The boy crushed a burnt away cigarette in his hand, and let the ash burn his skin like the devil’s kiss then released it into the wind’s stomach.
The boy was thirty-one and had lived two hundred years worth of lives. He got a piece of paper in return for $100k+ of debt and wasting away in a dorm room to the smell of bong water and sweat and sex. He was confused. He watched TV the day of graduation after he got his little worthless paper and the world was ending around him. He didn’t pay close enough attention in gov’t class so he sat listening to a woman he didn’t know talking about countries he didn’t know in conflicts he didn’t care about over past wars he didn’t know about.
The boy looked out his window and cried because he didn’t know shit. The world didn’t know shit. And it was ending and he was ending and his debt would go away and that was a happy thing but it still saddened him. He went to the store to get a soda and called his girlfriend/fiancee to tell him that he was fucking another woman (he wasn’t). She cried and he cried and apologized and felt guilty for fucking another imaginary woman he just came up with 10 minutes ago. Then he started to think ‘fuck her’ I wanted to fuck this imaginary woman and she hadn’t worn lingerie to bed but then suddenly stopped himself because he felt vaguely misognyistic though he wasn’t sure what that word actually meant. The boy got his soda and pondered on the implications of his breaking up of his relationship thick with falsehoods simply because the world is ending when in reality he realized he should have went to see his girlfriend/fiancee and had sex with her one last time before the world and god died and her and him with it. He went to sleep.
The boy woke up. He vomited immediately all over his own shirt and it dribbled down him like a paste except it stunk like rotten, half-digested soda and made him throw up all over again. He crawled out of bed and stumbled outside his house where everything was green like spring grass and charred like burnt human skin. The sky was pretty with colors of orange, purple, black, and red all mixing together into a wonderful aurora of death that had cleansed the Earth. Like a magnificent, rainbow Deluge, the world was suddenly flooded to oblivion to the point that the boy stumbled outside into an ankle-deep pool of men and women and dog’s blood. It shone brightly in the sun that was trying to peek past the deathly aurora to catch a glimpse at how we had destroyed ourselves this time. The boy was crying in beauty, he felt as if god had touched him yet he knew down in his heart that god, heaven, and hell themselves were atomized last night.
The boy still had hope. He laid down in the puddle of blood that was now being leaked into by his right shin which had been cut on a piece of metal. Like spring grass, he thought. The end of the world is pretty, he thought. His fiancee must have thought the same thing while she got a pity fuck from a co-worker. He didn’t feel confused or vaguely misogynistic or saddened or like he wanted to cry or like he had wasted his time or that he didn’t pay enough attention in gov’t class because he knew all there was to know in the world now. He let the rads sink in and let himself become an angel.
we sat in a laundromat alone at 4 am.
the heat oozing like slime from the dryers crawled towards the skin of our ankles and ripped past our skin like acid to skin.
our eyes screamed with colors, our skin yelled in anguish from the heat, and our tongues could taste the shame and sweat of every person we’d fucked in the last three months.
we had poisoned our bodies with designer drugs that a friend had slid across a slate table towards us; we took double doses.
smokes hung from our mouths, ones we had scraped up from the ground like starving rats to scraps because we were too poor to buy our own.
i was a boy sitting next to a girl in the laundromat at 4 am while fucked up on double doses of designer drugs and smoking trashed, half-burnt cigs and i wanted to fuck her.
and i felt more evil and sickening than the collective murders of every insect ever killed by a human being or child that hates earth while i could feel the heat charring my very skin down to the bone until it was all carbon.
she was thinking the same horrible, disgusting thoughts that i was.
that she wanted to fuck the boy next to her and she was more evil and sickening than the collective births of every human being or child onto the earth including her own evil, disgusting birth while her cigarette killed her and tar coated her lungs and her soul until she felt deader than god.
we didn’t fuck, instead, we went back to our boyfriends and made love to them.
life is horrifying and we should exhaust it until we’re nothing but withering husks of pleasure.
ASH TREE JOURNAL: ISSUE TWO: “TBH”: The spring issue of Ash Tree Journal, the online alt lit literary magazine, is here and free for your reading & downloading pleasure! Represented in this volume are writers Kenji Khozoei, Alexandra Naughton, Vincent Philip, and many more!
it’s here! get excited! share it! share the love! share the alt lit!
i. i am the vulture that will pick away at your bones
ii. i want to go to starbucks with you and then not order anything
iii. i will eventually die and so will you but that’s okay
i. you will be killed by a hawk possessed by both of our fathers
ii. at the starbucks we will pirate cheap romantic comedies on the free wifi
iii. you will be the demon that kills me and then your soul will commit suicide
i. and then i will throw up (as a vulture) and find that your blood has poisoned mine (as a vulture)
ii. we will then be caught by the baristas and then watch romantic comedies with them because humans are just like that
iii. we will go to hell together and smoke with satan finding hell to be alright (the devil listens to synthpop)
i. mother nature will punish me and i will die
ii. after the romantic comedies we will find that we are all exceedingly horny and go back to my apartment and then have an orgy where at least 2 people catch STD’s all while on designer drugs
iii. soon god will come down and slice his own throat open as a “meta” “fuck you” to “nietzche” and then the universe will collapse on itself as god is dead & order is dead it will be like all of those fuzzy indie songs we listened to all our lives and then that will be the end, the sweet, sweet end.
watch out for a chapbook in the next few weeks called [ROMANTIC ABERRATION]
i laid with the corpse
then we shared a smoke
together - i’m
a courteous killer
the 3 stab wounds
- bloodied hickies -
in his neck
didnt keep him from
inhaling and letting
the ash coat his lungs
exists on the
internet,’ i tell him
then i took a snapchat
with the rotting body
he gave a smile
my blood still clung
to his teeth
i gave him a kiss
letting the rot
coat my lips and tongue
'no love can be
found offline’ - the
body whispered beyond
we’re getting married
the corpse and i
i took his smoke and
held both of them
between my lips
i want to die
twice as fast
and join my
then i let him
drip his blood
on my chest and
i licked it up
and soon we’ll
both be corpse