the space between longing and loneliness I’ve grown dependent on this pretence we endure: every night, lying on your bath mat, staring longingly at the ceiling; the fervent drip of the burst faucet lulling me to sleep. there is a fallacy in me lying on your bathroom floor and I’m unsure where it happened but in the corner, by the u-bend, what’s left of god is lurking in the shadows and he attempts to reach out to me but I am galaxies away and he is omnipotent no longer. but in the corner, by the u-bend, what’s left of my spirit sits in the mildew and the damp- and it attempts to caress my cheek- but it is cold, and I am warm and I am not the boy I used to be
Afternoon Coffee In the moments where My bones are sugar glass, Brittle, breaking under light weight, I wonder if you enjoy candy red. I wonder what kind of person people tend to leave behind. And if they sound anything like me, A crack and a cry of a man. The sound of breaking and a heartbeat. I am definitely alive, And definitely present. But only like the 2:30 PM coffee. Like the morning sky's full moon. Like weeds through concrete cracks. Like desert rainfall. Like you, In my arms. Not at all abnormal, Not at all special. But an odd sight, indeed. Two glass cannons who can’t aim At anyone other than themselves.
Zizheng William Liu is a student currently studying in Houston, Texas. He soon plans on majoring in creative writing, and has previously been recognized by the International Human Rights Art Festival’s Youth Anthology. When he’s not writing, he loves snapping pictures of the ever-changing world around him with his Canon Rebel camera.