A Literary Journal interested in your broken, and your resurrected.

POETRY & PHOTOGRAPHY by MICAH CHAIM THOMAS

Work

It’s the end of the world, 

And they still want you to go to work. 

Everyone you love is dead, 

And they still want you to go to work. 

They fire you, 

And they still want you to go to work. 

The machine eats blood. 

It doesn’t care how old or young it is. 

It can not love. 

It can not die. 

It only eats and shits to the tune of the end of the world. 

Love

I can’t be in love now. 

Not when everything is sad. 

Not when I just got hot again.

Not when my partner is waiting for me to stare at my phone while they stare at their phone while the TV streams reruns.

Not when you could stop loving me back but rent is due. 

Not when I’m too young to be tied down and too old to pass up a good thing. 

Not when I’m so afraid of being abandoned I choke you when we make love and you think it’s a kink, but I need to feel what it’s like to risk everything because I don’t deserve anything. 

Not when I’m wearing yesterday’s underwear. 

Not when I can’t risk losing you as a friend. 

Not when I know too much about my own heart and know that I will get bored with you and hurt you when I am sad. 

I can’t be alive now. 

Not when every moment hurts. 

Not when every news is bad. 

Not when the enemies of love are winning. 

Not when there are no jobs. 

Not when things are hard and getting harder. 

I’m tired of being broken in a broken time. 

THIRST

When I was young, 

I worried if there would be enough for me. 

Enough food, blankets, hot water, toilet paper, and love. 

There wasn’t enough. 

There still isn’t enough. 

I make myself fat eating everything I can touch before someone takes it away. 

I drink in big gulps whether it is water, beer, or whiskey. 

I’m not thirsty. 

I’m trying to drown myself. 

I’m trying to get enough. 

My crotch hurts from self-abuse. 

My skin is dry from too many long showers. 

I ate all the cookies. 

I seek any validation from any stranger who wants to give it. 

And they say I’m thirsty. 

And I am. 

Micah was born in North Carolina. He has lived in a series of apartments, houses, shacks and sometimes on the streets in WV, NC, OH, PA, IL, MS, CA, MA, RI, and WA. He has been a bookseller, welder, ditch digger, door to door screen-door seller, fence painter, landscaper, busboy, waiter, dishwasher, barista, HotTopic retail weirdo, busker, homeless beggar, thug and enforcer, janitor, screenplay writer, call center rep, lawyer, project manager, program manager, poet, artist and genealogist. Currently, he lives in Arizona.

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