,
And her security clearance was a full 9 digits longer than any I had seen.

Her name was Factorius.
She was moon puddles, weigh stations,
And ulcerated orgasms.

First on her lips was the order:
She needed x-amount (in grams!) of this toxin and y-amount of these currencies.
And the drop had to be made at her home.

Sweat gathered behind my teeth.