Dear Disc Jockey pre-party like pre-cum and it’s all so bitter, right? in this spin top room, rife with rage nihilism, it shines like a beaten egg like my pulse clutched between your porcelain veneers, pupils blown like neon bulbs screaming I AM HERE, IS THIS LIFE? it is so beautiful how vomit is an amalgamation of everything we swallow. i would give you my last pill if it meant you staying for another trip around the disco ball we don’t even have to talk we can stay silent as we thread your pearls into a necklace for me our fingers gouging into an oyster just to leave it agape like a butterfly’s wings pre-flight does that sound good to you? after seven lucky sprays of champagne and sweat to jackson pollock the door grotesque a vial of vape juice from the corner store reveals the day-glo sunflowers on our hips they wilt toward empty takeout styrofoam and your beats per minute shapeless and shameless glitter migration from cheeks to cheeks it feels a lot like sand and the urge to shower alone nevermind the blood we drank if we agreed to remain nameless like the infinite space between faded and death
Beeper Peddle is a writer and healer living on the East Coast. She lives with her partner and their beloved soul puppy. Beeper writes about sorrows, lies, and deep loves. When you read her work, you will dip down into her heart and end up in all manner of body parts. Should you find yourself reflected in these words, it is merely coincidence; however, it does not surprise her you share the same heart. Find her at bethpeddle.com and @beeperpeddle on Twitter and Instagram
Jenny M. Liu (she/her) is from the desert. Her work is forthcoming in Waxwing and has appeared in JAKE, The Aurora Journal, and the anthology, 99 Tiny Terrors. Find her on Twitter and Instagram, both @jennymliu, or visit her website at jennymliu.carrd.co
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