http://slow.writerscafe.org/lyra_heno The original writings of author L_ en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776004807 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Do not compare yourself to the girl with the gun to her head.This is your private undoing, this is your downfall incarnate;your Rapunzel rope untangling of fishnet hair.Like Medusine mermaids, you will always return empty handed to the jut jaws of jagged salt licked lifeboats,&nb.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/2101538/ Every other Wednesday,you will remember that you are the girl on the bed,you will refute it, you will renounce it,you will revoke it like citizenship or the retraction of bedtime stories back into the firmament of your bilebut you and God and the cream Chantilly wallpaper still bleeding with.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1761429/ How I longed to be the girl with thirty four bee stings.Today in the underbelly of the underground of the velveteen viscera of my home away from home, that suburban parking garage for my wasted ghost bones of which I was once a dutiful concubine but am now an escapee. Raking unbloodied finger.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1761340/ After rape,You no longer have a home,Even in your own skin.Most can call their frames a dwelling, a domicile; feng shuifurnished apartments, draped igloos of self identity strewn with bits ofautonomy, posters of personal recognition taped to ceilings like garish, garrulousgushes of.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1761336/ I wish he had killed me that night.I say it until I am blue,Like a prayer uttered too late,until my unholy hands ache with the clenching of their own weight, white knuckled lip biter, choking on yesterday like dead chronicles of venom I cannot purge from my plasma, pain I cannot water do.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1761330/ In that longest of Januaries,I gave birth to snow angels rolling in seizures in tremors in my bedsheetsstrewn on the glistening back of the hardwood floor unkemptas a prematurely shed cocoon emerging from its gut a mutilated butterflytissues torn on the linens mangled into nooses into knotte.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1761327/ Suicide by drowning http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1761324/ I am craving emergency rooms the way oceans crave recessions and crashes and plummets of schooners like stock market stumbles dragging sailor bones out to Poseidon’s playground like matchsticks like split lipfunerals and scholars sighing in empty libraries longing f.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1761322/ None of you are car crashes.You are not the corroded fossils of streamlined Volvos plunged head first into concrete barricades like paparazzi plagued princesses derailed by median lines zipped in the black and blue sarcophagi of body bags to be plastered across the gossamer lip gloss headlines of .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1761321/ Home is a place I can no longer return to.Home is an emergency room without crash carts, without the pervading sting of antiseptic stinging a the dry tinders of a dead pulse, cleaning the crows feet rake marks burrowed in the bare bureau of a too white wrist. The blistered mummification of ACE b.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1761319/ I fear that I’m finding definition in my abuse again.The halcyon days of my bleeding are over; the hypnosis of haemorrhages and self hatred drained out in kitchen sinks and in the stitched stapled patchwork quilts of emergency room parking lots. Dulled are the blades, numbed is the numbness... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1761318/ March is the cruelest month, they say,but I believe it is November.This is molasses season, dragging my body down in weighted tides of gnawing blackness, charcoal on obsidian likethe prostrate hands of starving artists folded in prayer like half moon confessionals, begging for fame or for forg.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1761317/ I am a creature of destruction.And I love it.Here, here in the piercing obsidian blackness of three AM, when my sluggish organs fighting to churn like steam engine turbines against the self administered serotonin venom I ingested, the petty pharmaceutical poison I swallowed like mendicant pr.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1761314/ January 2008.Huddled over the citrine pink innards of a salmon colored grapefruit. Trachea burning. Jaw aching.Three weeks after my rape, still dragging those cauliflower colored bones to the dinner table like an amorphous solid structure of degenerate bone and plasticized marrow. An aching thin.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1761313/ “So how much did you take?” he asks me tonight. Shades drawn, December garroted by its own festive, freckled garlands turned nooses, eclipsing cold blooded horizons.And we laugh in a burning bravado of unison because slow suicides are comic relief, the pressure on a gushing hemorrhag.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1761312/ Re: Feeling pressured into sex http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1761310/ Stephanie the receptionist had her hand bitten by a Doberman last week.Coveted lacerations, envied incisions. Her languishing palms turning bruised blackberry blue like swollen lakes, bloated white like anemic corpses rising and falling with the tides. Puffed exam gloves, latex fingers bursting .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1761309/ Trigger warning: rape, self harm, alcoholism http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1761308/ I am beginning to accept that this lack of acceptance of my trauma could very well kill me.And slowly, insidiously, and sinisterly, it has already begun to do so.This whole chaos of having PTSD is a slow, methodical suicide. A rotting in reverse. Gala apples with their putrefied innards sali.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1761306/ You can tell I am a victimFrom a mile awayI am a courier pigeon without a message, masquerading as a bald eagle with my puffed chest rising like teenagers masturbating adulthood in hives of marijuana smoke and honey in dead lungs like bag pipes, feigning bravery like whitewashed warriors hea.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1761304/ How would life be different now,if the day after “it” happened, someone had gathered you in the soft sheepskin hammock of a blanket and held the trembling buoys of your perspiring hand and told you,with sweetest sincerity,that it wasn’t your fault, a t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1761301/ Trigger warning: rape, self harm http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1755103/ One year ago today, I deemed myself a facet of rock bottom. The lowest of the low. The sickest of the sick. An echelon of decay. Nothing could be worse than the girl I was yesterday.One year ago today, I almost bled out.And maybe I never left that space, that disjointed yellow on cr&eg.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1755094/ I should have been something by now. I could have been.Something. Someone.Not this girl, not this nebulous nothingness; this free form shadow purged out in silhouettes stroking the scion spine of a marmalade house cat as if shorthairs are Rottweilers keeping sailors at bay and I might have been... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1755093/ Do not think of him, do not think of him.Do not think of the blurry architecture of his fading face. Do not think of the twisted wrought iron syllables of his name rooted in between the precipices of your ivory handled teeth like filing cabinets storing the cold cases of native atrocities e.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1755092/ “Breathe, girl,” he says to me this morning in the thicketed forest of my hyperventilation, cobweb scarred combat boots trembling, curling in foetal positions like placental sons awaiting abortionist suctions, hands trembling in Richter Scale quakes, gripping my bubblegum pink Bic lighte.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1755091/ When the teenage boy said the “r” word,he was referring to a rugby match;a pushed over, vanquished match in which the Air Force blue uniformed team from his sleepy suburban town had destroyed and humiliatedthe red topped rivals transported from out of state with their defeatist pos.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1755089/ I should have sent for ambulances,I will regret this until I draw the tap water of my last breath,until the moribund matchstick bundle of my mummified bones turn over like the blood orange fire of massacred maple leaves to dust running in pulverised ash on public pavement,like Schindler raspin.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1755088/ The winter that I crashed my Jeep,my father told me that some things are too broken to be fixed.He did not know that I was one of those.Sometime in that tormented late February  when I still burned my wrists hotly with dagger icicles, like crystallinebranding irons, leaving hellish .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1755087/ Trigger warning: self harm, rape, domestic violence http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1630414/ It has been said that we are not to makehomes out of hospitals,but then we are homeless.Within ourselves - Calcutta orphans, with parents in the shells of what we became that winter. When we found blood sisters smearing plasma on handles of doorknobs in our hatred,writing&n.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1630413/ Trigger warning: rape, asphyxiation. A written account of a rape from the perspective of the victim. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1590537/ Trigger warning: rape, selfharm http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1590230/ Trigger warning: rape, abortion, religion, alcohol http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lyra_heno/1589405/