My all

I could still see

The liquid, blackness

Of the activated charcoal

When she smiled

An ephemeral reminder

That I was simply

Not enough

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A note for the anonymous commenter on my blog- Georgia Park

A note for the anonymous commenter on my blog by Georgia Park at Sudden Denouement. What seems, at first, to be a sparrow flying towards you…ends up being a 747. Marvelous!

A Global Divergent Literary Collective

If I have tilted your chin up or down
depending on our height difference
and kissed you full on the mouth
and smiled broadly, wickedly
then frowned and told you
to fuck off and stopped answering

you should not be reading my blog at all
let alone commenting

If you have known me in the biblical sense
or carnal, as I prefer it,
i’m guessing you are one of thousands
from the year i had
my nervous breakdown

and im guessing that i hit my head
and stained your oxford sweater
with all the blood that spilt from it.

Yeah, I remember. 


Georgia Park is the creator of Private Bad Thoughts, curator of Whisper and the Roar a feminist literary collective, and a writer for Sudden Denouement. She is a wonderful poet with an enormous heart. We can’t imagine this journey without her. Please check out more of her…

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Sudden Denouement Publishing Releases Anthology Volume I: Writings from the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective

A Global Divergent Literary Collective

Anthology Volume I: Writings from the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective

Anthology Cover clean

“I sit on the left-hand of the gods and have a special dispensation to decode the secret, universal rhythms, find patterns in the whispers which are inaudible to profane ears.”

Jasper Kerkau/I am a F*cking Writer!

Anthology Volume I: Writings from the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective is a thoughtfully curated compendium of the best writing published online by the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective from its launch in August of 2016 through April 2018. It includes 138 pieces of cutting-edge poetry, prose and short fiction written by 29 diverse writers from England, Romania, Japan, India, Finland, the United States and Canada. Thirty-one of the 138 pieces were written exclusively for the Anthology. This volume captures the astonishing raw power of these individual and united poetic voices.

“One of the delights of this collection is the sheer diversity of voices, unconstrained, with…

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Fluff- S.K. Nicholas/A Journal for Damned Lovers

Fluff by S.K. Nicholas at Sudden Denouement. A sensual, sensory assault!

A Global Divergent Literary Collective

Beware the moon, boy. Beware her swollen belly too as she stumbles into the room demanding the last of your Jaffa Cakes. Even if you really love someone, you should never give them the last of your Jaffa Cakes. It’s just one of those things you never do, right? As she hobbles around in a temper while you stuff the last of the cakes into your grubby mouth, she tells you to massage her feet, of which you then duly oblige. She moans and groans and purrs like a cat, but the second you unzip yourself and rub your cock against her pinkies, she calls you a pervert and turns her back with a huff and a puff. Building herself a nest, she quickly glares at you then buries her body deep into the bedsheets. The sheets haven’t been washed in weeks. Every time you try, she begs you not…

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Alfa Reviews Anthology Volume I: Writings from the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective

A Global Divergent Literary Collective

If you find yourself hungry for the kind of words that walk boldly into the dark filled spaces of your poetic heart, be prepared to put your dancing shoes on.  This anthology is a collective kaleidoscope of fragmented and pulsing light from some of the most talented writers around the globe.  Having them intermingle, and rubbing shoulders against each other in one volume – is a gala for the senses.  Every page begins a new dance, and these writers have intricate and unashamed moves. Shake the dust off and spin that heart and soul around, because you are going to want to twirl all night long in arms of those who will look into your eyes with understanding, and delve into your misunderstood heart with compassion. The writers voices blend together in a satisfying gulp; Tasting one minute like jungle juice with bawdy friends on a Saturday night, and…

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Learning to fly

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They hid it at first

He was so young

Only four

They’d call him a freak

Two little nubbins 

One on each shoulder blade

Loose shirts

Windbreaker jacket

Then the first event happened 

Fucking tuna fish can

Sliced his mom’s hand right open

Oh how the red scared him

Nerve damage

Limp fingers

She was struggling to dial

Goddamn rotary phone

She felt woozy 

Then two little hands reached out 

Gently taking hold of hers

As he placed his head against her 

The nubbins stretched out

Featherless little wings

His mother was dumbfounded 

She didn’t notice the bleeding 

Had stopped

He buried his face 

Into her stomach

I love you, mama

The next day they grew

Twice in size

More difficult to hide 

Homeschooling was the answer 

A couple years slipped by

His questions became more pointed 

His need to see the world deepened 

She began taking him on outings 

Planetarium, museum, theater, petting zoo

She worried so

Then the second event happened

During a long elevator ride down

To the underground caverns 

A middle aged man collapsed

An RN performed CPR until exhaustion 

She couldn’t save him

The little boy looked up at his mother

His eyes pleading

Her face twisting

She nodded once and turned away 

She could hear the gasps

Knowing life would never be the same 

The canopy of the tent fluttered 

With the wind blowing outside 

He missed the feeling of wind and sun

The revival would be starting soon 

His wings were the size of a condor’s

The tips dragging on the ground 

His mother gripping her rosary 

Muttered about the crowd gathering 

The 2:00 show

He looked so gaunt to her

The preacher’s sermon 

Was all fire

And brimstone 

Then the lines formed

With each passing touch

Each person given a new lease

He felt himself slipping further away 

The doctors and scientists tore him apart 

In the end they determined his wings

Were a cancer

And when he couldn’t give anymore 

Of himself 

He stretched his wings

For the final time

Slipping into oblivion 

Digging

Digging by Matthew Eayre at unevenstreetstudios. I am fully cloaked in the darkness of this and cannot shake the shivers of it. Marrow deep.

unevenstreetstudiosdotcom

I keep digging in my ears trying to stop this feeling of lost dreams burrowing into my eardrums, I have aches in my neck from sadness that passed twenty years ago but the ache in my neck keeps coming back, a little nudge from my consciousness that, yes, those things happened, yes, you were abused and neglected and perverted and used, yes, you were misunderstood and mistaken, misguided and malnourished spiritually, yes, you did see it coming, all the pain, when nobody could understand why you were so sad, why you wanted to end your life before it started, yes it was the truth, you saw all the hurt waiting for you and could not articulate it in a meaningful way.
I feel my toes being pinched when I hear words that hurt, my toes being pushed against the wooden railing of an old couch as I received wire-coat-hanger discipline…

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part 1

Part 1 by Samantha Lucero at sixredseeds. Now I’m on the edge of my seat, waiting for the next installment, and I’ll be looking up into the trees until it comes!

samantha lucero

There’s a girl and a gust of wind and the house she left behind. A pale yellow house with mold in the corners and babies with fevers, and cigarette smoke in her nose and on the walls of her room, in her hair and in her bed sheets, and on the outside in the humid world beyond the broken door she crept out of at 2am.

They looked for her in the pastures and in the nooks, in the neck of the woods that smell green and lush and watery, and they looked up as if she might be in a tree staring down at them, but they never did find her.

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Driplets

Driplets by Jimmi Campkin. Jimmi is the master of making vignettes live and breathe, of making them inhabitable.

jimmi campkin

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I inhale the smoke and gasp under the lights in this jet black room.  Sweating bodies and dead flesh grind and bump around me, so much cadaverous globules.  The first pill hasn’t kicked in yet – I can still taste dry ice and hairspray – so I pop another and dream of my future.

Above me on the stage, the party is just getting started.  But I don’t party.  I’m looking for sensation, real feeling.  I see empty men and indifferent women, just so many appendages and openings, no more atuned to love as the assembly instructions for furniture.  I’ve already seen a Princess, but the low bass throb is reacting badly with my shoes and I’m struggling to move more than five yards a minute.

It doesn’t matter.  She comes over to me, just as the second pill kicks in, and her eyes turn into a pair of gold…

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Untitled-Aakriti Kuntal

Untitled by Aakriti Kuntal at Sudden Denouement. Witness the tidal yin and yang of blood as you sink, wondrously, down the rabbit hole. Amazing!

A Global Divergent Literary Collective

Drop by drop, blood almost kills itself. Emerges again, both suicidal and invigorated. It searches for the wall, the boundary, the line. The curve of the jaw of life, the part where the teeth settle into a semblance of quietness, of poise and the part where the tongue roams, pure flesh, pure desire, pure urges, pure suffering. Blood becomes foreign to itself, its many parts just hanging, limp, lipid, senseless and insane. Blood screams in the valley of the undiscovered, the unknown, the submerged. How can one possibly express that which cannot be ascertained, that which palpitates in the tongue and the throat and the vein and the leg, that which sings and pukes, that which is both nauseated and devoted, that which never dies but also never lives, that which rises forth along the centre of a blade of grass, that which exclaims absolute joy but also that which…

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