AUTHOR: Arianna
EDITOR: Shu
ARTIST: Nika
the old man at the harbour is waving his white flag, knuckles bent deep into his palm / he is short and stout, boots dragging on the rough wooden planks / there is a dollar in his pocket, three cigarettes tucked between his lips, and the dusty remains of white powder on his nose / he reeks of something rancid, rotting / he does not fear death
beautiful women drown themselves often / in fame, in fortune, in beauty itself / they test the limits of in sickness, of in health, straining the lamb sauce until they stain their fingers red / beautiful women drink salt as though it is tears, open legs and sew teeth together like flickering forests on fire / bathe them in something long and silky and fine—they do not know the difference between healing and boiling
the old man leads the objects of his desire across smooth seas / he snaps and gargles, grinning to reveal his chillingly pointed teeth and bloodshot eyes and flaky skin, though they are more worried about his lack of a throat / say, little girls, he says to the women / his mouth does not move / do you view the future as an eternity? / they shake their pretty little heads / would you like to?
vows are broken every single day—sometimes twice / drown them / see them bubble up and turn stone cold / see the skin plaster over itself, the fractured digits hardening to granite, cool brown eyes settling obsidian / let them sink down into the tendrils of time and be gone / but stay / stay, all frozen and empty and pure
you all fear death, the old man remarks, reaching a wrinkled hand down to caress their marble features / why? / under the murky surface of the water, they fail to respond
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