Acetone* & H2O* by Aline Rabhany


I want to extract all my feelings
Drown them in a nail polish remover container
Place the container under the sun
And watch its content evaporate into thin air
And feel nothing about it
Just nothing


I want to extort all my dreams
Consign them in a kettle of boiling water
Stare at it for a long, long time
And watch its content evaporate into thin air
And never dream about it again
Never again

Robert, from Alcoholics Anonymous by Joseph Hargraves

every time I looked at him I wanted to
punch him in the fucking face
now here I am talking on the phone
to the son of a bitch and he’s telling me
he likes anal sex: "to get it" he’s saying
and I have a hard-on wondering if I
would do it with him or not
but I’m telling him it’s great
he stopped drinking and goes to A.A.
as if I have some fucking duty
to sober up the God-damned world
and he’s asking my advice:
should he quit his job or not
and I’m telling him "one day at a time,"
"easy does it" and my hand is in my zipper
reaching into my boxers and he’s telling me
how spiritual I am and I’m going up
and down with my right fist
holding the phone with my left
and talking about God
and he’s saying how nice I really am
how people have me wrong
how he did too and his voice
makes me harder than I already am
I say thank you with a tremor in my voice
he’s saying "it’s hard for you
to get close to people isn’t it?
and I spasm and drop the phone
and hear him saying
"you’re such a good person"
as I hang up the phone.

Footprints In The Past by Matthew Coleman

I walk the streets of the south coast of England. I pick a small stem of lavender. I hold it to
my nose and breathe in its fragrance. Its smell is so soothing, calming. It reminds me of
the two lavender bushes outside my Mother's house.

Gently I roll the flowers in my hands like I've seen my Father do so many times before.

Neither of us live there anymore. We have not lived there for a long time.

It is my Mother's house now, hers, and yet it holds the experience of most of my childhood.

Again I hold my hands to my face to breathe in the fragrance of the lavender. The small
purple flowers then fall to the floor I walk upon.

The sun is not far off from setting. It is so very warm tonight, and yet so many people are
still inside their houses. I see many of them in their living rooms, transfixed by televisions.

Many windows have been left open. Abandoned.

Warmth is so fleeting in this country, and yet so many people hide inside.

These streets hold the memories of my childhood. They still linger like smoke that will
eventually melt into the setting sun of now.

I walk on, knowing I'm gradually breaking free of many of my illusions whilst trying to shed
old habits like a skin I have long since outgrown. More than anything I want to take off all
my masks, to feel my true, naked self, and to feel no fear anymore.

But to shed these things can be so very painful.

The beach, whose footprints in the sand I'd seen earlier, are now a memory too, like so
many other things before it. But by now those footprints will be washed away, taken deep
into the sea. I should not stop to think where they could be.

I must keep walking, to keep going forward and learn to be able to leave other, newer
footprints behind me.

I must keep walking. I must keep going forward; one step at a time, one step at a time.


About Me

Black-Listed Magazine is an online literary magazine. We publish on a rolling basis: weekly, daily, sometimes hourly. Send submissions here: