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lucy earle

Lucy Earle, 18. Born and raised in Toronto and currently studying my second year specializing in Acting at Concordia University in Montreal.
​"I attended ‘Etobicoke School of the Arts’, an arts based High School in the west end of Toronto. There I majored in Drama and focused on creative writing and performance. The artistic priority of my young adulthood revolves around experimentation and crafting a work ethic which will help me succeed in improving my creative process."


​lol.lucy@hotmail.com

​Instagram: @lu.phe 

Border Lines


​

on a bus to portland from seattle

I’ve seen rougher people than that. With malignant tumours bursting from the seams of their horrific tattoos underneath a blue stained skin patented in sweet sugar coating: i’ve seen a tasteful intrigue which pulls light from whole darkness.
I love your mutt from a distance, how it snarls at my height and peers deeply into my fear for dogs…
I’ve been intrigued by these men who wear jeans for twenty years washcloths and bare legs for twenty more; time is crunched by days driving service half drunk in a full daze.
Chewing tobacco dancing glass shards and bloody glass in their gums.

HAVE YOU SEEN ME WATCH YOU?

From the half bled stars which run in my veins, simply concealed by my pride. I’ll witness the cries from a city underneath me by suspicion.
Can it be, our appetite meets in this long line for lust, physical threads pull our cramping needs into a cold cut package sealed with fake love.

I’ve never seen myself more desperate than in your arms
rough touch me like the skin of a shark
cut through to my tender core.

HAVE YOU SEEN ME WANT YOU?


The car you drive speeds infinity across highways collapsing from lack of funds
Construction crumbles like rainfall, hard work comes undone.
Like the thinned out lace of my snake skin bra
Or the tangled knot of our love.

lou reed


​

IN LOVE

Sweating sits still in her room
Where red lights glimmer through window pane
Pain streaking wet thighs like couch arms
flaccid arm wired on the creases of skin.
No motion we still right compulsion
Passionate lovers moving through corrosion
battle for pounce, primal loving body scrubbing
breath steaming your hair into frizz
Bones positioned in places of pleasure sweet incense of lust and mess
Restless activity of the conspicuous sex, peering the depth of our insides
Squeezing the juice of moments lasting hours or
thick parts lasting perfect seconds,
The terrain of our ephemeral youth our dreams come completely true
And uncomfortably pronounced, still action bites wet lips.

LOU REED                                        

In little bites, I nibble at my dessert.
Sucking on the red straw in my cola, I’d say I was feeling refreshed. Looking back at yesterday's events, well, I haven’t had that much time to think of course, you know that and I’m sure you’ve felt it too. I finished the toaster strudel and went upstairs which is where I found you; in my room like a ghost I’ve kept in the closet, I found you sprawled across my bed sheets, fitted by my mother in the morning, you were draped in a sheer grey fabric which glistened in the brief peaking moments of sun, when you saw me you kept your cool and I threw mine into space. When the first thing I said was ‘i love you’, through dry strudel teeth, you disappeared into me, into my head, if I had to say something, since with you I always had to say something, I’d say you ‘rumoured me’. Now all there is, this conversation I have everyday about yesterday, what I thought of when our eyes met across the table of people we feel indifferent towards, having better conversations than you agree to have with me: the hot sands of tequila can’t warm our cold feet.

I didn’t pick up the phone...silence pierced guilt through me. Started walking into the direction of the amazon, jesus lizards and anacondas cross my path pushing pavement off my radar. Love the city like loneliness, where noise is replaced with comfort lacking security.
I tried telling myself to stay in the rain, trees branching over my empty head with cracks letting heaps of water wash away my thoughts. I tried to be tranquil in someone else's home, like a scavenger I wept in silk blue cloth, waiting for my joyful memories to succumb me; and the thoughts of you to subside.

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  • HOME
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  • ISSUE 20
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