Bridges They push forward, vibrating in their ecstatic skirmish, voices unified over gang choruses, clenched fists raised toward the ceiling. They might glimpse us, on the cusp stage lights’ sweep, hidden like old toys. We’ll be softly nodding our heads to the beat, plastic pints dribbling foam down our hands, already dreading tomorrow’s hangover.  Maybe later we’ll build a bridge, fashioned from powders and wreathes of cigarette smoke; bolstered by shots and chats that go nowhere. But it’ll crumble under the light, and our futures will fork like a wishbone. Paul Case is an Edinburgh-based writer and spoken word performer. He has performed all over the UK and internationally since 2008. His work has been published by Influx Press, 'The Erotic Review', Burning House Press and many more. www.paulcasespeaks.co.uk

    THINGS I REGRET. A professor. My love. Another professor. Her caste. Two countries. Not sure which one. Not eating on time. Not doing sprints. The girl in the street I broke a wind chimer of. Hotel rooms. Not raising voice. Vaccines but unrecognised. Genetic hyperpigmentation. Too little Money. Too many potatoes. Trusting one from the other side. Meat back home was fresh and cheap. Difficulty in forgiving mothers. Easily forgiving oneself.     Malavika is currently doing her Master's in Poetry at UEA. Apart from writing poems She likes to paint and lounge mostly. Website: https://www.malavikaudayan.com/

    i collect items left behind by ex-boyfriends as if they are souvenirs i count myself lucky and hold my breath in the shower to practice peace on days that feel like a blister i know somewhere children are laughing and you are folding your favourite pair of jeans or eating shredded cheese straight from the bag which sits in the fridge by a pint of spoiled milk     Kari Pindoria is based in London and studied English Literature at Goldsmiths University. She is yet to be published but is working on a short fiction story and a memoir about her experiences recovering from anorexia nervosa. She is currently working with the NHS as a Mental Health Peer Support Worker.

      Kleptomaniac  Lover, all my life I've been lightfingered to the nth degree finagling what wasn't mine, some rings and lipstick, once a dress her sun-drained hair, a hidden glance two books I loved yet never read family heirlooms, happiness (all priced too high, you understand) but now I'm stealing us more time pinching ticks from cosmic pockets— the clocks won't miss a couple tocks. Between us and beneath the sheets I hoard these stolen minutes close, collecting heartbeats in the silence as I learn to live your rhythm. Only in this place, with you, can I be loved as my unlovely self be seen, in a more kindly light than perhaps a thief deserves. So melt the church bells, take their tolls smash watches for their seconds— sustain this perfect, stolen moment in our timeless slice of heaven.     Sunyi Dean is an autistic fantasy writer, living in inner-city Leeds. Her debut novel, THE BOOK EATERS, is a contemporary fantasy set in Yorkshire, and will be...

    THE CHILD BECOMES A PARENT She comes bearing gifts and apologies Giving love out of guilt From my days as an embryo, I knew her Whispers in my phone past bedtime Climbing through the window past curfews Teenage angst and my insecurity shows 'I hate you, I hate you' Kitchen turned to a battlefield and words hurt more than pelted bullets. The ungrateful birthdays and wrapped presents. Did I grow too fast? How wonderous you saw me as I saw myself. You said 'I am the essence of your being' So much pressure to be I push, you pull Flashed memories I pressed my chest upon yours and held tightly Tears appear without warning How selfish I was     Joseph Ajilore is a writer and the author of The Title Is Not Important. He is currently based in Bristol.