slingshot legs//donuts & woody harrelson

Hi kids. How ya doing? It’s time for some flash fiction and a little bit of poetry. This first piece comes from a friend of mine over at and it’s titled:

her slingshot legs

I brought my face up and looked through her slingshot legs.

“Jesus, you melt in my mouth,” I said.

She guided me back to her flesh fountain. “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she instructed. “And don’t call me, ‘Jesus.’”

After we fed one another, she turned and faced the wall. She would sleep soon. “Lock the screen door, too,” she said. And I did. And on the way to my car, I saw the same cat as always, a little mountain dividing the road. I waved and it didn’t wave back, but we had an understanding — visit its neighborhood, yes, but live here — never.

-Tommy Tung

  And because breakups inspire [terrible?] poetry I give you:

donuts and Woody Harrelson

I saw the best minds of my generation

Get the shit kicked out of them by love

Strong weary men

Crumpled and whimpering, wailing

The names of their odd bedfellows

turned to ash on their tongues

My name

I did this

I did this

I broke you

You held my heart in your hands

and I took yours between my teeth

I broke you

You broke me too

But I tasted it first

And now I’m nothing but a tourist

And all the weed is gone

(You never liked my smoke)

And I’m sleeping to dream about

threesomes with hot bitches

and Woody Harrelson?

Woody fucking Harrelson!

Damn you HBO

Damn you San Francisco

I can’t decide if I’m hot or cold or dead

I never needed a sugar daddy

But I had you and our warm bed

where we fucked and watched

critically acclaimed dramas together

#houseofcards #FUtoo

The tears won’t come anymore

and I still need a release

50 shades of literary monstrosity won’t cut it

I can’t come

I can’t cry

I just ate nine Krispy Kremes

(classic, glazed)

And it’s too early in the morning for self loathing

“Just as love crowns you, so shall he crucify you”

Well call me motherfucking Jesus.

I wish I was still in your bed

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