May 28.85. Notes from Salamanders – a fiction by pd lyons


So now I sit here alone with nothing but rain and exceptionally high tides.
Nothing left alive, shore covered with bodies and scraps of bodies.

A hand out of the sand fat slightly blue, argued with over a gold wedding band. A sailors striped shirt knotted with sand and rust, search the pockets finding only small teeth and more sand. In between rocks flightless sea birds, black eyes minute reflections of broken wings reflecting empty promise of free flight.

Suck tiny tid-bits of ripe flesh from abandoned snails, drink from swollen fish. Smash stones of the sea together, dreams of murderous contortions, fists sunk into some seaweed gathered carcass resembling a small dog,

Scream blood from my vocal chords, scream for the black eel strangling me with its own throat, scream for the oozing woman finger nails infecting me with dismembered sex.

I don’t know how to live any other way, I don’t know how to breathe anything other than decay, I want to swallow everything I see, every stone everybody, every woman by her cunt, every man by the cock, everything – until the only thing left is me swallowing myself.

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you never know what you’ll find when looking through the attic files.

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