Malevolent Melody: a collaborative piece by the curators of Blood Into Ink


Aurora Phoenix

Your Urgency Pierced My Marrow

with vanilla milquetoast
you spun a web
the envy of Arachne
smeared in syrupy cajolery –
I supped on hand-dipped flattery
your urgency pierced my marrow with flim flam

Kindra M. Austin

Dilly Dalliance Bound Me

Lavender dipped
indulgent tongue
dripped incantations,
salacious songs—
your abuse was tender
dilly dalliance bound me with feathers

Sarah Doughty

The Honey You Gave

Those words were sweet as honey and I drank them down like they were all for me. I fell for each one. But slowly, beneath my rose-covered eyes, they soured.
And, piece by piece, you took all you wanted from me.

My Valiant Soul

Your Hands Are Stiff Wire

Cinnamon sticks plummeting
screeching lullaby with love and hunger,
A spasm spews on the back of an ant
The circle of disgust and disgust
My legs are broken, my arms are missing
yellow stingy archaic cry
Ruffling touch,
You disappear like a swollen pollen grain
As I chop my hair, chop the hideous you.


Lies and Propaganda

Anything goes, according to your arrogant agenda
Gaslight fueled, devotion fooled
Poisonous thirst for possession
And domination obsession
Believing exemption from
Sugar coated sin
As long as you win
Sticks and stones broke my bones, your lies and propaganda broke my spirit

Christine E. Ray

No Longer Your Canvas

I throw out the bouquet of violets, saliva, red roses
you lay in empty contrition on our sheets of white linen
where I nurse the most recent bruises you have drawn with your fists
once you are gone, I adorn myself in essential oils
bittersweet for truth
thyme for strength
rosemary for remembrance
though my left eye may be swollen shut
I have never seen more clearly
than I do as I walk out the door, hidden suitcases in hand
I will no longer be the canvas for your unholy rage

(image: DeviantArt)


7 thoughts on “Malevolent Melody: a collaborative piece by the curators of Blood Into Ink

  1. I was simply traveling, on my last Yatra or journey, I thought. Alone, street artist. Ernest, a newly embarked wanderer husk-like except for my paint. Rather like a nun, I’d seen once, white sheetlike robed, begging bowl in hand. Asking, seeking for not but lover gifts of charity~ rice, millet, sweet tea, undame~loose change, looser smiles…I returned his bakshish money and said…”but I have no need, no pockets” ;” I’m desperately hunting a free ship to Krabi, far Southerly Thailand, near Phuket~?” There was that loose, generous smile,,,and a hand of acceptance…”but I have a merchant ship, that I captain, I’ll take you”. I could not fathom my luck. The kind Burmese had got me this far and this must be dharma getting me the rest. His kind words had an accent. As I followed my new benefactor, I said~”I was born in the US.” He answered, “Magyar”. Then we were at the quay and he helped me aboard his world, named “Dawn Trodder”.It was like entering a sacristy, perfumed by diesel, unoiled teak, masala spice and all pervasive salt. “There’s just crew quarters & mine”, he said without further explanation. I began to be aware of his presence, more, as inevitable than benevolent, but hid my qualms. After securing my French easel/ paint box, canvases, brush /bed roll, sat beside me on his bunk and with a childish misplaced honesty…said “I really must kiss you, may I~?”


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